Coquette
E-text prepared by Annie McGuire
COQUETTE
* * * * *
THE NOVELS OFFRANK SWINNERTON
THE HAPPY FAMILY ON THE STAIRCASE THE CHASTE WIFE SHOPS AND HOUSES NOCTURNE SEPTEMBER COQUETTE
COQUETTE
FRANK SWINNERTON
* * * * *
BY FRANK SWINNERTON
COQUETTE SEPTEMBER SHOPS AND HOUSES NOCTURNE THE CHASTE WIFE ON THE STAIRCASE THE HAPPY FAMILY THE CASEMENT THE YOUNG IDEA THE MERRY HEART GEORGE GISSING _A Critical Study_ R. L. STEVENSON _A Critical Study_
* * * * *
COQUETTE
by
FRANK SWINNERTON
Author of "September," "Shops andHouses," "Nocturne," Etc.
New YorkGeorge H. Doran Company
Copyright, 1921,by George H. Doran Company
CONTENTS
PAGE
BOOK ONE
TOBY 9
BOOK TWO
GAGA 89
BOOK THREE
CONSEQUENCES 209
BOOK ONE: TOBY
i
It was Saturday night--a winter night in which the wind hummed throughevery draughty crevice between the windows and under the doors and downthe chimneys. Outside, in the Hornsey Road, horse-omnibuses rattled byand the shops that were still open at eleven o'clock glistened withlight. Up the road, at the butcher's just below the Plough public-house,a small crowd lingered, turning over scraps of meat, while the butcherhimself, chanting "Lovely, lovely, lovely!" in a kind of ecstasy,plunged again into a fresh piece of meat the attractive legend, "Oh,mother, look! Three ha'pence a pound!" Just over the way, at the SupplyStores, they had begun to roll down the heavy shutter, hiding the brightwindows, and leaving only a narrow doorway, through which light streamedand made rainbow colours on the pavement outside. The noise of thestreet was a racketting roar, hardly lower now than it had been all theevening. Sally crouched at the window of the first floor flat, lookingdown at the black roadway, and watching the stragglers from the SupplyStores.
In the flat above there was the sound of one who sang, vamping anaccompaniment upon the piano and emphasising the simple time of hiscarol by a dully stamped foot upon the floor. His foot--making in softslippers a dead "dump-dump-dump"--shook the ceiling of the Mintos'flat. They could hear his dry voice huskily roaring, "There you are,there you are, there you ain't--ain't--ain't." They had heard it athousand times, always with the familiar stamp. It was very gay. OldPerce, as he was called, was a carver in a City restaurant. It was hewho received orders from the knowing; and in return for apparenttit-bits he received acknowledgments in coin--twopence or threepence atime. Therefore, when he reached home each evening, nicely cheery andabout a quarter drunk, his first act after having tea was to withdrawfrom his pockets a paper bag or two--such as those supplied by banks forthe carriage of silver--which he would empty of greasy coppers. He piledthese coppers in mounds of twelve, and counted them over several times.He then smoked his pipe, went into his front room, and played, "Thereyou are, there you are, there you ain't--ain't--ain't." Sally did notremember ever having heard him sing anything else. He was singing it:now with customary gusto. Sally thought he must be a very rich man. OldPerce's wife, who let her practise on their piano, hinted as much. Hiswages were low, she said, but in a week his tips often came to three orfour pounds. Three or four pounds! Whew! Sally's father only madethirty-five shillings in a week, everything included. Mrs. Perce toldSally many other things, which Sally shrewdly treasured in memory. Itwas well to know these things, Sally thought: any day they might be ...useful. For a girl not yet seventeen, Sally had a strangely abundantsense of possible utilities. All old Perce's relatives were licensedvictuallers, she had learned; and one day he too would take a "little'ouse" and stand behind his own bar, instead of behind the counter of acity restaurant. Those would be days! "'Ave a trap and go outa Sundayafternoons," Mrs. Perce said. "Oo, I wish you'd take me!" Sally cried."Course I will!" answered Mrs. Perce, with the greatest good-humour.Meanwhile old Perce had money out on loan. "I'd like," thought Sally,with considering eyes, "to have money out on loan. I will, too. One day.Why shouldn't I?"
Sally's mother, Mrs. Minto, was yawning by the small fire in the grate.She was a meagre little woman of about forty, tired and energetic. TheMintos' flat, although very bare, was very clean. Even when there wasnothing to eat, there was water for scouring; and Mrs. Minto's handswere a sort of red-grey, hard and lined, all the little folds of thediscoloured skin looking as if they had been bitten deep with acid thatmade them black. Her hair was very thin, and she drew it closely backfrom her forehead into a tiny knob like a bell-pull, leaving the browhigh and dry as if the tide of hair had receded. Her lids were heavyover anxious eyes; her mouth was a bitter stroke across her face, underthe small, inquiring nose. Her breast was flat, and her body bentthrough daily housework and too little care of herself, too littlepersonal pride.
Sally resembled her mother. She too was small and thin. Her hair waspale brown, an insipid colour with a slight sandiness in it. Her cheekswere faintly freckled just under the eyes, and her nose, equally smalland inquiring, had some freckles upon it too. Her eyelashes were light;her eyes a grey with splashes of amber. She was sitting huddled up nearthe window, breathing intently, looking out of it with eager, fascinatedinterest. The streets were full of lures. Outside, there was somethingwhich drew and absorbed her whole nature. The noise and the lightsintoxicated her; the darkness was even more bewilderingly full ofdangerous attractiveness. It was night, and night was the time whenthrills came, when her heart beat closely with a sense of timidimpudence, a sort of leashed daring. In darkness she brushed handsagainst the hands of boys, and got into conversation with strangers, andfelt herself romantically transfigured. They couldn't see how plain shewas in the dark: she herself forgot it. In the dark she felt that shewas bolder, with nobody to observe her and carry tales to her mother.Boys who wouldn't look at her in daylight followed her at night alongdark streets. She was getting very experienced with boys. She could lookafter herself with them. Her eyes interestedly and appraisingly scannedevery male, so that she came to know a great deal about the ways of men,although she never put her knowledge into words. She scrutinised them.In daylight her plainness was a help in that, because they did not takeany notice of so insignificant a figure, and she absorbed every detailof the "fellows" she met, without having to do it under their returnobservation, by means of side-glances. This was a benefit, and at heartmade her bolder, more ruthless.
At this moment, watching the people come out from the little door in theshutter of the Supply Stores, Sally ignored the silhouettes of women;but she peered quite intensely at those of the men. Men filled herthoughts. She was always choosing which men she liked, and which did notinterest her, and which were weak and easily exploited. Or, if she wereprevented from doing that, she could still look at them, seeing thatthey were men, and not women. The noise was good, the lights were good;but the darkness, such as there now was in the street below, in all thediminished labour of late traffic, was best of all. She saw the lastcustomer at the Stores shown to the door by Mr. Beddow, the keeper ofthe shop; and the narrow door in the shutters closed. The last stream oflight was abruptly cut off. The face of the Stores was black. All theopposite side of the roadway was now black. There were no moresilhouettes.
Mr. Beddow's cheeks were very fat, and when he smiled his eyesdisappeared into slits just behind the top of his bulgin
g cheeks. Hewore a light frizzly beard. Once Mr. Beddow had given her a littlebottle of acid-drops. All the acid-drops were gone now. She had givensome of them to May Pearcey, who worked with her. They had eaten theremainder next day over their work, while Miss Jubb was out of the room;and the drops had made them thirsty and had given them hot, sweetbreath. Funny she should remember it all so clearly.
May Pearcey and she were both learners at a small dressmaker's shop in astreet off Holloway Road. They used to walk together along Grove Road inthe mornings, and at dinner-time, and in the evenings. But the boys alllooked at May, who was a big girl with rosy cheeks and eyes that werebold with many conquests. Sally only got the soppy ones. That was herluck. Sally wondered why a good-looking boy so often had a soppy onewith him. She wasn't soppy herself. The boys thought she was; they neverlooked at her. But May picked