She was more anxious than William to know what loss the
books showed; she was jealous of the profits of his turf account, and when
he laughed at her she said, "But you're never here in the daytime, you do
not have these empty bars staring you in the face morning and afternoon."
And then she would tell him: a dozen pots of beer about dinner-time, a few
glasses of bitter--there had been a rehearsal over the way--and that was
about all.
The bars were empty, and the public-house dozed through the heavy heat of
a summer afternoon. Esther sat behind the bar sewing, waiting for Jackie
to come home from school. William was away at Newmarket. The clock struck
five and Jackie peeped through the doors, dived under the counter, and ran
into his mother's arms.
"Well, did you get full marks to-day?"
"Yes, mummie, I got full marks."
"That's a good boy--and you want your tea?"
"Yes, mummie; I'm that hungry I could hardly walk home."
"Hardly walk home! What, as bad as that?"
"Yes, mummie. There's a new shop open in Oxford Street. The window is all
full of boats. Do you think that if all the favourites were to be beaten
for a month, father would buy me one?"
"I thought you was so hungry you couldn't walk home, dear?"
"Well, mummie, so I was, but----"
Esther laughed. "Well, come this way and have your tea.
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