vi

One night Miss Summers and Sally were working late upon a "rush job," and Madam was also in her room. The girls had all gone; but Sally had been chosen by Miss Summers to help her, and Sally was always ready to do this because it meant a small addition to her weekly money. Madam was doing her books, and Gaga was helping her. Sally was sewing busily—beautiful fine work that caused Miss Summers to purr and lick her lips with relish;—and as they worked they exchanged remarks which would have been impossible if they had not been alone. Miss Summers always spoke of the business, which absorbed her, and Sally gleaned innumerable details in this way, without seeming to be doing such a thing. She, on her side, gave Miss Summers a low-toned picture of her own life, concentrating upon domestic circumstances and enhancing Miss Summers' respect for her bravery and her willingness. When they had been silent once for a little while, and Sally had finished the first of her difficult and gratifying tasks, Sally fell into thought, and at last said to Miss Summers:

"Wish I knew about accounts. I don't know anything. Is it hard to learn?"

Miss Summers shook her plump face, and rubbed the tip of her nose with the back of her hand.

"No," she reassuringly said. "It's easy. You know what twice one are? Well, that's all it is. You put down on one side how much you charged, and when you get the money you put it down on the other side, and draw a line to show they balance. And every month or every quarter you go through your books, and see who hasn't paid; and if it isn't anybody special you send them a fresh account. And if it's a real lady you don't worry her. You have to know who's who in a business like this. That's the chief thing."

"Does Gaga—Mr. Bertram know who's who?"

"No!" Miss Summers's tone was conclusive. "But his mother tells him who to write to, or who to send an account to, and he knows book-keeping, and how much is at the bank; and he draws cheques for her to sign, and that sort of thing. Between you and me, Sally—mind, this is quite between ourselves,—I don't think Mr. Bertram's got a very good head for figures. You have to be a bit smarter than he is. Of course, he's very kind and good-looking; but if I wanted good sound common sense I wouldn't go to him. Not a good head for figures. He's not very sharp. Now Madam's as sharp as a needle. It's funny how a really sharp woman sometimes has a son who's—well, not so sharp...."

"Would you say I was sharp?" asked Sally innocently.

"Like a knife," declared Miss Summers, with a quick dart of her feline eyes.

"Really?" Sally was eager. She gave a little chuckle of pleasure at such emphatic praise.

"You'd be able to do the books, but you're better where you are. When you've been here another three months, Sally, you'll be getting more money. It isn't only that you're a good worker, and quick, but you've got more sense than the other girls. I oughtn't to say this to you. I don't generally praise the girls here. But if you want to get on, you've only got to stay where you are. You'll find Madam appreciates you. And so do I."

"You've been awfully good to me," murmured Sally, with downcast eyes. "I'm not just saying that, Miss Summers; I mean it, every word. When I came here I didn't know anything; and now I don't know a lot; but...." She gave a small cluck of her tongue, and a smile to show how much she had learned. It was true. And she was even learning to speak better, through listening to Madam and Miss Summers and at times a customer; and she had enough sense to avoid the extravagant refinements of Nosey. Presently she resumed: "Miss Summers, what does Mr. Bertram do? He's got a business of his own, hasn't he?"

Miss Summers looked across at the door leading to Madam's room, and lowered her voice.

"It's only something Madam put him into. It's a business all to do with farms."

"Farms?" Sally laughed. "Well, he doesn't look much like a farmer."

"No, it isn't exactly farms; but chemical things they use on farms. Now you see there's the soil." Sally nodded, so deeply interested that she ceased her work. "Some soil's good for growing things, and some isn't. Well, when a soil's not good the farmers mix stuff with it, to make it better."

"I know," cried Sally, joyously. "Fertiliser."

"Yes. And then from the good soil they'll get a crop early in the year, and then, by using stuff, they'll get another crop later. All that sort of thing. And if cows have the mange, or the rickets, or whatever it is cows have, Mr. Bertram's got something to give them. D'you see what I mean? And all sorts of chemical things. Stuff to kill weeds, stuff to give chickens to make them have bigger eggs.... He's got an inventor, and a manager, and others who are interested in the business, and he's got a share, and he goes to the office and goes about the country sometimes." Miss Summers screwed up her nose and lips, looking very like an old pussy, and in a whisper added: "Doesn't really do very much." She put her finger to her lips at that, and Sally, resuming her work, reassured her by a glance. "Of course," said Miss Summers, "he's very agreeable, and good-looking, and he's got plenty of money."

Money! Sally's eyelids flickered. She gave a charming grin.

"Wish I'd got plenty money," she said.

"You will have," answered Miss Summers, confidently. "Don't fret. Your time's coming. You're young yet, and all sorts of things might happen to you."

Sally made no response. She fell into silence for a time. She had learnt with the greatest interest about Gaga's business, and about the books. She learned a great deal from Miss Summers, whom she had grown to like very much. She was by no means insensitive to kindness, although she was not sentimental over it. And, as she thought, she came round again to the two workers in the next room.

"D'you think Madam will live long?" she unexpectedly asked.