iv
Jenny found her father in his bedroom, sitting before the dressing-table upon which a tall candle stood in an equally tall candlestick. He was looking intently at his reflection in the looking-glass, as one who encounters and examines a stranger. In the glass his face looked red and ugly, and the tossed grey hair and heavy beard were made to appear startlingly unkempt. His mouth was open, and his eyes shaded by lowered lids. In a rather trembling voice he addressed Jenny upon her entrance.
“Is supper ready?” he asked. “I heard you come in.”
“Yes, Pa,” said Jenny. “Aren’t you going to brush your hair? Got a fancy for it like that, have you? My! What a man! With his shirt unbuttoned and his tie out. Come here! Let’s have a look at you!” Although her words were unkind, her tone was not, and as she rectified his omissions and put her arm round him Jenny gave her father a light hug. “All right, are you? Been a good boy?”
“Yes ... a good boy....” he feebly and waveringly responded. “What’s the noos to-night, Jenny?”
Jenny considered. It made her frown, so concentrated was her effort to remember.
“Well, somebody’s made a speech,” she volunteered. “They can all do that, can’t they! And somebody’s paid five hundred pounds transfer for Jack Sutherdon ... is it Barnsley or Burnley?... And—oh, a fire at Southwark.... Just the usual sort of news, Pa. No murders....”
“Ah, they don’t have the murders they used to have,” grumbled the old man.
“That’s the police, Pa.” Jenny wanted to reassure him.
“I don’t know how it is,” he trembled, stiffening his body and rising from the chair.