in the morning it was selia that woke mr. withersq.
“come on harold,” she said rising from her makeshift couch, “we know some art now, lets make a move.”
“my pet,” cried the delited mr. withersq, “you have called me harold. ah me ah me how fondly i love your charms,” and so he picked up selia’s bag, and they went out stepping over the countess and ran into the street. selia still a little red from her blush at mr. withersquashes warm words of passion.
“what about a bit of food?” she said to change the subject.
“ah, now i will give you a fair treet,” cried mr. withersq brindling with glee, “for 21indeed i love you at last selia and you shall ate of the best now unckle burt is dead.”
“pray how shall such as us know where to eat of the best?” scoffed selia lightly for she had yet to learn how to treet a good noble man with properness.
“now dont be snappy,” said mr. withersq who was not to be put down so easily. “it was a baroness herself last night who asked me if i offen went to the mauve loft, and she said it was ripping, so not so much of your scorn if you please.” so you see even our devoted mr. withersq could turn, which is not to be surprised at seeing he had unbroken his fast.
“what is the mauve loft?” snapped selia, “what kind of a place i ask. fletchers i know, and the dad goes to pim’s when he back’s a good ’un, but what is a loft? tell me that!”
“it is where you eat if you are smart” responded her harold. “you should know by 22now that the upper ten call their eating places by names, like dogs or pubs. have you not yet heard of the ‘spotted eel?’ at chelsy? nor the ‘monkey puzzel’ at the scrubs? tush, selia, pull your socks up my good girl.”
they strode forward in glassy silence.
when they got there it was over some stable-places in piccadilly and they went up the ladder and tapt. a totally black nigger let them in and bowed, and they entered and mr. withersq giggled the cash in his trowsers for all he was worth as was by now his lucky custom.
it was a terrific abode painted a purpel colour which looked very nice. and across the mantelpece was printed very big
lift up your hearts
which i think is from shakespeare.
there was hundreds and dozens of waiters all totally black teeming about the room, and 23all along the floor stood a great tabel like in pictures of the last supper. many smart people sat rather sprawly at it and listened to the words of a man very similar looking to those mr. withersq and selia had beholded the night before at the party. and meanwhile they chewed their food. also several young ladys some soberly in round black specs but some also a bit dashing with scarlet lips and several oldish ones too, all lolled on the table on elbows and smoking like chimneys.
as our coupel entered they turned of course and had a good stare but said nothing, not knowing them. nothing abashed mr. withersq beckoned a couple of black waiters to bring the food list which they did.
he chose a good few of the dearest things, trusting to be correct, and they sat down at the foot of the table, hoping to chum up quickly.
the waiters brought first some halfs of 24fruits like lemons only bigger on plates but selia hated hers and popt it under the tabel.
“bring me some grilled kidneys and look sharp,” she commanded very grandly.
now all this time she and mr. withersq had been shuffling on their seats and making a few friendly grimaces toward the large party lower down the tabel, and doing such tricks as half smiles and looking as if they were going to nod in a tick. yet the cold hump was all they got from that crowd gathered around the faint-looking man in the centre.
“you cant hardly say we’re making much of a hit here,” said selia crossly: “you should have said your unckle burt was dead. try and get the nasty stuck up lot to talk, wont you?”
so at this mr. withersq mustered his heart up a bit and rapt on the tabel with a spoon until all looked towards him. “hallo” he said to them all. “my unckle burt being dead has 25left me a few millions so why not be sports and chum up, eh?”
oh what an icy bath our little friends then got from the stares of those ladys and men.
“i am boom,” said the faint-looking man stroking his long hair with unction. “i do not think you are one of us. you do not understand.”
“o come!” cried our hero, getting his back up a bit although selia was tramping on his feet under the festive board’s legs. “we are quite new to the game, i know, but for all that we know a countess or two. be a sport old chappy. let me tell the blackie to get you a coffee if you dont care for anything stronger.”
he thought those were two safe things to say, but he was also puzzeled by their looks towards him and more towards selia whose rayment was so utterly not like theirs, and more so that her white robe was a bit dashed-looking with the rough night she had had.
26 “ah,” cried the young ladies in a voice like pidgeons, and the old ladies and the man. “how balderdash!” and they turned their faces away.
selia let fall a scalding tear and ordered some pooched eggs to keep up her strength. at which mr. boom and his attending ladies got up hortily and stamped out very conseated which upset our couple largely.
“bear up sir,” cried a black waiter kindly. “it is only their way being a school of poetry.”
“oh,” cried selia blowing her nose, “i would like to go to such a school, wouldnt you, harold, though not to their nasty stuck up one, eh?”
“in sooth, yes,” he answered with effervessence. “it would be very useful to us i am sure, to deal with such strumpets and aristocracy.”
“ah, sir, if you will excuse me,” put in the waiter now beaming like a holy angel with his 27sooty features. “you will soon be all right. there are just the little matters like eating and that which are very catchy and the right words to say.”
“you see this lot thats just gone out are all very artful people, who speak to no one but print little books of their poems all the while, and wont sell them to anybody at all, and that makes them very slippery customers to deal with, as no one knows what they are really at, and mean too,” he added, looking beneath their plates where a solitary sixpence graced the deserted board.
“take that my good negro” cried mr. withersq slipping a green paper money in his quaintly coloured palm.
so when they had looked up an address in the book, they set out for a nice school where to learn poetry and so climb.
