3
“Mother, why did you pile it on?”
They would soon be down at the corner of Banbury Park where the tram lines ended and the Favorite omnibuses were standing in the muddy road under the shadow of the railway bridge. Through the jingling of the trams, the dop-dop of the hoofs of the tram-horses and the noise of a screaming train thundering over the bridge, Miriam made her voice heard, gazing through the spotted veil at her mother’s quivering features.
“They might have made me do all sorts of things I can’t do.”
Mrs. Henderson’s voice, breathless with walking, made a little sound of protest, a narrowed sound that told Miriam her amusement was half annoyance. The dark, noisy bridge, the clatter and rattle and the mud through which she must plunge to an omnibus exasperated her to the limit of her endurance.
“I’d got the post,” she said angrily; “you could see it was all settled and then you went saying those things.”
Glancing at the thin shrouded features she saw the faint lift of her mother’s eyebrows and the firmly speechless mouth.
“Piccadilly—jump on, chickie.”
“Let’s go outside now it’s fine,” said Miriam crossly.
Reaching the top of the omnibus she hurried to the front seat on the left hand side.