Her face looked suddenly old and withered under the scanty grey hair.
"Good evenin',Mr Partridge--glad ter see yer,"cried Chook,advancing with outstretched hand;but the old man ignored him.His eyes travelled slowly round the room,taking in every detail of the humble furniture.
The others stood silent with a little fear in their hearts at the sight of this old man with the face of a sleep-walker;but suddenly Pinkey walked up to him,and,reaching on tiptoe,kissed him,her face pink with emotion.
It was the first time since her unforgiven marriage.And she hung on him like a child,her wonderful hair,the colour of a new penny,heightening the bloodless pallor of the old man's face.The stolid grey eyes turned misty,and,in silence,he slowly patted his daughter's cheek.
Chook kept his distance,feeling that he was not wanted.Mrs Partridge,who had recovered her nerve,came as near cursing as her placid,selfish nature would permit.She could have bitten her tongue for spite.She thought of a thousand ways of explaining away the hat.She should have said that a friend had lent it to her;that she had bought it for half price at a sale.She had meant to show it to William some night after his beer with a plausible story,but his sudden appearance had upset her apple-cart,and the lie had slipped out unawares.She wasn't afraid of William,she scorned him in her heart.And now that little devil must keep it,for if she went back on her word it would put William on the track of other little luxuries that she squeezed out of his wages unknown to him--luxuries whose chief charm lay in their secrecy.She felt ready to weep with vexation.Instead she cried gaily:
"I've been tellin'them what a nice little 'ome they've got together.
I've seen plenty would be glad to start on less."Partridge seemed not to hear his wife's remark.His mind dulled by shock and misfortune,was slowly revolving forgotten scenes.He saw with incredible sharpness of view his first home,with its few sticks of second-hand furniture like Pinkey's,and Pinkey's mother,the dead image of her daughter.That was where he belonged--to the old time,when he was young and proud of himself,able to drink his glass and sing a song with the best of them.Someone pulled him gently.He looked round,wondering what he was doing there.But Pinkey pulled him across the room to Chook,who was standing like a fool.He looked Chook up and down as if he were a piece of furniture,and then,without a word,held out his hand.The reconciliation was complete.
"Well,we must be goin',William,"said Mrs Partridge,wondering how she was to get home without a hat;but Partridge followed Chook into the kitchen,where a candle was burning.Chook held the candle in his hand to show the little dresser with the cups and saucers and plates arranged in mathematical precision.The pots and pans were already hung on hooks.
They had all seen service,and in Chook's eyes seemed more at home than the brand-new things that hung in the shops.As Chook looked round with pride,he became aware that Partridge was pushing something into his hand.
It seemed like a wad of dirty paper,and Chook held it to the candle in surprise.He unrolled it with his fingers,and recognized banknotes.
"'Ere,I don't want yer money,"cried Chook,offering the wad of paper to the old man;but he pushed it back into Chook's hand with an imploring look.
"D'ye mean it fer Liz?"asked Chook.
Partridge nodded;his eyes were full of tears.
"Yous are a white man,an'I always knew it.Yer niver 'ad no cause ter go crook on me,but I ain't complainin',"cried Chook hoarsely.
The tears were running a zigzag course over the grey stubble of Partridge's cheeks.
"Yer'll be satisfied if I think as much of 'er as yous did of her mother?"asked Chook,feeling a lump in his throat.
Partridge nodded,swallowing as if he were choking.
"She's my wife,an'the best pal I ever 'ad,an'a man can't say more than that,"cried Chook proudly,but his eyes were full of tears.
Without a word the grey-haired old man shook his head and hurried to the front door,where Mrs Partridge was waiting impatiently.She had forced the hat on Pinkey in a speech full of bitterness,and had refused the loan of a hat to see her home.To explain her bare head,she had prepared a little speech about running down without a hat because of the fine night,but Partridge was too agitated to notice what she wore.
When they stepped inside,the first thing that met Chook's eyes was the hat with the wonderful feathers lying on a chair where Pinkey had disdainfully thrown it.He stood and laughed till his ribs ached as he thought of the figure cut by Mrs Partridge.He looked round for Pinkey to join in,and was amazed to find her in tears.
"W'y,wot's the matter,Liz?"he cried,serious in a moment.
"Nuthin',"said Pinkey,drying her eyes "I was cryin'because I'm glad father made it up with you.'E's bin a good father to me.W'en Lil an'me was kids,'e used ter take us out every Saturday afternoon,and buy us lollies,"and the tears flowed again.
Chook wisely decided to say nothing about the banknotes till her nerves were steadier.
"'Ere,cum an'try on yer new 'at,"he cried,to divert her thoughts.
"Me?"cried Pinkey,blazing."Do yer think I'd put anythin'on my 'ead belongin'to 'er?""All right,"said Chook,with regret,"I'll give it to mother fer one of the kids.""Yer can burn it,if yer like,"cried Pinkey.
Chook held up the hat,and examined it with interest.It was quite unlike any he had seen before.
"See 'ow it look on yer,"he coaxed.
"Not me,"said Pinkey,glaring at the hat as if it were Mrs Partridge.
But Chook had made up his mind,and after a short scuffle,he dragged Pinkey before the glass with the hat on her head.
"That's back ter front,yer silly,"she said,suddenly quiet.
A minute later she was staring into the glass,silent and absorbed,forgetful of Mrs Partridge,Chook,and her father.The hat was a dream.
