“Well, you see, miss, I haven’t taken enough yet. Can’t afford to go home on twopence.”
“My brother paints. He’s in the sixth standard. I give ’im a box of paints on his birthday, and he’s going to paint me a picture for my bedroom.”
The gulf that might have divided us was bridged now, so I got what satisfaction I could out of her chatter.
“I wish I could paint. I’d like to do them tex’s what they gives yer at Sunday school.”
“Oh, that’s the line you’d like to take up, Julia, is it?”
Another pause.
“D’yer like them paintin’s what they gives yer at the tea grocers? My brother says ’e’s going to paint them sort when ’e gets them colours what you squeezes out of tubes; you know, like them ladies’ tormenters, same as you gets on Bank ’olidays on ’Ampstead ’Eath.”
I wanted to go on with my picture, so I suggested to Julia (I had no reason to suppose that her name was not Julia) that it was getting near tea-time.
