He
laughed.
They were inside the dairy now. The cold seemed
more striking than outside, and the clean bareness of the place could be sensed even through the darkness.
"Wait a minute," Polly whispered now;
"I'll light the candle. It won't be seen if we
keep it this end."
As the flame of the candle flickered upwards,
Polly looked into his face. It wasn't the
face she knew so well, the face that was deeply
etched in her mind burnt there by the trammels of young love. His thoughtful, even sombre, look was
replaced by a large inane grin; the grey eyes,
whose kindness and concern was usually covered by blinking lids, were half closed as if he were about to fall
asleep where he stood.
"Charlie."
"Yes, Polly." He had hold of her hand.
"It's Ginger."
"Ginger? What about him?"
"He ... he wants me to marry him."
"What!" For a moment he seemed to sober up
completely, his eyes widenedj and his lids blinked
rapidly. "Ginger . . . you marry Ginger? You'll
not! Wait till I see him. The bloody
insolence!"
Funny, it was the first time she had ever heard him
use a swear word, but then she hadn't been with him much since they had grown up and she had come over here
to work. She took him by the arm and shook him slightly and, reaching her face up to his,, she whispered as if
they might be overheard, "There's . . . there's
nothing else for it., Charlie, is there?" Her last two words seemed to pierce the fug of his brain and he
repeated to himself, "Is there? Is there?"
"Do ... do you want to marry him?"
"No. Nost"
"Well then." He knew as he said it it was a
stupid answer to give her and that was why she was
actually shaking him.
"But don't you see, Charlie? If I
don't he could ... he could split."
He looked down into her face and for a moment he
forgot about Sidney Slater as he thought. She's
bonny; not beautiful, but bonny, warmly bonny.
That's what he wanted. warmth. He had always
wanted Polly, the
warmth of her. He had continually dreamed of her
until recently, when he had realized the stupidity
of it. But what was she saying? That Slater! that
ginger-headed weasel wanted to marry her! It was
strange but he had never imagined that he could really
hate anybody, yet as he had watched the undersized
skinny lad sprout inches and his shoulders broaden
until now at eighteen he was a presentable young
fellow, he knew that his mere dislike of the boy had
grown into hate, for never once had Slater looked
at him over the years but his eyes had said, "Don't come the master with me; we know who's got the upper
hand, don't we?" As for the fellow's effect on
Arthur, at times he wouldn't have been surprised if
Arthur hadn't tried his hand at a second murder.
He said now, "Arthur, does Arthur know?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
"Well-was She turned her head away
and looked towards a bench on which stood a gleaming row of copper pans, the candlelight bringing out gold from
their depths, and her voice was low in her throat as
she said, "When me mother told him, she said he
banged his head against the wall, then went out and got drunk."
Again there was silence between them, and now he stuttered,
"You . . . you're too young to be married."
"Don't be silly"-her tone was astringent"...me ma was married at sixteen."
"Do ... do you like him?"
Again she turned her head to the side, right on to her
shoulders now, and out of the corner of her eyes her
gaze rested on the wooden churn, the handle of which had hardened the muscles of her arms since she had come
on the farm, and she looked at it for a full minute
before saying, "I don't dislike him; he's . . .
he's always been decent towards me, not like he's
acted with Arthur ... an' you. He hates you
both."
"I'm well aware of that. Anyway-1' He
made an attempt to straighten his shoulders and his
lips worked one over the other before he said, "Leave it to me, I'll see to him. I'll bring it into the open
. . . Should have done it years ago.
laughed.
They were inside the dairy now. The cold seemed
more striking than outside, and the clean bareness of the place could be sensed even through the darkness.
"Wait a minute," Polly whispered now;
"I'll light the candle. It won't be seen if we
keep it this end."
As the flame of the candle flickered upwards,
Polly looked into his face. It wasn't the
face she knew so well, the face that was deeply
etched in her mind burnt there by the trammels of young love. His thoughtful, even sombre, look was
replaced by a large inane grin; the grey eyes,
whose kindness and concern was usually covered by blinking lids, were half closed as if he were about to fall
asleep where he stood.
"Charlie."
"Yes, Polly." He had hold of her hand.
"It's Ginger."
"Ginger? What about him?"
"He ... he wants me to marry him."
"What!" For a moment he seemed to sober up
completely, his eyes widenedj and his lids blinked
rapidly. "Ginger . . . you marry Ginger? You'll
not! Wait till I see him. The bloody
insolence!"
Funny, it was the first time she had ever heard him
use a swear word, but then she hadn't been with him much since they had grown up and she had come over here
to work. She took him by the arm and shook him slightly and, reaching her face up to his,, she whispered as if
they might be overheard, "There's . . . there's
nothing else for it., Charlie, is there?" Her last two words seemed to pierce the fug of his brain and he
repeated to himself, "Is there? Is there?"
"Do ... do you want to marry him?"
"No. Nost"
"Well then." He knew as he said it it was a
stupid answer to give her and that was why she was
actually shaking him.
"But don't you see, Charlie? If I
don't he could ... he could split."
He looked down into her face and for a moment he
forgot about Sidney Slater as he thought. She's
bonny; not beautiful, but bonny, warmly bonny.
That's what he wanted. warmth. He had always
wanted Polly, the
warmth of her. He had continually dreamed of her
until recently, when he had realized the stupidity
of it. But what was she saying? That Slater! that
ginger-headed weasel wanted to marry her! It was
strange but he had never imagined that he could really
hate anybody, yet as he had watched the undersized
skinny lad sprout inches and his shoulders broaden
until now at eighteen he was a presentable young
fellow, he knew that his mere dislike of the boy had
grown into hate, for never once had Slater looked
at him over the years but his eyes had said, "Don't come the master with me; we know who's got the upper
hand, don't we?" As for the fellow's effect on
Arthur, at times he wouldn't have been surprised if
Arthur hadn't tried his hand at a second murder.
He said now, "Arthur, does Arthur know?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
"Well-was She turned her head away
and looked towards a bench on which stood a gleaming row of copper pans, the candlelight bringing out gold from
their depths, and her voice was low in her throat as
she said, "When me mother told him, she said he
banged his head against the wall, then went out and got drunk."
Again there was silence between them, and now he stuttered,
"You . . . you're too young to be married."
"Don't be silly"-her tone was astringent"...me ma was married at sixteen."
"Do ... do you like him?"
Again she turned her head to the side, right on to her
shoulders now, and out of the corner of her eyes her
gaze rested on the wooden churn, the handle of which had hardened the muscles of her arms since she had come
on the farm, and she looked at it for a full minute
before saying, "I don't dislike him; he's . . .
he's always been decent towards me, not like he's
acted with Arthur ... an' you. He hates you
both."
"I'm well aware of that. Anyway-1' He
made an attempt to straighten his shoulders and his
lips worked one over the other before he said, "Leave it to me, I'll see to him. I'll bring it into the open
. . . Should have done it years ago.
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