Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (104 page)

"Mother,
mother,"
he
cried,
"for
God's
sake
------
"

Trimmer
stared
at
the
pair
in
something
like
horror.
He
did
not believe
in
curses.
He
had
all
the
materialism
of
the
true
Cockney. But
the
intensity
of
the
woman's
manner,
the
sudden
queemess
in her
eyes
for
which
the
cast
did
not
wholly
account,
and
the
boy's evident
fear
worked
on
his
undeveloped
imagination.

"All
right,
missus,"
he
said,
a
little
surprised
at
his
own
soothing tone.
"You
don't
want
to
tyke
on
like
that."

The
intensity
of
the
woman's
manner
subsided
a
little.

"A
bite
o'
food
for
me
and
my
starvin'
family.
'Twas
all
I
asked."

Trimmer
persuaded
himself
that
he
was
sorry
for
her.
He
was
not essentially
ill-natured.
Casting
about
in
his
mind
for
something
that
he could
give
her
without
leaving
himself
the
poorer,
he
bethought
him of
some
biscuits
which
had
gone
soft
and
pappy
through
having
been kept
too
long
in
stock.
He
went
to
the
tin,
emptied
its
contents into
a
large
bag,
and
handed
the
bag
to
the
woman.

She
took
it
without
thanks,
picked
out
a
biscuit,
and
nibbled
at
it. He
saw
the
queerness
come
back
into
her
eyes.

"A
strange
gift
you
have
given
me,
master,"
she
said,
"and
a
strange gift
I
give
you
in
return.
When
night
turns
to
morning,
between
the minute
and
the
hour
is
your
time."

Once
more
the
boy
seemed
disturbed.

"Mother!"
he
cried,
in
expostulation.

"I
have
said
what
I
have
said,"
she
answered.
"The
end
shall
be of
his
own
seeking.
Between
the
minute
and
the
hour!"

With
that,
slowly,
they
passed
out
of
the
shop.
Trimmer,
as
he locked
the
door
behind
them,
reflected
that
it
was
a
"rum
start." He
noticed
that
his
hand
trembled
as
it
turned
the
key.

For
no
reason
that
he
could
translate
into
the
language
of
his
own thoughts
the
woman's
words
haunted
Trimmer.
He
denied
to
himself
that
he
was
in
any
way
afraid;
he
was
merely
curious
as
to
what meaning
might
be
attached
to
what
she
had
said.
Had
she
a
real thought
in
her
head,
or
had
she
been
trying
to
frighten
him
with meaningless
rubbish?

Several
days
passed
and
Trimmer,
in
his
leisure,
still
vexed
his mind
with
the
conundrum.
He
answered
it
in
a
half
satisfactory manner.
When
night
turned
to
morning
was
technically
twelve o'clock
midnight.
After
that
it
was
called
A.M.,
which
to
him
meant nothing.
Between
the
minute
and
the
hour!
That
must
mean
the minute
before
midnight.
But
why
was
that
his
time?
What
had
she meant
by
her
vague
threat,
if,
indeed,
she
had
meant
anything
at all?