Archibald Cronin - The Stars Look Down

“Why don’t you hire a butler when you’re about it?” Sally said mildly.

Jenny coloured. The pleasantness left her face. She turned on Sally. She said:

“You’re an ungrateful little hussy, you are, to stand there and talk to me like that. I think I’ve done pretty well by you when it comes to the bit. The idea of you standing there criticising me because I ask a gentleman to supper in my own house. The idea! And after all that I’ve done for you. You go home, my lady, if you don’t like it.”

“I’ll go home, if you want to,” Sally said. And she went to get David’s tea.

Joe dropped in about seven o’clock. He wore his light brown suit, his watch-chain, that really impressive derby, and an air of affable simplicity. He was not loud, nor boisterous, nor full of brag, he was nothing that David might have feared. Joe had really been forced to come home and, though Joe could never look that way, Joe was quite a bit under the weather. In plain truth, Joe was still out of a job. He was turning over in his mind the idea of going back to Millington’s; after all hadn’t Stanley Millington promised to give him a lift up, hadn’t he now, the big sod? Yes, he would go to Millington’s all right. But not yet, not just yet. There was something else, something on Joe’s mind that Joe didn’t enjoy. Joe was worried about himself, worried about something. God, what a fool a fella could be, but maybe it wasn’t something, maybe it was nothing after all.

The general effect of this bodily and spiritual uncertainty was to throw an air of subdued virtue about Joe, to establish him as a man who had at last returned to see his aged father and was modestly reticent about his obvious success in life. And he was so pleased to see David, so deeply touched to see his “ole pal” again! It was quite affecting.

Towards Jenny, Joe was very humble, apologetic and subdued. He praised her china, her doyleys, her frock, her food. He ate, for one prosperously acquainted with a richer diet than cold beef and peas, a considerable supper. He was struck, oh, immensely struck by the improvement in Jenny’s social setting.

“By gum,” he kept repeating, “I must say this goes one better than Scottswood Road!” His manners were quite elevated. He no longer foraged with his knife for errant peas. He “helped” the ladies. He was handsomer than ever and his tone was almost reverent.

It was honey to Jenny, her formal “company” manner slowly slid from her, she became pleasantly arch, condescending, chatty in a lady-like way.

Not that Joe talked much to Jenny. No, no! It was clear that Joe had little time for “wimmen” now — his interest in Jenny was merely friendly and polite. As for Sally, he never looked at her at all. Joe was all for David, full of questions, interest, admiration. It was great that David was sitting his BA. in a fortnight, those week-ends of study with Carmichael were certainly a brain wave of the first degree. Always the lad to have brain waves, eh, Davey ole man? Joe and David talked long after supper and Jenny kept slipping in and out, humming pleasantly and graciously inquiring from time to time how they were getting on. Sally was washing the dishes, with a certain restrained vehemence, in the scullery.

“It’s been fine seeing you again,” David said at last as Joe rose to go.

“No more nor seeing you, ole man,” Joe said. “Believe me it’s the whole cheese. I’ll be here a week or two, I expect, we got to see more of each other. Walk down the road with me now. Ah, come on. It’s early yet. By the bye,” Joe paused, twiddling his watch-chain, a candid amusement in his eye. “I almost forgot, Davey, I cleaned myself out over the old dad this afternoon, gave him a packet, a regular packet, everything I’d got, felt sort of generous like seeing him again I suppose. You couldn’t lend us a couple of quid or so — just till I hear from the bank? Just an ole couple of pounds.”

“A couple of pounds… Joe?” David stared at Joe, taken aback.

“Oh, never mind, then.” Joe’s smile departed, he looked hurt, offended; “palship” and decency outraged suffused his shiny face. “Never mind if you don’t want to… it’s nothing to me… I’ll get it easy somewhere else.”

“Well, Joe…” Joe’s wounded expression cut David, he felt mean, horrible. He had about ten pounds tucked away in the chest of drawers in the bedroom, money saved for his examination expenses, and it was money that had taken some saving. He said suddenly: “Of course I’ll lend you it, Joe. Hold on…” He dashed upstairs and took three pounds and came back and offered them to Joe.

“Right, Davey.” Joe’s belief in humanity was mercifully restored. He beamed. “I knew you’d oblige an ole pal. Just till the end of the week, you understand.”

As they went up the street together Joe cocked his hat a trifle. His good night to David rang like a benediction.

David turned down Cowpen Street. He had meant to go up to see his father to-night, but it was getting towards ten o’clock now. Joe had kept him longer than he expected, and Martha had a way of frowning upon him when he slipped in late as if the very lateness of his visit were a slight on her. He walked along Freehold Street, meaning to cut through Bethel Street, when suddenly he saw his brother Hughie coming through the darkness, running swiftly down the crown of the road in his shorts and singlet. David called:

“Hughie! Hughie!” He had to call quickly, Hughie was going so fast.

Hughie stopped and crossed over. Although he had run three miles his breath came easily, he was in perfect condition. When he saw that it was David he gave a whoop and promptly fell upon his neck.

“Davey, you son of a gun!”

David disentangled himself.

“For heaven’s sake, Hughie.”

But Hughie for once was irrepressible.

“It’s happened, Davey. It’s happened at last. Did you know? I had the letter this afternoon. I got it when I came out the pit. They’ve asked me, Davey. Oh, help, isn’t it great!”

“Asked you what, Hughie?” asked David, bewildered. He had never seen Hughie like this, never, why… if he didn’t know Hughie, he’d have sworn Hughie was drunk.

The silent Hughie was drunk, intoxicated with delight.

“Asked me to play for Tynecastle! Could you believe it, man! They were watching the match last Saturday and I never knew a thing about it… and I scored three goals… I did the hat trick, Davey… and now they’ve asked me to play a trial with the reserves at St. James’s Park on Saturday week. Oh, heavens, isn’t it great. If I do all right I’m signed, Davey… signed for the United, Davey, the United !” Hughie’s voice cracked amongst delirious heights.

David understood: it was here at last, Hughie’s hoped for, longed for, impossible dream. Not for nothing had Hughie martyred himself, bound himself to monkish ways, steeled himself against those glamorous glances, that so often sought out his in Lamb Street on Saturday nights. Suddenly David felt glad, a rush of genuine happiness came over him, he held out his hand in congratulation.

“I’m delighted, Hughie.” How comically inadequate words were to express the real joy he felt.

Hughie went on.

“They’ve had their eye on me for months. Did I tell you that before? I can’t think what I’m saying. But you may be sure of one thing. I’ll play the game of my life on Saturday week. Oh, Davey, man, isn’t it wonderful!” That last ecstasy seemed to bring Hughie to himself. He coloured and stole a look at David. He said: “I’m fair sloppy to-night. It’s excitement.” He paused. “You’ll come to the match though, Davey?”

“I’ll be there, Hughie. I’ll come and shout my head off.”