But Mother Jenkins had no time to spare.She had found the very thing for Pinkey,and led the way to the servants'quarters,hidden at the back of the house.Pinkey's visions of grandeur fled at the sight.The rooms were small,and a sour smell hung on the air,the peculiar odour of servants'rooms where ventilation is unknown.Pinkey recognized the curtains and drapes at a glance,the pick of a suburban rag-shop.One room was as bare as a prison cell,merely a place to sleep in,but the next was royally furnished with a wardrobe,toilet-table,and washstand,solid and old-fashioned like the generation it had outlived.By its look it had descended in regular stages from the bedrooms of the family to the casual guests'room and then to the servants.But Pinkey had seen nothing so beautiful at home,and her heart swelled at the thought of possessing such genteel furniture.Mother Jenkins explained that with a lick of furniture polish they would look as good as new,but Pinkey's only fear was that they would be too expensive.Then the dealer reckoned that she could get the lot for seven pounds.The only rivals she feared were women who,if they set their heart on anything,sometimes forced the price up till you could buy it for less in the shop.
Meanwhile the sale had begun,and in the distance Pinkey could hear the monotonous voice of the auctioneer forcing the bids up till he reached the limit.From time to time there was a roar of laughter as he cracked a joke over the heads of his customers.The buyers stood wedged like sardines in the room,craning their necks to see each lot as it was put up.As the crowd moved from room to room,Pinkey's excitement increased.
Mother Jenkins had gone to the kitchen,where she always found a few pickings.She came back and found Pinkey's husband,the young man with the ugly face and dancing eyes,who was waiting outside with the cart,watching while Pinkey polished a corner of the wardrobe to show him its quality.She hurried them down to the kitchen to examine the linoleum on the floor,as it would fit their dining-room,if the worn parts were cut out.
The crowd moved like a mob of sheep into the servants rooms,standing in each other's way,tired of the strain on their attention.Mother Jenkins whispered that things would go cheap because the auctioneer was in a hurry to get to his lunch.Pinkey stood behind her,ready to poke her in the ribs if she wished her to keep on bidding.
"Now,gentlemen,"said the auctioneer,"lot one hundred and seventy-five.
Duchesse wardrobe,dressing-table with bevelled mirrors,and marble-top washstand,specially imported from England by Mrs Harper.What am Ioffered?"
"Specially imported from England?"cried a dealer."Yes,came out in the first fleet.""What's that?"cried the auctioneer."Thank you for telling me,Mr Isaacs."And he began again:"What offer for this solid ash bedroom suite,imported in the first fleet,guaranteed by Mr Isaacs,who was in leg-irons and saw it."There was a roar of laughter at the dealer's discomfiture.
"Now,Mr Isaacs,how much are you going to bid,for old times'sake?"cried the auctioneer,pushing his advantage.But Isaacs had turned sulky.
"A pound,"said Mother Jenkins.
"No,mother,you don't mean it,"cried the auctioneer,grinning.
"That'll leave you nothing to pay your tram fare home."But he went on:
"I'm offered a pound for this solid ash bedroom suite that cost thirty guineas in London."The bids crawled slowly up to six pounds.
"It's against you,mother,"cried the auctioneer;"don't let a few shillings stand in the way of your getting married.I knew the men couldn't leave you alone with that face.Thank you,six-five."The old hag showed her toothless gums in a hideous smile,the woman that was left in the dried shell still tickled at the reference to marriage.
But her look changed to one of intense pain as Pinkey,trembling with excitement,nudged her violently in the ribs as a signal to keep on bidding.However,there was no real opposition,and the bidding stopped suddenly at seven pounds,forced up to that price by a friend of Mother Jenkins's to increase her commission.
In the kitchen the auctioneer lost his temper,and knocked down to Mother Jenkins enough pots and pans to last Pinkey a lifetime for ten shillings before the others could get in a bid.Chook,who had borrowed Jack Ryan's cart for the day,drove off with his load in triumph,while Pinkey went with Mother Jenkins to her shop in Bathurst Street to sort out her curtains,bed-linen,and crockery from that extraordinary collection.
Twenty pounds would pay for the lot,and leave a few shillings over.
One Saturday morning,two years ago,Pinkey had set out for the factory as usual,and had come home to dinner with her wages in her handkerchief and a wedding ring on her finger.Mrs Partridge gave up novelettes for a week when she learned that her stepdaughter had married Chook that morning at the registry office.Partridge had taken the news with a look that had frightened the women;the only sign of emotion that he had given was to turn his back without a word on his favourite daughter.Since then they had lived with Chook's mother,as he had no money to furnish;but last month Chook had joined a syndicate of three to buy a five-shilling sweep ticket,which,to their amazement,drew a hundred-pound prize.With Chook's share they had decided to take Jack Ryan's shop in Pitt Street just round the corner from Cardigan Street.It was a cottage that had been turned into a shop by adding a false front to it.The rent,fifteen shillings a week,frightened Chook,but he reserved ten pounds to stock it with vegetables,and buy the fittings from Jack Ryan,who had tried to conduct his business from the bar of the nearest hotel,and failed.If the money had run to Jack's horse and cart,their fortunes would have been made.
