Read Online The Girl from Cotton Lane by Harry Bowling - Free Book Online

that it might damage his rather good reputation. As he prided himself on his fair and honest trading, and the high standards which he always maintained except in extenuating circumstances, the ginger-haired totter had decided he should do the right thing by her.
     
    Broomhead shifted his position on the cart and urged his horse on once more to no effect. They had just turned into Bacon Street when he heard a loud voice calling to him and pulled sharply on the reins. The tired horse stopped dead in its tracks and turned its head around to give him a baleful stare. Broomhead looked up in the direction of the shouting and saw a woman leaning out of a window on the top floor of Bacon Buildings.
     
    ‘Yer’ll ’ave ter come down, missus,’ he called out to her, ‘I can’t climb those stairs wiv me bad leg.’
     
    The window was slammed down and Broomhead waited, taking the opportunity of rolling himself a cigarette. Soon a large woman emerged from the block and walked smartly up to his cart.
     
    ‘’Ere, I’ve got one o’ them there gramophone fings,’ she said, looking up at him and slipping her hands into the armholes of her stained flowery apron.
     
    ‘That’s nice,’ Broomhead said in his usual sarcastic manner.
     
    ‘There’s nuffink nice about it,’ the buxom woman told him. ‘My ole man come ’ome pissed last night an’ said ’e wanted ter listen ter a bit o’ music.’
     
    ‘I only wanna sleep when I come ’ome pissed,’ Broomhead informed her.
     
    ‘Well, you ain’t my ole man,’ the woman reminded him. ‘Anyway, what ’appened was, ’e puts this record on the fing an’ winds up the ’andle, an’ guess what?’
     
    ‘Go on, missus, surprise me,’ the totter said unenthusiastically.
     
    ‘Well, there was this almighty bang an’ the bleedin’ fing stopped dead right in the middle o’ the music. Luvverly song it was an’ all. It was fair bringin’ tears ter me eyes,’ the woman went on.
     
    ‘Look, missus, I don’t wanna be rude, but what the bleedin’ ’ell ’as this all gotta do wiv me?’ Broomhead asked with a deep sigh.
     
    ‘My ole man got upset an’ ’e told me ter get rid o’ the bloody fing before ’e got ’ome from work ternight. ’E works on the trams, yer see,’ the woman explained.
     
    ‘I can’t buy busted gramophones, lady,’ the totter said, drawing on his cigarette. ‘’Specially when they go orf bang. When that sort o’ fing ’appens it’s the spring, yer see. Bloody powerful springs they are as well. I knew one bloke who overwound one o’ those gramophones an’ the fing busted. Terrible it was.’
     
    ‘What ’appened?’ the large woman asked, her eyes bulging.
     
    ‘Well, the ’andle spun round an’ sent ’im flyin’ up ter the ceilin’. Poor bleeder split ’is ’ead wide open,’ Broomhead told her. ‘Like a bleedin’ patchwork quilt ’e was, by the time they finished stitchin’ ’im up.’
     
    ‘Oh my Gawd!’
     
    ‘I don’t fink the Lord ’imself could do anyfing about busted springs, lady. There’s nuffink at all yer can do when the spring goes,’ Broomhead said, grinning evilly.
     
    The buxom woman’s face dropped noticeably. ‘Well, I’m in fer a right ’idin’ if I ain’t got that bleedin’ contraption out o’ the ’ouse by the time my Joshua comes ’ome, ’specially if ’e’s bin on the turps again. What am I gonna do?’
     
    ‘Why don’t yer chuck it down in the dustbin?’ he suggested.
     
    ‘I would if I could,’ she said, ‘but it’s so bleedin’ ’eavy. It mus’ go ’alf a bleedin’ ’undredweight.’
     
    Broomhead’s artfulness was working like a treat, and for good effect he rubbed his leg. ‘Well, if this war wound stands up ter walkin’ up those stairs I might be able ter get it down ter the dustbin for yer,’ he said with a grimace. ‘Mind yer, I’m not promisin’ anyfink, yer understand.’
     
    ‘Would yer try?’ she implored him. ‘I’d be