Sparrows Part 11

"They'd probably take you at Dawes'."

"Dawes'!" echoed Mavis hopefully.

"Do you know anything of Dawes'?"

"Everyone knows Dawes'," smiled Mavis.

"But do you know anything of the place, as it affects girls who live there?"

"No," answered Mavis, who scarcely heeded what Mr Evans was saying; all her thoughts were filled by a great joy at a prospect of getting work.

She was conscious of the man saying something about her consulting Mrs Goss before thinking of going there; but she did not give this aspect of the matter another moment's thought.

"What name shall I ask for?" asked Mavis.

"Mr Orgles, if you go."

"Thank you so much. May I mention your name?"

"If you decide to go there, certainly."

Mavis thanked him and was gone. She, at once, made for Dawes'. The girl knew exactly where it was, its name and situation being a household word to women living in London. Arrived there, she glanced appealingly at the splendid plate-gla.s.s windows, as if beseeching them to mitigate some of their aloofness. She approached one of the gla.s.s doors, which was opened by a gorgeously attired official. When inside, she looked about her curiously, fearfully. She was in a long room, down either side of which ran a counter, behind which were stationed young women, who bore themselves with a self-conscious, would-be queenly mien. The s.p.a.ce between the counters, to which the public was admitted, was promenaded by frock-coated men, who piloted inexperienced customers to where they might satisfy their respective wants. One of these shop-walkers approached Mavis.

"Where can I direct you, madam?"

"I want to see Mr Orgles."

The man looked at her attentively.

"I've come from Mr Evans at Poole and Palfrey's," murmured Mavis.

The man left her and spoke to one of the regal young women, who stood behind the counter as if trying to make believe that they were there, not from necessity, but from choice.

The man returned to Mavis and told her to wait. As she stood in the shop, she saw the young woman whom the man had spoken to mouth something in a speaking tube; this person then whispered to two or three other girls who stood behind the counter, causing them to stare continuously at Mavis. Presently, the speaking tube whistled, when a message came to say that if Miss Keeves would walk upstairs, Mr Orgles would see her. The shop-walker walked before Mavis to show her the way.

She could not help noticing that the man's demeanour had changed: he had approached her, when he first saw her, with the servility peculiar to his occupation; now, having fathomed her errand, he marched before her with elbows stuck out and head erect, as if to convey what an important personage he was.

She was shown into a plainly furnished office, where she was told to wait. She wondered if, at last, she would have any luck. She sat there for about ten minutes, when a man came into the room, shutting the door after him. He was about sixty-five, and walked with a stoop. His face reminded Mavis of a camel. He had large bulging eyes, which seemed to gaze at objects sideways. He looked like the deacon at a house of dissenting worship, which, indeed, he was. Mavis rightly concluded this person to be Mr Orgles.

"You wished to see me?" he asked.

"Mr Orgles?"

"That's my name."

Mavis explained why she had called: it was as much as she could do to hide her anxiety. Mr Orgles not making any reply, she went on speaking, saying how she would do her utmost to give satisfaction in the event of her being engaged.

While she was pleading, she was conscious that the man was looking in his sideways fashion at her figure. He approached her. Mavis suddenly felt an instinct of repugnance for the man. She said all she could think of, but Mr Orgles remained silent; she anxiously scanned his face in the hope of getting some encouragement from its expression, but she might as well have stared at a brick wall for all the enlightenment she got. Then followed a few moments' pause, during which her eyes were riveted on Mr Orgles's nostrils: these were prominent, large, dilating; they fascinated her. As he still remained silent, she presently found courage to ask:

"Will you take me?"

He turned his face so that one of his eyes could look into hers, fiercely as she thought. He shook his head. Mavis uttered a little cry; she rose to go.

"Don't go," said a voice beside her.

Mr Orgles was standing quite near.

"Do you badly want a place?"

"Very badly."

"H'm!"

His big nostrils were dilating more than ever; he turned his head so that one of his eyes again looked into hers.

"Something might be got you," continued the man.

"It all depends on influence."

Mavis looked up quickly.

"I was wondering if you'd like me to do my best for you?"

"Oh, of course I would."

"Excuse me," said Mr Orgles, as he took what seemed to be a tiny piece of fluff from the skirt of her coat. "You must have got it coming upstairs."

"Do you think you would speak for me?" Mavis found words to ask.

Mr Orgles's eyes again rested on Mavis, as he said:

"It depends on you."

"On me?"

"You say you have never been out in the world before?"

"Not really in the world."

"I am sorry."

"Sorry!" echoed Mavis.

"Because you haven't lived; you don't know what life can be--is," cried Mr Orgles, who now waved his arms and moved jerkily about the girl.

She looked at him in astonishment.

"Excuse me; a further bit of fluff," said Mr Orgles.

This time he placed his hand upon the breast of her coat and seemed in no hurry to remove it.