Twinkletoes A Tale Of Limehouse By Thomas Burke NEW YORK ROBERT M. McBRIDE & COMPANY 1919 Copyright, xgiS Robert M. McBride & Company Seamd Edition August ^ igtg PRINTED IN UNITED STATES OF AMERICA Published 1918 To Cranstoun Metcalfe MONICA MINASI was named Twin- kletoes by the teacher at the Council School which she attended in her early years; and you had but to glance at her tempestuous limbs to realize that no other name belonged to her. When she arrived in Shantung Place, Poplar, she had a mother and a father. But within a week she had other friends. Mother at first didn't like her to play in the streets as other children did. She said it would make her grow up rough, and nm in the gutters, and tear her clothes; and that no- body respected a mother who allowed her children to run in the gutters. But there were nice differences in Shantimg Place; it was easy to find a sympathetic set; and when Twinkletoes told her mother how nicely the Matchkey boys and girls behaved, she was allowed to play in the street after school, so long as she didn't nm in the gutter, and came in before dark. 7 Twinkletoes You see, Twinkletoes hadn't got a garden, because she and Mum and Dad lived in one room. Dad worked all day as a sign-writer, but only Twinkletoes seemed to recognize what a wonderful sign-writer he was, be- cause, however hard he worked, he never got much money. And he wanted money; he often told Mum so; not for himself, but in order to give Twinkletoes a good show ; for, as he often said, "If a kid — girl especially — don't get a good send-off these days, she don't never get nowhere." Still Twinkletoes was happy. Living in one room does not necessarily imply living in a piggery, a miserable comer of a miser- able garret, all dirt and disorder. It all depends on the manager. Mum knew all the tricks. That one room was not a pig- gery; no, a snuggery. For a long time Twinkletoes thought it diplomatic to hide the horrid truth, fearing, from what she had overheard between Mum and Dad, that it carried some kind of social outlawry. But 8 Twinklefoes she let' it out gradually to the Matchkey boys and girls, and when Mum said they might come to tea, and when they said they didn't care whether it was one room or Windsor Castle, Twinkletoes touched heaven. The elder Matchkey boy adored her. Her peach-soft face; her nineteen golden curls; her eyes like flowers that made a resting- place for a thousand expressive butterflies; her epigrammatic legs in their darned stock- ings; her black silk coat and the flaming vermilion tam-o'-shanter and the glory that dances about a girl when she is twelve; all thrilled the Matchkey boy as he waited at the gate of the boys' playground at the Council School to see her turn the corner. At dinner-time they would walk home together, turning down side streets to see if Twinkletoes' Dad was working; and when they saw a brown ladder outside a shop they knew that Dad was atop of it, with his palette and his knife and his brush, creating 9 Twinkletoes wonderful golden words, like: The Hope and Anchoe Feee House or The King^s Head Charrington & Go's Entibe or Good Pull Up for Carmen No Connection with the House Opposite And Dad, a little wiry elf like man, would look down at them, and spit, very carefully out of their way, and say : "Well, old Cockalorum, 'ow's she going?" And Twinkletoes would look up, and say: "Ain't my Dad wonderful? Ain't he the cleverest man in the world?" At one o'clock Dad would descend, wipe his hands on the seat of his trousers, and breathe, "Ahl" heavily. "Some day," he would say, "we're going to make money. Young Twinks here 'as got to 'ave a piano, 10 l^winkletoes some'ow. She's got a Lnack for it. Trouble about one room is, you can't get a piano in, even if you can afford one. She 'as to go round to Auntie Alice's to practice now. But, never mind, we'll wangle it 'fore long. We'll 'ave a piano, and a room to put it in, not 'alf we won't. Come on, shavers 1" "Ain't my Dad wonderful?" The Matchkey children agreed that he was, chiefly because, producing little else of value, he had yet produced Twinkletoes, his "old Cockalorum." It was Twinkletoes who had played pianoforte solos at the breaking-up entertainment at the Council School, when the more socially comfortable Matchkeys had listened to glittering pieces of Italian opera, which, to her, were the loveliest music in the world. They were amazed and faint with adoration as they watched those tiny hands fetching clusters of colored unnameable dreams from that magic thing which was a piano. Other children, too, of the Poplar district, were 11 T^winkletoes on that night as the shepherds when the heavenly hosts brought to them a message. "Ain't she a dam queer kid?" chuckled Dad Minasi to the elder Matchkey. "She's going to be something 'fore she finishes, I know. T'other day, f'rinstance, she come running in— I was shaving meself at the time, at the table, and nearly cut meself — I didn't 'alf swear — and out she comes with : *Dad, I've found out 'ow people 'ave babies!' Think of it — a kid like 'er. I don't suppose you know that — eh?" The Matchkey boy blushed, and looked awfully surprised. "But I soon shut her up. *Well,' I says, *if you 'ave, you needn't do a song and dance about it. You aint the only one that knows!' I says. Just like that. Soon shut 'er up. But she's a fair corker, she is. All the time. She'll be something 'ot when she's a bit older, I give yeh my word! Only," he said impres- sively to Matchkey, who gravely responded to the confidence, "what you want nowadays is Influence. Influence. Or Money. Can't 12 r ) T!ivinkletoes do nothing without one or other of *em. Otherwise yeh don't get a chance, sonny. I might V been something if I'd 'ad In- fluence. Or Money. Well, I can't get no influence nowhere, so I've got to get money. Give 'er 'er chance, like. See? She'll be something, you take it from me. Can't tell yeh what. And I don't care much, s'long's she's 'appy. . . . Coming along to tea to- morrow, ain't yeh? Good. You'll 'ave to take pot-luck, y'know. Can't do things in much of a lah-di-dah way in one room, y'know. But any friends of Twinks is wel- come. Toodle-oo, sonny." Living in one room is a preparation for all the highest comforts and deepest struggles of life. Only a genius can make happiness from such rough stuff. And Mum, aided and abetted by Twinkletoes, created happi- ness for the three of them. They were happy in the heroic makeshifts that were impera- tive, and in the gentle content that grew up around them like the nasturtiums that 13 T^winkletoes grew in the box on the window-sill under Twinkletoes' careful hands. The nastur- tiums flourished because there was the sun- shine of Shantung Place to warm them and the water which Twinkletoes carried up two flights of stairs to refresh them. Domestic happiness flourished likewise. Mum allowed the company to make toast for Twinkletoes' first tea-party, and the guests sat round the fire with their hostess, and told their little life-stories and their ambitions. One desired to be a bank manager, because it was nice, clean work. One said he would paint pictures, and the company yellqd derisively. Somebody wanted to do something with engines. But when Twinkletoes was asked what she was going to be she replied patly and firmly: "Going to be a dancer." Nobody laughed; for even the chik felt that the fairies had decided for her. star must have danced when she was borr They sat staring into the fire after tea, 14 T^winkletoes and as they stared into the glowing, hissing mass (for Twinkletoes, with unchallenge- able aplomb, had picked up and carried home some wood blocks from East India Dock Road, where repairs were proceeding) , they dreamed their separate dreams. Wonder- ful visions were given them. They saw bright roads along which they should travel. They saw great enterprises and successes, and the external trappings that, to the minds of Shantung Place, spelt glory. They all wanted to get on. They wanted to have houses of their own and a garden. They wanted clean collars every day. They wanted to go out to "late dinner," as "gentlefolks" in the West did. They wanted to go to theatres — oh, theatres every night for Twinkletoes — and to book their seats instead of waiting outside gallery doors, as they did once a year for the local pantomime at the Quayside. The boys were going to have silk hats and white waistcoats and frock coats for Sundays, and. the girls IS A. Twinkletoes were going to have all the silken frillies that "ladies' children" had; and if they got on wonderfully weU they might ride in hansom cabs sometimes; perhaps they could even keep a servant. All those things they saw, and some of the company have attained their desire. But they did not see, and it was a kindly veil that hid from them, the road that Twinkletoes was to travel. In those days diey were too young prop- erly to know her. She was gracefully old beyond her years. Angel and elf she was, and human, too; so human that she gave to all things and to all men love, after the ecstatic worship reserved for Dad. She never grumbled when times were bad. She laughed when there was no coal in the scuttle; she chirruped when there was no Sunday dinner; and sat instead on Dad's knee, and made him talk of his forlorn past. She forgave all offences, and brought divine merriment to those one-room f eastings and 16 Twinklefoes escapades. She found everything good, and her motto for all seasons and occasions, gurgled deliciously, with not very clean hands clasped to a pinaf ored bosom, was : "Ooh I Ain't people and things Lovely r But those days passed, and with them her circle of friends. Parents "got on," and moved from Poplar to stately suburbs, tak- mg the youngsters and the secret glory that should never be recaptured. When Twinkletoes was twelve, and the Matchkey circle was broken into bits that scattered themselves along North and South London, Mum died. Dad, in a now-or-^never mood, mysteriously and decisively threw up the sign- writing and started a die-stamping business, and money began to reach the Minasi household. They moved from o^e room to a small cottage. Twinkletoes re- ceived long courses in music and dancing, and at fifteen she was leader of a local juvenile dancing troupe, and had forgotten the comrades of her early days. She was a 17 / 1 T!winkletoes woman now, and had begun to** make new friends. Dad had kept his word. They had got that piano, and the room to put it in. Twinkletoes had had her chance, had taken it, and, in a small way, had arrived. "Can*t think where she gets it all from,** Dad would say, when discussing her success with his friends. "Every time I look at *er I feel fair knocked over — ^flabbergasted, like — to think that I did it. Or me and the missus between us. Never thought, that night, that I*d get a kid like this. Wonder 'ow we did it? Must *ave gom upstairs backwards, or something.** 18 I II IN CHINATOWN lurks the Blue Lan- tern, a tavern that was once the haunt of good and gay Bohemians, but is now only used by artists and poets seeking atmosphere. On a grey evening between seasons, in its grand days. Chuck Lightfoot, ex-manager to Battling Burrows, the Poplar Terror, cuddled the counter of its four-ale bar and discoursed to his companion. Hank Hogan, on certain things good to be known concern- ing life and its mysteries. Chuck was haunted by a grief, and was trying vainly to drown it. Gin and coke and chandoo may bless many a bruise, and wipe out many a stain upon the heart of man, but there are some wounds which neither material drugs nor the balm of time can heal. Many beers cannot quench them; neither can the white stuff drown them. Chuck had worked over his with beer, li-un, whisky and powder; yet was it as lively as ever. It throbbed and burned. It racked him. It bled. 19 f Twinkletoes All Poplar knew of his grief, and fellows in the bar would nod and nudge and say: "Old Chuck^s on it again. Silly devil. 'E'U get what's eomin* to 'im, right enough." The trouble was first marked when he ceased to call at the Galloping Horses for a half -pint, of an evening, and took to loung- ing in the Blue Lantern, swigging pints of the Old. This evening he put down six in as many minutes; then smashed his pewter on the bar and called for more. "Enough to make a chap go on the bat," he explained to Hank, "what I bin through the last month or two . . ." "At," said Hank, a little fellow with a deprecating manner and a deceptive face of bovine stupidity crowned with explosive red hair. "I should say so." And Chuck took his tankard, and gulped largely, as though swallowing something more potent and sub- stantial than the Lantern's Old. 20 \. T!ivinkletoes *!I bin in 'ell," he stated, in a voice that sucd^eeded in being anguished without being absiird. " 'Ell. Nothing less."* "i^T," said Hank. Thfe lights of Chinatown across the way stammered through the dusk. Songs and smokesVurled from the Quarter. Strange kisses aii\fl embraces hung on every breath of air, an(ti in that evening hour pale arms seemed to fnvite to remote, forbidden beau- ties. Agaiiist these forces, the frankly lighted electric cars, tearing towards Aid- gate, joined in level combat. Chuck finish«3d his eighth, let the dregs slip slackly to thafloor, and shook a hammer- like arm at nothing. "Christ almighty! Blast everything." "Oh, I dunno," said Hank, between swigs. "Why everything? Seems to me . . ." "What th'ell d'you knov- about it?" "Well, I thought ..." "Huh." Chuck flung awky from him and came swiftly back. He spread disdain- 21 < i / / Twinkletoes ful hands. He tapped Hank on the crfest. "What'd you say 'f you 'eard of a chafp of twenty-nine in love with a girl of fourtiien?" "I'd say same as everyone. I'd say it was all blasted rot. I'd say 'e was barmy-. Or a dirty beast. Orf 'is rocker. Nobodjy else'd wanter love a kid." "Oh." Chuck sucked a Woodbin/». "That's what you think. I thought it's/ what you would think," he said, after ^'lifting and setting down an empty pewter. / "Shows 'ow blasted much you know about it. Why can't a man fall in love with ^ a girl in short frocks and still be all rightl' Tell me that, old son. Why can't 'e ? jEh ?" "Why, because 'e . . . ." Hank sought for explanations. In /his plain mind the answer was fairly obvious ; yet when he came to make it he realised that it could not be made. He was right, he knew. But what was the reason? "Why, *cos 'e . . . 'cos she . . . I^mean, anyone can see that it ain't— that 'e can't. There ain't notliing in 22 w ? \ T!winkletoes I t it. Course 'e wouldn't," he jerked, in the 'futile anger of a man who is asked to prove / conclusively that white is white. I ''Well, yer wrong," said Chuck huskily. I "Am I barmy?" \ "Not yet. But yeh will be if yeh keep this 'ere game up much longer." He patted le bar with a hairy hand, and his moist eyes jcame moister with affection. "I'm old jnoi^gh to be yer father. Chuck. Why don't yeh drink steady, like me? You 'ad a good , job what you lorst through this, and I dimno what'll be the end of yeh. I've 'ad my time. This 'ere bar's my waitin'-room, like. But -,-^yQ U> lad — fer Christ's sake pull yesself to- gether." '~^^No good. If you'd bin through what I'm going through . . ." "I 'ave, old sport, and I'm still 'ere." "I ain't barmy, and I ain't a beast. But I love old Minasi's kid — like I dimno what. For the last two years. Never loved any- thing like this before. Fifteen, she is now 23 T^winkletoes — ^nearly sixteen — ^and me — ^I'm twenty-nine. And married. But I*d die if I could save that kid the least bit of pain or — do any- thing she wanted done, like. 'Elp 'er in any way. Absolutely." Hank stared, convinced that Chuck was very drunk, yet feeling the truth was coming out of the tankard. Chuck caught the look. "Oh, I know. I know it's all — kind o* wrong. And yet — oh, I know." He waved inarticulate arms. "Yeh can't tell me noth- ing about the pleading business that I ain't already thought of. I love young Twinkle- toes. There's an end of it. And I can't eat or sleep or do anything. Old bloke — I've woke up in the night, and found meself blubbing." He folded his arms, leant to the bar, and examined his brown-booted feet. "Oh, Christ I" he snapped, in such a voice that old Dickery-Dock, the landlord, looked across in some concern. "I love 'er. 'Ow she goes about the streets every day and everybody don't fall in love 24 Twinkletoes with 'er I dunno. 'Ank — 'ave you seen that little black frock she wears, and the way it crumples up? 'Ave you seen those yellow curls of 'ers ? And 'er little brown shoes and stockings? And the way she smiles at yeh? YouVe seen 'er dance, ain't you, at the Quayside? . . . Gaw. If we could only get away somewhere — ^just for an hour or two — so's I could be near 'er, alone, and talk to 'er. I don't want to touch 'er. She's too — kind of 'oly. You ain't ever loved no one. Else you'd know. Not proper." " "Oh. Ain't I?" "But I can't even take 'er for a tram ride. People 'd talk. Blast their dirty minds. . . . Oh, of course, it's all out o' joint. Nobody 'd understand 'ow I can 'ear 'er voice all day long through everything, and 'ow every- where I look I see 'er face. On the floor ; on the wall; in the sky; even in the bottoni of this bloody, dirty tankard. Gimme another, Dickery, She comes to the Works nearly every day, and if she stands near me, or *er 25 Twinkletoes frock touches me, I feel, when she's gom, like as though she'd wrenched me arm or me ear orf . What'm I going to do?" "You bett' go away," said Hank, in the level tones of one perfunctorily offering ad- vice, which he knows will not be accepted. "Betf go away. Knock orf this jag game, ' and git orf to the Forest, and go in training for a bit. Out at Chingford or Lamboum End. Get the Duke to go wi' yeh, and do some stiff work on the ball." "Huh. If this is love. Gawd 'elp anyone in love, I 'ang round 'er 'ouse sometimes, though it 'urts like 'ell. . . . Oh, what's it bin and 'appened to me for? Why me? . . . Drink up and 'ave another. Dickeryl" "Yer in a rotten state," said Hank; "but there y'are — that's always the way." He drank up and had another, and as his little eyes hovered over the rim of his mug he remarked: "Ar. Talk of the devil. There goes the kid over t'other side. Just caught 'er out the comer o* me eye/* 26 T^winkletoes Chuck shot his drink to the counter, tip- toed, and peered over the ground-glass portion of the Lantern's window. Sailing towards Chinatown was a child as lovely and as insolently happy as a lyric. Torrents of bright curls foamed about her shoulders, and the black silk frock clung to her young beauty as though it loved her. The mirror- like candour of her face, undimmed by any breath of the world's abominations, reflected nothing but the serene joy of the moment. Remote seemed her glory from that mephitic chaos. Timid as a wraith that may melt at a touch, she seemed too fragile even for childhood; and the mind shrank from the thought that the deflowering hand of man should rest upon this phantom of a dream. As Chuck watched her the light of love- madness was in his eyes, and a tense pain was about his lips. He made noises when he noted the glances which the Asiatics turned upon this filigree toy, and the innocently flirtatious smiles with which she responded. 27 '•* T!winkletoes More tender of soul than most men, he dared not dream of possessing her ; of lacing arms about her; of pressing lip to lip; though every fibre of his being ached for her. His eyes fell upon the soft fruit of her face. He strained his ears to catch the sound of her crystal voice, and when he heard her cry, "Suffering Jesus I" as she narrowly es- caped falling over a cat, he longed to answer it. When she disappeared into the Cause- way his hands dropped ; he turned away his head, snatched angrily at his mug and drank and drank. " 'Ere, 'alf a mo," said Hank suddenly, when a double gin followed the last tankard. "Put the brake on, lad. I ain't a-arguing with yeh; I'm a- telling of yehl" Chuck spluttered wild oaths. The physi- cal nausea that accompanies great grief had gripped him. His fingers clutched nothing. The reek of the sawdust bar swam about his nose. The lights swam about his eyes in conflict with the half-gloom of the streets. 28 1 f Twinkletoes He stared solemnly at Hank, and noted, without wonder, that Hank was leaping grotesquely from floor to ceiling. "Why can't yeh keep still?" he shouted. Dickery Dock came forward. "Push 'im -ome, 'Ank," he said consider- ately. " 'E's got a skate on." "That's me. Alwis comes on me, don't it? Reckon I seen every one of the boys 'ome one time or another. Eh?" "I dessay. Wonderful what you could give away, 'f yeh started talking, 'Ank. Winter sports — seeing the Lantern boys "ome." He made a snort which served for a chuckle. "Ought to write in the papers, 'Ank. Remensensees of the Blue Lantern. By 'Ank," He exploded. "Shove on, sporty. Get 'im away. 'Ere — 'ave one on me — ^a quick one." Hank set Chuck on a wooden bench, swal- lowed the quick one, looped an arm in the lad's and dragged him through the swing- ing door. 29 Twinkletoes The swift air from the river smote Chuck's damp face. "I'm awri'. I'll go 'long 'ome, now. Don' you bother." He braced him- self, and set his feet widely apart. The Lascars, parading the streets with their customary, pathetic air of being lost, glanced curiously at him. He threw Hank's arm away. "Christawmighty," he sobbed. "When's it going to end?" Hank turned about with a platitude on his lips. But Chuck was gone. Mrs. Lightfoot, to whose quick ears these things had come, had passed her thirtieth year, and, like all women of the district, at that age was old and haggard. She was a large, blonde woman, thin lipped. She had long arms, with cruel, cold hands, and honey- colored hair. Neglected by the well-knit Chuck, she began to be angry before she was sorrowful. She shut herself up at home in bed with halfpenny novelettes and strong tea, and ruminated, while Chuck she knew 30 Twinkletoes was going his evil ways and assuaging the eternal grief of things at the Blue Lantern. Once a sweet and mild fellow, as so many pugilists are, he had become, under his sorrow, vindictive ; and Cissie knew it. It was Cissie who leaned from the window of their cottage and witnessed his blasphe- mous search for his home. "Blast 'im. Boozing up over that kid, I s'pose. Curse the filthy little wretch. Damn silly to be jealous of a kid, but . . . Oh, I'll fix her some time. I'll fix her." She heard his fumbling feet on the stair. Then his face, now gone flaccid, popped round the doorway. "Well, boozey? Seen yer baby sweet- heart?" she cried cruelly. "Levant — ^you. Find a street and take a walk." "Pitty ickle sing," she sang. "Rock-a- bye-baby — on the . . ." " 'Nough o' that. Else I'll mark yeh." "You do, me lad. It won't pay yeh." .^1 l^winkletoes "Cut it. Ain't I 'ad enough 'ell, trying to keep straight through this business 'cos o' you, without 'aving to put up with your cackle ? Stifle it. Else lay an egg an' done with it." He stood over her, grotesquely furious. " 'Ow d'you talk to yer baby? Wassums darly-warly going bye-bye all aloney? I s'pose you'd like to go . . ." Chuck lurched from the wall, grabbed a glass from the table and flung it. It struck Cissie on the mouth. Blood appeared on her lips. She stood up, swaying in the crowding glooms. She laughed in spasms, without mirth. Chuck moved towards her, his face brutalised, his body tense. She laughed again. "Don't like my cackle, don't yeh? Rather I laid an egg ? You look out, me lad." Her voice cracked. Nose and chin were joined by uncomely lines. Her hair tumbled. "Else I may lay an egg'' she screamed, "that'll make you look silly I" 32 T^winkletoes He lurched nearer, but she seized the poker with swift hands and poised it. For a few minutes they waited watchfully. Then Chuck made ungainly movements, and found the door. "What a life I Gawd, what a life I" He slithered across the passage to his room. Cissie helped herself to beer, noisily, from a jug. 33 Ill TWINKLETOES, the pocket Venus, the little comrade of all Poplar, flitted, in a cloud of lace and yellow hair, from West India Dock Road to Penny- fields. Her clothes had that touch of dis- orderly smartness which belongs to the clothes of stage children. So lightly did she move that her feet seemed to kiss the pave- ments, those pavements she had loved ever since she had walked. The evening noise of Chinatown was on the air ; its acrid tang bit nose and lips. A goods train from the Docks crawled wearily across the Arches. From the river came a voice giving an indecent chantey to a rush of chains and pulley-ropes. Sirens screamed. In a seamen's home faint fingers plucked a melancholy guitar. The brightest and best of the monkeys of the evening paraded the solemn road, brushing shoulders with cat- like Hindoos, jungle- footed Dyaks, and non- descript vagabonds from the Pacific wastes. 34 Twinkletoes The black men looked at none of the women^ they scanned appreciatively every lovely child whose white-socked legs flittered through the blue twilight. By day or by dark these streets are scarcely such as one would build one's dreams upon. By day, the impudent sunshine falls upon them, stripping them of their secrets. By night, grey shadows crowd fearfully upon one another. Cold, lean streets turn sharply away, slinking, with malicious eagerness, to nowhere. There are long, faltering streets ; brisk, bold streets; mischievous passages and labyrinthine burrows. There are high blocks of houses, apparently inaccessible, showing humane windows across the roofs of others. - But to Twinkletoes all was beautiful. Only once was she j arred, when, as she darted through the alleys, there came off the evening breeze a child's scream, a wail of entreaty, and anomalous noises. "Suffering Jesus I" she snapped. "Old 35 Twinkletoes Mother Adnitt torturing that kid again. Sh^ wants pins stuck in 'er." She had a low flash-point of temper; was explosively good-natured, explosively com- bative; and cruelty made her sick. It seemed to her so silly that people should dis- turb a beautiful world, twisting into wicked shapes the mind that God made so fairly. She knew how beautiful it could be, and she lived to make it more beautiful still. She danced what she saw, and when she saw cruelty she danced that, so that other people might feel as sick as she did, and, she hoped, stop it. People and things were lovely, and Poplar was lovely, and she hated Mrs. Adnitt for spoiling perfection. Turning into a passage leading fr6m Mandarin Court, she disappeared through a furtive doorway. She was in the Works, the old Dad's Works, the die-stamping busi- ness, and her troubles slipped from her. Not once in four years had she missed her daily visit to this little comer of delight. Strangers 36 Twinkletoes would have found it dull and squalid and odorous ; but there were half-a-dozen people in Poplar to whom it was a centre of vibrant interest. Twinkletoes loved it because it was Dad's ; she had a proprietary as well as romantic attachment to it. Everything con- nected with Dad was beautiful. When she thought of him she thought of all that was brave and sweet and strong: of Handel's LargOj or Beethoven's Fifth Symphony^ or Schubert's SongSj for, as it was through music that she expressed herself, it was only to music that she could turn for illustration of her emotions. Dad had started these Works, and it was the Works that had pro- vided the means of her education in music and dancing. The interest of others had a different basis. Men would call there during the day and evening; some splendidly dressed, with just that over-attention to detail that marked them from what they desired to be; others, unclean, in tatters and slops. All entered 37 Twinkletoes casually, with an air of "dropping in," to pass the time of day, though, by tactful stages, they descended with Dad to the base- ment, and remained sometimes half-an-hour, sometimes two and three hours. Dad would receive them with his usual chuckle and "Wow- wow, me old Cocka- lorum," and would speed them on their way with gushes of laughter and timely persi- flages. But there were intervals, in the basement, of lively seriousness. When Twinkletoes entered he was climb- ing the ladder stair from below. He wore trousers and shirt, with sleeves rolled up. His hands were stained with acid, his ex- pression ruminative. But at the sight of Twinkletoes his face split to a j oyous grin. "Cheerio I" she cried. "Blast these old apples-and-pears of yours — I nearly slipped. Why don't yeh get 'em mended? Well, how's the old pot-and-pan?" "I'm all right," he /answered. "How's the Gawd-forbid?" 35' jf -^ \ I / Twinkletoes "Oh, I'm the Big Noise. Same as usual. No complaints. I'm the live wire, I am. Danger on the line for anyone who touches me without rubber gloves. How's biz?" "Coming in good and plenty. 'Ad yer tea?" "You bet. And a drop o' Lincoln's Inn with it." "Marv'lous kid, ain't you," he chuckled, rumpling her cloak of curls. "Well, Roseleaf said I was slack last night in the Autumn dance. So I thought I'd have a snifter to put me on song and get the juice running properly. • . . Well, boys, how is it?" The two assistants made non-committal noises. Shall I cook for you? Or ain't you through yet?" Oh, we're through. Go ahead, Twinks." Fair leading 'em on, that's what you are, Twinks," said Dad. "Hiking 'em down the broad and gay white road. Look at 'em 39 ((i ((- ^winkletoes — look at young Perce there — fair wasting away. Look at me — I don't dope, and I could lift 'em both with one hand." "Chuck it, Dad," said Twinkletoes. "If it amuses *em, let 'em 'ave it. We were sent here to be happy, and if it makes 'em happy they've a right to it, so long's it don't hurt no one else." Old Dad Minasi was a man of simple tastes. He liked beer better than wine. He preferred Red Seal to Grand Marnier, ^e chose to live in Poplar rather than Stamford Hill. He liked shag better than a Cabanas ; beef and mutton better than bird ; and bread and cheese better than either; and when he took Twinkletoes for a ride on the tram to- wards the Forest he was as near heaven as he desired to be. With simple food and drink and her society, life was, for him, a bit of all right. And he would chortle mirth- fully every hour: "Gawd is love I Hearts are tnunps!" He couldn't understand the dope trick, 40 Twinkletoes and he watched with amusement as Twinkle- toes danced to a cupboard and produced a lay out, a lamp, a toey filled with hop, two pipes, a yen-shi-gow, and a yen-hok. She lit the lamp and roasted the stuff, delicately working it until it reached the right con- sistency. Then she fixed it to the pipes and handed one to each boy. "There y'are. Good 'unting, old boys.*' The overwhelming sweetness of the discharged gases made old Dad sniff scornfully, but the boys lapped it luxuriously. They lay on the floor, their coats serving as pillows, and followed the amiable meditations upon the flesh which the hop invoked. As they lay there, the younger of the two, called Perce, his face already assuming a parchment surface after three years of the pipe, watched Twinkletoes as she fluttered about the workshop. His eyelids drooped. His eyes became as the bright blue beads of the lamps: pin-points of phosphorescence. His fingers curled at the bamboo stem of his 41 Twinkletoes pipe. He absorbed the lyrical flow of her upright figure, and the chiming colors of her dress, and the swift play of her apple-blossom arms. The meaning behind his gaze could no more be interpreted than the thought behind a cat's eyes. Just then the latch lifted. Dad darted roimd with a movement of apprehension that would have puzzled Twinkletoes had she seen it. Chuck Lightfoot walked in. As he entered he caught the smoker's fixed stare. He said nothing, but his nose twitched. "Got the boodle?" Dad asked. Chuck grunted. "A few. I planted a lot more up West. Met Wallopy and Pim^ lico Pete. P^te took some, and Wallopy wangled the big 'uns. They got away with it all right." "Good biz. That'll be greens for dinner. 'Ave a cup of you-and-me? I'm hashing some up here." "Righto." "This new lot's the goods, ain't it?" Dad 42 ^winkletoes C( 9' > But Twinkletoes was not listening. She stood limply, with a distant expression on her face. "I want Chuck," she said stupidly. "I tell you 'e ain't 'ere. You're going to stop with me now, and I'll see that you don't get into any further mischief. You'll be all right with me, dearie." She looked fondly at the child, and found herself all-of- a-trembling at the limitless prospect before her. The forlorn, helpless figure set her pulses leaping as though some strange beast were inside her. "No, I want Chuck. I want to talk to 233 T^winkletoes Chuck. Ain't 'e coming back 'ere soon?" "No, I tell yeh. Come 'ere to me, child." "I must find Chuck. I must." "No, you mustn't. You're not going out again to-day, me lady. If no one else won't look after yeh, I will. And later on you'll thank me. You'll thank me for taking care of yeh. You're going to be my little girl now, and now I've got you 'ere you'll stay 'ere. You bad girl. If you think you're going off gallivanting again to-night, you're wrong. Just because yer Dad's gom, don't think yeh can do what yeh like. Them that's older'n you will 'ave to look after you and stop you from doing dirty tricks that'll lead you to don't know what. My 'usband worked fer your Dad, so the least I can do is to look after the boss' kid." Oh, don't. I want Chuck." It'5 all through yer Dad's spoiling you that yeh've gom wrong. I'm going to make it my business to see that yeh don't go wrong again. See, child? And when you've got 234 < \ /