hope you told him to keep it to himself. They are all so sensitive about their salaries. I'm sure I don't know why. But they're all dying to find out what the others get and terrified to death anybody should find out what they get themselves. If Bredon goes round shooting his mouth off, he'll stir up some awful trouble.”
“I warned him,” said Miss Parton, “and he seemed to think it was awfully funny and asked how long it would take him to reach Dean's salary.” [Pg 29]
“Let's see, how much was Dean getting?”
“Six,” replied Miss Parton, “and not worth much more in my opinion. The department will be better-tempered without him, I must say. He did rile 'em sometimes.”
“If you ask me,” said Miss Rossiter, “I don't think this business of mixing the University people with the other sort works very well. With the Oxford and Cambridge lot it's all give-and-take and bad language, but the others don't seem to fit in with it. They always think they're being sneered at.”
“It's Ingleby upsets them. He never takes anything seriously.”
“None of them do,” said Miss Rossiter, putting an unerring and experienced finger on the point of friction. “It's all a game to them, and with Copley and Willis it's all deadly serious. When Willis starts on metaphysics, Ingleby recites limericks. Personally, I'm broadminded. I rather like it. And I will say the 'varsity crowd don't quarrel like the rest of them. If Dean hadn't fallen downstairs, there'd have been a good old bust-up between him and Willis.”
“I never could understand what that was all about,” observed Miss Parton, thoughtfully stirring her coffee.
“ I believe there was a girl in it,” said Miss Rossiter. “Willis used to go about with Dean quite a lot at the week-end, and then it all stopped suddenly. They had an awful row one day last March. Miss Meteyard heard them going at it hammer and tongs in Dean's room.”
“Did she hear what the fuss was?”
“No. Being Miss Meteyard, she first pounded on the partition and then went in and told them to shut up. She's no use for people's private feelings. Funny woman. Well, I suppose we'd better push off home, or we shan't be fit for anything in the morning. It was quite a good show, wasn't it? Where's the check? You had two cakes more than me. Yours is one-and-a-penny and mine's ninepence. If I give you a bob and you give me twopence and the waitress twopence and settle up at the desk, we shall be all square.”
The two girls left the Corner House by the Coventry Street entrance, and turned to the right and crossed the Piccadilly merry-go-round to the Tube entrance. As they regained the pavement, Miss Rossiter clutched Miss Parton by the arm:
“Look! the Pet! got up regardless!”
“Go on!” retorted Miss Parton. “It isn't the Pet. Yes, it is! Look at the evening cloak and the gardenia, and , my dear, the monocle!”
Unaware of this commentary, the gentleman in question was strolling negligently towards them, smoking a cigarette. As he came abreast of them, Miss Rossiter broke into a cheerful grin and said, “Hullo!”
The man raised his hat mechanically and shook his head. His face was a well-bred blank. Miss Rossiter's cheeks became flooded with a fiery crimson.
“It isn't him. How awful !”
“He took you for a tart,” said Miss Parton, with some confusion and perhaps a little satisfaction.
“It's an extraordinary thing,” muttered Miss Rossiter, vexed. “I could have sworn–”
“He's not a bit like him, really, when you see him close to,” said Miss Parton, wise after the event. “I told you it wasn't him.”
“You said it was him.” Miss Rossiter glanced back over her shoulder, and was in time to see a curious little incident.
A limousine car came rolling gently along from the direction of Leicester Square and drew up close to the kerb, opposite the entrance to the Criterion Bar. The man in dress-clothes stepped up to it and addressed a few words to the
“I warned him,” said Miss Parton, “and he seemed to think it was awfully funny and asked how long it would take him to reach Dean's salary.” [Pg 29]
“Let's see, how much was Dean getting?”
“Six,” replied Miss Parton, “and not worth much more in my opinion. The department will be better-tempered without him, I must say. He did rile 'em sometimes.”
“If you ask me,” said Miss Rossiter, “I don't think this business of mixing the University people with the other sort works very well. With the Oxford and Cambridge lot it's all give-and-take and bad language, but the others don't seem to fit in with it. They always think they're being sneered at.”
“It's Ingleby upsets them. He never takes anything seriously.”
“None of them do,” said Miss Rossiter, putting an unerring and experienced finger on the point of friction. “It's all a game to them, and with Copley and Willis it's all deadly serious. When Willis starts on metaphysics, Ingleby recites limericks. Personally, I'm broadminded. I rather like it. And I will say the 'varsity crowd don't quarrel like the rest of them. If Dean hadn't fallen downstairs, there'd have been a good old bust-up between him and Willis.”
“I never could understand what that was all about,” observed Miss Parton, thoughtfully stirring her coffee.
“ I believe there was a girl in it,” said Miss Rossiter. “Willis used to go about with Dean quite a lot at the week-end, and then it all stopped suddenly. They had an awful row one day last March. Miss Meteyard heard them going at it hammer and tongs in Dean's room.”
“Did she hear what the fuss was?”
“No. Being Miss Meteyard, she first pounded on the partition and then went in and told them to shut up. She's no use for people's private feelings. Funny woman. Well, I suppose we'd better push off home, or we shan't be fit for anything in the morning. It was quite a good show, wasn't it? Where's the check? You had two cakes more than me. Yours is one-and-a-penny and mine's ninepence. If I give you a bob and you give me twopence and the waitress twopence and settle up at the desk, we shall be all square.”
The two girls left the Corner House by the Coventry Street entrance, and turned to the right and crossed the Piccadilly merry-go-round to the Tube entrance. As they regained the pavement, Miss Rossiter clutched Miss Parton by the arm:
“Look! the Pet! got up regardless!”
“Go on!” retorted Miss Parton. “It isn't the Pet. Yes, it is! Look at the evening cloak and the gardenia, and , my dear, the monocle!”
Unaware of this commentary, the gentleman in question was strolling negligently towards them, smoking a cigarette. As he came abreast of them, Miss Rossiter broke into a cheerful grin and said, “Hullo!”
The man raised his hat mechanically and shook his head. His face was a well-bred blank. Miss Rossiter's cheeks became flooded with a fiery crimson.
“It isn't him. How awful !”
“He took you for a tart,” said Miss Parton, with some confusion and perhaps a little satisfaction.
“It's an extraordinary thing,” muttered Miss Rossiter, vexed. “I could have sworn–”
“He's not a bit like him, really, when you see him close to,” said Miss Parton, wise after the event. “I told you it wasn't him.”
“You said it was him.” Miss Rossiter glanced back over her shoulder, and was in time to see a curious little incident.
A limousine car came rolling gently along from the direction of Leicester Square and drew up close to the kerb, opposite the entrance to the Criterion Bar. The man in dress-clothes stepped up to it and addressed a few words to the
Similar Books
The Duke's Temptation
Addie Jo Ryleigh
The Orphans (Book 3): Strangers
Mike Evans
Catching Falling Stars
Karen McCombie
Survival Games
J.E. Taylor
Battle Fatigue
Mark Kurlansky
Now I See You
Nicole C. Kear
The Whipping Boy
Speer Morgan
Rippled
Erin Lark
The Story of Us
Deb Caletti