"Oh, I did so want to keep it nice for Jim when 'e comes back! I did! I did! All we've got together. And now it'll all go—bit by bit! And I've worked so 'ard—so very 'ard! An' 'e'll never see, never know 'ow nice it was! Oh—mother!" She could utter no more words, only inarticulate sounds.
The old woman soothed her, stroking her hair.
"There, dear! there, dear! Don't take on! It'll all come right. I can go out again an' do a bit of cleanin'. I daresay Mrs. Smith'll take me on again. I ain't done no work for a long while—sitting 'ere eatin' your bread—I've 'ad a nice rest, I 'ave—I'm quite strong again now. We'll both get somethin', you see, dear!"
The young woman raised herself.
"No!—No!—No!—You shan't work any more!" She turned her head wearily. "I can't make it out. What's happening? Why are they all shutting down like this?"
The old woman looked at her stupidly. The remote causes which made or unmade her unimportant existence were beyond her comprehension.
"What's that?" cried Ann, jumping to her feet. "What's 'e calling?"
The raucous shout of a newsvendor floated up from the street. Ann listened for a moment—and then, after a hurried search for a halfpenny in her purse, dashed out of the door and down the stairs.
She reappeared after a bare minute, brandishing the newspaper, wild-eyed, panting.