Read Online Gaslight in Page Street by Harry Bowling - Free Book Online
Authors: Harry Bowling
Ads: Link
was on the ’orsean’-carts, ’ Sara said, grinning happily at Carrie.
The Tanner girl looked at the pale drawn face of her friend and smiled kindly. ‘Next time my dad takes me ter get the bales of ’ay, I’m gonna ask ’im if yer can come wiv us,’ she said.
‘Would ’e really take me as well?’ Sara asked, her dark-circled eyes lighting up.
‘I ’spect ’e will,’ Carrie said confidently. ‘We can ’ave a lemonade an’ ride up on top o’ the load. It’s really luvverly.’
Sara squeezed her friend’s arm. ‘You’re my bestest friend, Carrie,’ she said, her face beaming.
Carrie suddenly felt a sadness which seemed to clutch at her insides and tighten her throat as she looked into her friend’s pallid face. Sara lived in Bacon Street Buildings and her father, who had been crippled in an accident at the docks, was reduced to selling bits and pieces from a suitcase at the markets. Her mother took in washing and scrubbed floors in an effort to provide for her five children, and as Sara was the eldest she had unavoidably become the household drudge. Life was not very nice for her, Carrie thought, squeezing her friend’s arm in a spontaneous show of sympathy. Well, she was going to make sure Sara accompanied her on the next trip to Wanstead. She would speak to her father about it as soon as she got home.
The carts swung into Page Street and as they slowed at the firm’s gates Carrie and Sara jumped down. The Tanner girl stood beside her front door until her friend reached the end of the turning, then after exchanging waves she went into the house.
Once inside the yard the two carmen unhitched their horses and led them to the watering trough to let them drink their fill before settling them into the stalls. When the empty carts had been manhandled out of the way back up against the end wall, and the harness hung in the shed, Soapy and Sharkey walked up to the office and peered in.
‘Seen Will Tanner?’ Soapy asked, scratching the back of his head.
Horace Gallagher looked up from the ledger and peered over his thick-lensed spectacles at Soapy. ‘He’s at the farrier’s. I don’t know when he’ll be back,’ he said irritably.
Soapy looked at Sharkey and pulled a face. ‘Let’s sort dopey Jack out, Sharkey. ’E might ’ave some tea brewin’,’ he said, grinning.
The two sauntered from the office over to the rickety shed at the end of the yard and looked in. The place was a mess, with brooms and buckets scattered around everywhere. On the bench beneath the dust-covered window was an assortment of well-worn harness straps that the yard man was in the process of repairing. Of Jack Oxford there was no sign.
‘P’raps the lazy ole sod’s takin’ a nap, Soapy,’ Sharkey said, aiming a kick at the nearest bucket.
‘Let’s go up the loft. That’s where ’e’ll be, it’s a dead cert,’ Soapy replied.
The two carmen walked up the ramp and entered the chaff store. The belt-driven chaff-cutting contraption had been installed by George Galloway after he had seen a month’s bills for feedstuffs. It was driven by a leather belt which ran from the flywheel of a steam engine housed in the shed below. The cutter was a large, square contraption with revolving blades. From its funnel chopped hay was spewed out into sacks. Around the machine there were a few bales of uncut hay and in one corner loose stalks had been piled into a heap. Bedded down in them was Jack Oxford. He was lying on his back, snoring loudly, his cap pulled over his face and his hands clasped together on his chest.
‘Look at the lazy, dopey ole git,’ Soapy said, picking up a piece of wood that was resting against the cutter.
Sharkey grabbed Soapy’s arm and put a finger to his lips. ‘’Ere, let’s ’ave a lark. C’mon.’
Soapy followed his friend back down the ramp, puzzlement showing on his hawklike features. ‘Where we goin’?’ he
The Tanner girl looked at the pale drawn face of her friend and smiled kindly. ‘Next time my dad takes me ter get the bales of ’ay, I’m gonna ask ’im if yer can come wiv us,’ she said.
‘Would ’e really take me as well?’ Sara asked, her dark-circled eyes lighting up.
‘I ’spect ’e will,’ Carrie said confidently. ‘We can ’ave a lemonade an’ ride up on top o’ the load. It’s really luvverly.’
Sara squeezed her friend’s arm. ‘You’re my bestest friend, Carrie,’ she said, her face beaming.
Carrie suddenly felt a sadness which seemed to clutch at her insides and tighten her throat as she looked into her friend’s pallid face. Sara lived in Bacon Street Buildings and her father, who had been crippled in an accident at the docks, was reduced to selling bits and pieces from a suitcase at the markets. Her mother took in washing and scrubbed floors in an effort to provide for her five children, and as Sara was the eldest she had unavoidably become the household drudge. Life was not very nice for her, Carrie thought, squeezing her friend’s arm in a spontaneous show of sympathy. Well, she was going to make sure Sara accompanied her on the next trip to Wanstead. She would speak to her father about it as soon as she got home.
The carts swung into Page Street and as they slowed at the firm’s gates Carrie and Sara jumped down. The Tanner girl stood beside her front door until her friend reached the end of the turning, then after exchanging waves she went into the house.
Once inside the yard the two carmen unhitched their horses and led them to the watering trough to let them drink their fill before settling them into the stalls. When the empty carts had been manhandled out of the way back up against the end wall, and the harness hung in the shed, Soapy and Sharkey walked up to the office and peered in.
‘Seen Will Tanner?’ Soapy asked, scratching the back of his head.
Horace Gallagher looked up from the ledger and peered over his thick-lensed spectacles at Soapy. ‘He’s at the farrier’s. I don’t know when he’ll be back,’ he said irritably.
Soapy looked at Sharkey and pulled a face. ‘Let’s sort dopey Jack out, Sharkey. ’E might ’ave some tea brewin’,’ he said, grinning.
The two sauntered from the office over to the rickety shed at the end of the yard and looked in. The place was a mess, with brooms and buckets scattered around everywhere. On the bench beneath the dust-covered window was an assortment of well-worn harness straps that the yard man was in the process of repairing. Of Jack Oxford there was no sign.
‘P’raps the lazy ole sod’s takin’ a nap, Soapy,’ Sharkey said, aiming a kick at the nearest bucket.
‘Let’s go up the loft. That’s where ’e’ll be, it’s a dead cert,’ Soapy replied.
The two carmen walked up the ramp and entered the chaff store. The belt-driven chaff-cutting contraption had been installed by George Galloway after he had seen a month’s bills for feedstuffs. It was driven by a leather belt which ran from the flywheel of a steam engine housed in the shed below. The cutter was a large, square contraption with revolving blades. From its funnel chopped hay was spewed out into sacks. Around the machine there were a few bales of uncut hay and in one corner loose stalks had been piled into a heap. Bedded down in them was Jack Oxford. He was lying on his back, snoring loudly, his cap pulled over his face and his hands clasped together on his chest.
‘Look at the lazy, dopey ole git,’ Soapy said, picking up a piece of wood that was resting against the cutter.
Sharkey grabbed Soapy’s arm and put a finger to his lips. ‘’Ere, let’s ’ave a lark. C’mon.’
Soapy followed his friend back down the ramp, puzzlement showing on his hawklike features. ‘Where we goin’?’ he
Similar Books
