第19章

Yours truly, J.DIDLUM & CO.LTD

He read these communications several times in silence and finally with an oath threw them down on the table.

`How much do we still owe for the oilcloth and the furniture?' he asked.

`I don't know exactly.It was seven pound odd, and we've had the things about six months.We paid one pound down and three or four instalments.I'll get the card if you like.'

`No; never mind.Say we've paid one pound twelve; so we still owe about six pound.'

He added this amount to the list.

`I think it's a great pity we ever had the things at all,' he said, peevishly.`It would have been better to have gone without until we could pay cash for them: but you would have your way, of course.Now we'll have this bloody debt dragging on us for years, and before the dam stuff is paid for it'll be worn out.'

The woman did not reply at once.She was bending down over the cradle arranging the coverings which the restless movements of the child had disordered.She was crying silently, unnoticed by her husband.

For months past - in fact ever since the child was born - she had been existing without sufficient food.If Easton was unemployed they had to stint themselves so as to avoid getting further into debt than was absolutely necessary.When he was working they had to go short in order to pay what they owed; but of what there was Easton himself, without knowing it, always had the greater share.If he was at work she would pack into his dinner basket overnight the best there was in the house.When he was out of work she often pretended, as she gave him his meals, that she had had hers while he was out.And all the time the baby was draining her life away and her work was never done.

She felt very weak and weary as she crouched there, crying furtively and trying not to let him see.

At last she said, without looking round:

`You know quite well that you were just as much in favour of getting them as I was.If we hadn't got the oilcloth there would have been illness in the house because of the way the wind used to come up between the floorboards.Even now of a windy day the oilcloth moves up and down.'

`Well, I'm sure I don't know,' said Easton, as he looked alternatively at the list of debts and the three letters.`I give you nearly every farthing I earn and I never interfere about anything, because I think it's your part to attend to the house, but it seems to me you don't manage things properly.'

The woman suddenly burst into a passion of weeping, laying her head on the seat of the chair that was standing near the cradle.

Easton started up in surprise.

`Why, what's the matter?' he said.

Then as he looked down upon the quivering form of the sobbing woman, he was ashamed.He knelt down by her, embracing her and apologizing, protesting that he had not meant to hurt her like that.

`I always do the best I can with the money,' Ruth sobbed.`I never spend a farthing on myself, but you don't seem to understand how hard it is.I don't care nothing about having to go without things myself, but I can't bear it when you speak to me like you do lately.You seem to blame me for everything.You usen't to speak to me like that before I - before - Oh, I am so tired - I am so tired, I wish I could lie down somewhere and sleep and never wake up any more.'

She turned away from him, half kneeling, half sitting on the floor, her arms folded on the seat of the chair, and her head resting upon them.She was crying in a heartbroken helpless way.

`I'm sorry I spoke to you like that,' said Easton, awkwardly.`Ididn't mean what I said.It's all my fault.I leave things too much to you, and it's more than you can be expected to manage.I'll help you to think things out in future; only forgive me, I'm very sorry.Iknow you try your best.'

She suffered him to draw her to him, laying her head on his shoulder as he kissed and fondled her, protesting that he would rather be poor and hungry with her than share riches with anyone else.

The child in the cradle - who had been twisting and turning restlessly all this time - now began to cry loudly.The mother took it from the cradle and began to hush and soothe it, walking about the room and rocking it in her arms.The child, however, continued to scream, so she sat down to nurse it: for a little while the infant refused to drink, struggling and kicking in its mother's arms, then for a few minutes it was quite, taking the milk in a half-hearted, fretful way.

Then it began to scream and twist and struggle.

They both looked at it in a helpless manner.Whatever could be the matter with it? It must be those teeth.

Then suddenly as they were soothing and patting him, the child vomited all over its own and its mother's clothing a mass of undigested food.

Mingled with the curdled milk were fragments of egg, little bits of bacon, bread and particles of potato.

Having rid his stomach of this unnatural burden, the unfortunate baby began to cry afresh, his face very pale, his lips colourless, and his eyes red-rimmed and running with water.

Easton walked about with him while Ruth cleaned up the mess and got ready some fresh clothing.They both agreed that it was the coming teeth that had upset the poor child's digestion.It would be a good job when they were through.

This work finished, Easton, who was still convinced in his own mind that with the aid of a little common sense and judicious management their affairs might be arranged more satisfactorily, said:

`We may as well make a list of all the things we must pay and buy tomorrow.The great thing is to think out exactly what you are going to do before you spend anything; that saves you from getting things you don't really need and prevents you forgetting the things you MUSThave.Now, first of all, the rent; two weeks, twelve shillings.'

He took a fresh piece of paper and wrote this item down.

`What else is there that we must pay or buy tomorrow?'

`Well, you know I promised the baker and the grocer that I would begin to pay them directly you got a job, and if I don't keep my word they won't let us have anything another time, so you'd better put down two shillings each for them.