Liza of Lambeth | Page 7

he came
towards her.

''Ulloa!' she said, as she saw him. 'Wot are you doin' 'ere?'
'I was waitin' for you ter come aht, Liza,' he answered.
She looked at him quickly.
'I ain't comin' aht with yer ter-day, if thet's wot yer mean,' she said.
'I never thought of arskin' yer, Liza--after wot you said ter me last
night.'
His voice was a little sad, and she felt so sorry for him.
'But yer did want ter speak ter me, didn't yer, Tom?' she said, more
gently.
'You've got a day off ter-morrow, ain't yer?'
'Bank 'Oliday. Yus! Why?'
'Why, 'cause they've got a drag startin' from the "Red Lion" that's goin'
down ter Chingford for the day--an' I'm goin'.'
'Yus!' she said.
He looked at her doubtfully.
'Will yer come too, Liza? It'll be a regular beeno; there's only goin' ter
be people in the street. Eh, Liza?'
'Na, I can't.'
'Why not?'
'I ain't got--I ain't got the ooftish.'
'I mean, won't yer come with me?'
'Na, Tom, thank yer; I can't do thet neither.'

'Yer might as well, Liza; it wouldn't 'urt yer.'
'Na, it wouldn't be right like; I can't come aht with yer, and then mean
nothin'! It would be doin' yer aht of an outing.'
'I don't see why,' he said, very crestfallen.
'I can't go on keepin' company with you--after what I said last night.'
'I shan't enjoy it a bit without you, Liza.'
'You git somebody else, Tom. You'll do withaht me all right.'
She nodded to him, and walked up the street to the house of her friend
Sally. Having arrived in front of it, she put her hands to her mouth in
trumpet form, and shouted:
''I! 'I! 'I! Sally!'
A couple of fellows standing by copied her.
''I! 'I! 'I! Sally!'
'Garn!' said Liza, looking round at them.
Sally did not appear and she repeated her call. The men imitated her,
and half a dozen took it up, so that there was enough noise to wake the
seven sleepers.
''I! 'I! 'I! Sally!'
A head was put out of a top window, and Liza, taking off her hat,
waved it, crying:
'Come on dahn, Sally!'
'Arright, old gal!' shouted the other. 'I'm comin'!'
'So's Christmas!' was Liza's repartee.

There was a clatter down the stairs, and Sally, rushing through the
passage, threw herself on to her friend. They began fooling, in
reminiscence of a melodrama they had lately seen together.
'Oh, my darlin' duck!' said Liza, kissing her and pressing her, with
affected rapture, to her bosom.
'My sweetest sweet!' replied Sally, copying her.
'An' 'ow does your lidyship ter-day?'
'Oh!'--with immense languor--'fust class; and is your royal 'ighness
quite well?'
'I deeply regret,' answered Liza, 'but my royal 'ighness 'as got the
collywobbles.'
Sally was a small, thin girl, with sandy hair and blue eyes, and a very
freckled complexion. She had an enormous mouth, with terrible, square
teeth set wide apart, which looked as if they could masticate an iron bar.
She was dressed like Liza, in a shortish black skirt and an
old-fashioned bodice, green and grey and yellow with age; her sleeves
were tucked up to the elbow, and she wore a singularly dirty apron, that
had once been white.
'Wot 'ave you got yer 'air in them things for?' asked Liza, pointing to
the curl-papers. 'Goin' aht with yer young man ter-day?'
'No, I'm going ter stay 'ere all day.'
'Wot for, then?'
'Why, 'Arry's going ter tike me ter Chingford ter-morrer.'
'Oh? In the "Red Lion" brake?'
'Yus. Are you goin'?'
'Na!'

'Not! Well, why don't you get round Tom? 'E'll tike yer, and jolly glad
'e'll be, too.'
''E arst me ter go with 'im, but I wouldn't.'
'Swop me bob--why not?'
'I ain't keeping company with 'im.'
'Yer might 'ave gone with 'im all the sime.'
'Na. You're goin' with 'Arry, ain't yer?'
'Yus!'
'An' you're goin' to 'ave 'im?'
'Right again!'
'Well, I couldn't go with Tom, and then throw him over.'
'Well, you are a mug!'
The two girls had strolled down towards the Westminster Bridge Road,
and Sally, meeting her young man, had gone to him. Liza walked back,
wishing to get home in time to cook the dinner. But she went slowly,
for she knew every dweller in the street, and as she passed the groups
sitting at their doors, as on the previous evening, but this time mostly
engaged in peeling potatoes or shelling peas, she stopped and had a
little chat. Everyone liked her, and was glad to have her company.
'Good old Liza,' they would say, as she left them, 'she's a rare good sort,
ain't she?'
She asked after the aches and pains of all the old people, and delicately
inquired after the babies, past and