The Lost Girl Part 21

"Miss Pinnegar won't take the cash, father."

"Why not? Why not?"

"I can't say why not. But she won't do anything--and if I were you I wouldn't ask her."

There was a pause.

"Oh, well," said James, huffy. "She isn't indispensable."

And Alvina was to play the piano! Here was a blow for her! She hurried off to her bedroom to laugh and cry at once. She just saw herself at that piano, banging off the _Merry Widow Waltz_, and, in tender moments, _The Rosary_. Time after time, _The Rosary_. While the pictures flickered and the audience gave shouts and some grubby boy called "Chot-let, penny a bar! Chot-let, penny a bar! Chot-let, penny a bar!" away she banged at another tune.

What a sight for the G.o.ds! She burst out laughing. And at the same time, she thought of her mother and Miss Frost, and she cried as if her heart would break. And then all kinds of comic and incongruous tunes came into her head. She imagined herself dressing up with most priceless variations. _Linger Longer Lucy_, for example. She began to spin imaginary harmonies and variations in her head, upon the theme of _Linger Longer Lucy_.

"Linger longer Lucy, linger longer Loo.

How I love to linger longer linger long o' you.

Listen while I sing, love, promise you'll be true, And linger longer longer linger linger longer Loo."

All the tunes that used to make Miss Frost so angry. All the Dream Waltzes and Maiden's Prayers, and the awful songs.

"For in Spooney-ooney Island Is there any one cares for me?

In Spooney-ooney Island Why surely there ought to be--"

Poor Miss Frost! Alvina imagined herself leading a chorus of collier louts, in a bad atmosphere of "Woodbines" and oranges, during the intervals when the pictures had collapsed.

"How'd you like to spoon with me?

How'd you like to spoon with me?

(_Why ra-ther!_)

Underneath the oak-tree nice and shady Calling me your tootsey-wootsey lady?

How'd you like to hug and squeeze, (_Just try me!_)

Dandle me upon your knee, Calling me your little lovey-dovey-- How'd you like to spoon with me?

(_Oh-h--Go on!_)"

Alvina worked herself into quite a fever, with her imaginings.

In the morning she told Miss Pinnegar.

"Yes," said Miss Pinnegar, "you see me issuing tickets, don't you?

Yes--well. I'm afraid he will have to do that part himself. And you're going to play the piano. It's a disgrace! It's a disgrace!

It's a disgrace! It's a mercy Miss Frost and your mother are dead.

He's lost every bit of shame--every bit--if he ever had any--which I doubt very much. Well, all I can say, I'm glad I am not concerned.

And I'm sorry for you, for being his daughter. I'm heart sorry for you, I am. Well, well--no sense of shame--no sense of shame--"

And Miss Pinnegar padded out of the room.

Alvina walked down to Lumley and was shown the site and was introduced to Mr. May. He bowed to her in his best American fashion, and treated her with admirable American deference.

"Don't you think," he said to her, "it's an admirable scheme?"

"Wonderful," she replied.

"Of cauce," he said, "the erection will be a merely temporary one.

Of cauce it won't be anything to _look_ at: just an old wooden travelling theatre. But _then_--all we need is to make a start."

"And you are going to work the film?" she asked.

"Yes," he said with pride, "I spend every evening with the operator at Marsh's in Knarborough. Very interesting I find it--very interesting indeed. And _you_ are going to play the piano?" he said, perking his head on one side and looking at her archly.

"So father says," she answered.

"But what do _you_ say?" queried Mr. May.

"I suppose I don't have any say."

"Oh but _surely_. Surely you won't do it if you don't wish to. That would never do. Can't we hire some young fellow--?" And he turned to Mr. Houghton with a note of query.

"Alvina can play as well as anybody in Woodhouse," said James. "We mustn't add to our expenses. And wages in particular--"

"But surely Miss Houghton will have her wage. The labourer is worthy of his hire. Surely! Even of _her_ hire, to put it in the feminine.

And for the same wage you could get some unimportant fellow with strong wrists. I'm afraid it will tire Miss Houghton to death--"

"I don't think so," said James. "I don't think so. Many of the turns she will not need to accompany--"

"Well, if it comes to that," said Mr. May, "I can accompany some of them myself, when I'm not operating the film. I'm not an expert pianist--but I can play a little, you know--" And he trilled his fingers up and down an imaginary keyboard in front of Alvina, c.o.c.king his eye at her smiling a little archly.

"I'm sure," he continued, "I can accompany anything except a man juggling dinner-plates--and then I'd be afraid of making him drop the plates. But songs--oh, songs! _Con molto espressione!_"

And again he trilled the imaginary keyboard, and smiled his rather fat cheeks at Alvina.

She began to like him. There was something a little dainty about him, when you knew him better--really rather fastidious. A showman, true enough! Blatant too. But fastidiously so.

He came fairly frequently to Manchester House after this. Miss Pinnegar was rather stiff with him and he did not like her. But he was very happy sitting chatting tete-a-tete with Alvina.

"Where is your wife?" said Alvina to him.

"My wife! Oh, don't speak of _her_," he said comically. "She's in London."

"Why not speak of her?" asked Alvina.

"Oh, every reason for not speaking of her. We don't get on at _all_ well, she and I."

"What a pity," said Alvina.

"Dreadful pity! But what are you to do?" He laughed comically. Then he became grave. "No," he said. "She's an impossible person."

"I see," said Alvina.

"I'm sure you _don't_ see," said Mr. May. "Don't--" and here he laid his hand on Alvina's arm--"don't run away with the idea that she's _immoral_! You'd never make a greater mistake. Oh dear me, no.