Read Online Sons and Daughters by Mary Jane Staples - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Jane Staples
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lost his own kind of pronounced English, ‘it’s done that vay in some varehouses.’
‘Warehouses that don’t advertise?’ said Jimmy.
‘We won’t tell your mother,’ said Sammy.
‘Hello, hello,’ wheezed a squeezed set of tonsils, ‘who’s slumming it?’
They turned to find an enormously fat man regarding them out of eyes set in blubber. Beside him was a large lump recognizable to Sammy as a bodyguard.
‘Well, well,’ Sammy said, ‘I think I know you, don’t I? You’re still putting on weight, y’know. How d’you manage it, seeing the rest of us are living on this austerity diet?’
‘Always the second-class funny bugger, are you?’ wheezed Ben Ford, the Fat Man. He turned to his large lump. ‘Ask him what he’s after.’
‘Mr Ford wants to know what you’re after,’ said Large Lump, his jaw looking like old concrete. ‘Tell him.’
Dealers sidled around them as Sammy said, ‘Oh, bits and pieces, y’know.’
‘Tell him to lay off the nylon,’ wheezed the Fat Man.
‘Mr Ford says lay off the nylon,’ said Large Lump.
‘If I might put in a vord,’ said Mr Greenberg, ‘Mr Adams don’t take kindly to being told vhat he can and can’t do.’
‘That’s true, I don’t, normally,’ said Sammy amiably. ‘Still, they’re a lot bigger than we are, Eli, and I can make exceptions.’
‘We’ve come a long way to make exceptions, Dad,’ said Jimmy.
‘Tiny, tell the runt to shut his cakehole,’ wheezed the Fat Man.
‘Button your bleedin’ lip,’ said Large Lump to Jimmy.
‘That’s not friendly,’ said Jimmy.
‘It’s what Mr Ford wants,’ said Large Lump.
‘Oh, well,’ said Sammy, ‘let’s go looking for allowable stuff, Jimmy. Come on, Eli.’
They went looking. The bales of nylon were all on the bottom tier of shelving, together with rayon and very poor quality cotton. Sammy told Jimmy to pencil in certain numbers, and Jimmy did so, using a notebook. The Fat Man moved ponderously around, his wheezy breathing audible among the noise of dealers conferring with each other up above and down below. You bid for those, I’ll bid for these. That sort of thing.
Large Lump was nowhere to be seen, but from the top tier of shelving a bale of rayon, all of a hundredweight, lost its place and came bounding down. Mr Greenberg, a wily old bird who always kept an eye on what he considered suspect, gave Sammy a hefty shove, and the bale thudded to the concrete floor well short of Sammy’s feet.
Sammy controlled reactive shakes and said, ‘Well, who did that, I wonder?’
‘An accident, Sammy, ain’t it?’ said Mr Greenberg.
‘It would’ve been, if it had landed on my loaf of bread,’ said Sammy.
Dealers were looking on with startled eyes. The Fat Man was breathing heavily. Up rushed one of the men from the desk.
‘What the bloody hell happened?’ he bawled, as Large Lump materialized beside the Fat Man.
‘That bale fell off the shelf,’ said Jimmy.
‘Ah, vas it falling or vas it pushed?’ murmured Mr Greenberg.
The bloke from the desk, muttering, inspected the bale, then looked upwards at the top tier. There was an empty hole where the bale had rested, but that was all.
‘Don’t make sense,’ he muttered. ‘Still, no damage to the goods, gents, and by the way, all bids in before two o’clock.’ He returned to the desk.
Sammy looked at the number on the fallen bale of rayon.
‘Twenty-seven, Jimmy,’ he said.
‘Eh?’ said Jimmy.
‘Twenty-seven,’ repeated Sammy very clearly.
‘Oh, right, got you, Dad,’ said Jimmy, and made a note of the number. The Fat Man and his Large Lump looked on from the other side of the shed.
Dealers milled. Sammy, Jimmy and Mr Greenberg slowly traversed the place in a tour of inspection, Jimmy with his notebook at the ready. Now and again, it looked as if Sammy was quoting a rayon bale number.
‘Eli old cock,’ he murmured after a while, ‘accept my gratitude for saving me from going home flat.’
‘My
‘Warehouses that don’t advertise?’ said Jimmy.
‘We won’t tell your mother,’ said Sammy.
‘Hello, hello,’ wheezed a squeezed set of tonsils, ‘who’s slumming it?’
They turned to find an enormously fat man regarding them out of eyes set in blubber. Beside him was a large lump recognizable to Sammy as a bodyguard.
‘Well, well,’ Sammy said, ‘I think I know you, don’t I? You’re still putting on weight, y’know. How d’you manage it, seeing the rest of us are living on this austerity diet?’
‘Always the second-class funny bugger, are you?’ wheezed Ben Ford, the Fat Man. He turned to his large lump. ‘Ask him what he’s after.’
‘Mr Ford wants to know what you’re after,’ said Large Lump, his jaw looking like old concrete. ‘Tell him.’
Dealers sidled around them as Sammy said, ‘Oh, bits and pieces, y’know.’
‘Tell him to lay off the nylon,’ wheezed the Fat Man.
‘Mr Ford says lay off the nylon,’ said Large Lump.
‘If I might put in a vord,’ said Mr Greenberg, ‘Mr Adams don’t take kindly to being told vhat he can and can’t do.’
‘That’s true, I don’t, normally,’ said Sammy amiably. ‘Still, they’re a lot bigger than we are, Eli, and I can make exceptions.’
‘We’ve come a long way to make exceptions, Dad,’ said Jimmy.
‘Tiny, tell the runt to shut his cakehole,’ wheezed the Fat Man.
‘Button your bleedin’ lip,’ said Large Lump to Jimmy.
‘That’s not friendly,’ said Jimmy.
‘It’s what Mr Ford wants,’ said Large Lump.
‘Oh, well,’ said Sammy, ‘let’s go looking for allowable stuff, Jimmy. Come on, Eli.’
They went looking. The bales of nylon were all on the bottom tier of shelving, together with rayon and very poor quality cotton. Sammy told Jimmy to pencil in certain numbers, and Jimmy did so, using a notebook. The Fat Man moved ponderously around, his wheezy breathing audible among the noise of dealers conferring with each other up above and down below. You bid for those, I’ll bid for these. That sort of thing.
Large Lump was nowhere to be seen, but from the top tier of shelving a bale of rayon, all of a hundredweight, lost its place and came bounding down. Mr Greenberg, a wily old bird who always kept an eye on what he considered suspect, gave Sammy a hefty shove, and the bale thudded to the concrete floor well short of Sammy’s feet.
Sammy controlled reactive shakes and said, ‘Well, who did that, I wonder?’
‘An accident, Sammy, ain’t it?’ said Mr Greenberg.
‘It would’ve been, if it had landed on my loaf of bread,’ said Sammy.
Dealers were looking on with startled eyes. The Fat Man was breathing heavily. Up rushed one of the men from the desk.
‘What the bloody hell happened?’ he bawled, as Large Lump materialized beside the Fat Man.
‘That bale fell off the shelf,’ said Jimmy.
‘Ah, vas it falling or vas it pushed?’ murmured Mr Greenberg.
The bloke from the desk, muttering, inspected the bale, then looked upwards at the top tier. There was an empty hole where the bale had rested, but that was all.
‘Don’t make sense,’ he muttered. ‘Still, no damage to the goods, gents, and by the way, all bids in before two o’clock.’ He returned to the desk.
Sammy looked at the number on the fallen bale of rayon.
‘Twenty-seven, Jimmy,’ he said.
‘Eh?’ said Jimmy.
‘Twenty-seven,’ repeated Sammy very clearly.
‘Oh, right, got you, Dad,’ said Jimmy, and made a note of the number. The Fat Man and his Large Lump looked on from the other side of the shed.
Dealers milled. Sammy, Jimmy and Mr Greenberg slowly traversed the place in a tour of inspection, Jimmy with his notebook at the ready. Now and again, it looked as if Sammy was quoting a rayon bale number.
‘Eli old cock,’ he murmured after a while, ‘accept my gratitude for saving me from going home flat.’
‘My
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