“Just goin’,” the girl answered.
“They’re doin’ a big trade at No. 8 the night,” said the woman.
“I’m not wantin’ to hear; it’s nothing to me.”
The caretaker smiled, showing her teeth, sharp as a dog’s and in a good state of preservation.
“I’m only just tellin’ ye,” said the woman. “I suppose ye ken, lassie, that half the rooms up this stair are lyin’ idle, wi’ no yin to take them. What is the reason for that? I’ll tell ye. Some people, decent folk, ye ken, will not come to sic a place because they dinna like women of the kind at No. 8. If these two women were put away, this landing would be fillt ev’ry night. But I let the women stay. Why’s that? Because I like fair play. Give everyone a chance to live, is what I say. And they’re makin’ guid siller, them twa lassies at No. 8. Three pounds a night between them sometimes. And I wouldna turn them oot; wouldna do it for wurl’s, because I like fair play. But as ye ken yersel’, they must pay me a little more than other lodgers.”
“What do ye want me to pay extra?” asked Norah in a hard voice. “Tell me at once and leave me to meself.” “Say half and half,” answered the red-haired woman, glaring covertly at the Irish girl. “That’ll be fair, for ye’ll earn the money very easy, so to speak. And then ye can stay here as long as ye like. I wouldna turn ye oot, no for onything, because I like fair play. It’s not ev’ry house, ye ken, that would.... But ye know what I mean. I wish ye good-night, and I’ll make a note of all the men that come up. And if the police come along I’ll gi’e ye the wink. Good-night and good luck!”
The woman went out, but presently poked her red wisps in again. “I’ll take it that every man I see comin’ in here gies ye five bob. If they gie ye more ye can tell me; but five bob’ll be the least, and half and half is fair play. Good-night; good-night and good luck!”
“A dirty hag she is!” said old Meg, who had been listening at the door during the conversation and who now came into the room. “Dirty! and her makin’ piles of tin. Full of money she is and so is the woman that owns the buildin’. Mrs. Crawford they cry her, and she lives oot in Hillhead, the rich people’s place, and goes to church ev’ry Sunday with prayer books under her arm. Strike me dead! if she isn’t a swine, a swine unhung, a swine and a half. Has a motor car too, and is always writin’ to the papers about sanitary arrangements. ‘It isn’t healthy to have too many people in the one room,’ she says. But I ken what she’s up to, her with her sanitary and her fresh air and everything else, the swine! If few people stay in ev’ry room she can let more of them; God put her in the pit, the swine! And the woman downstairs, the thin-necked serpent! is just as bad. If the likes of her finds women like me and you goin’ to hell they try to rob us outright before Old Nick puts his mits on our shoulders.”
IV
IN the days which followed, Norah learned much which may not be written down in books, sad things that many dare not read, but which some, under the terrible tyranny of destiny, dare to endure. It now seemed to the girl that all freedom of action, all the events of her life had been irrevocably decided before she was born. Deep down in her heart this thought, lacking expression and almost undefined, was always with her.