Heitger
2010-01-12 21:12:11 UTC
He ideal husband, if she had been the little wife he had dreamed of: but
to think that she had married him for "that!" Now it was the constant
allusion to "that" which made him die with shame. Everywhere, on the
stages of the different music-halls, people had for Lily that sort of
sympathetic pity which they feel for a performing dog: they approved of
her running away; everybody seemed to know about it. Poland, it must be
said, scored a fine revenge against Trampy, without counting the
artistes who had seen Lily practising and who knew what harsh treatment
meant, the Munich Roofers, among others, real ones, with their blows of
the hat, gee! Among them, it became the fashion, when they saw Lily, to
tap the back of their hands, and then to applaud with the tip of the
nail, as though to approve her flight. Lily at first was annoyed at the
reputation for cruelty which they were giving her Pa. He was right to
hit her, she thought, sometimes. She was also annoyed on her own
account. She was an artiste, damn it! It was not only a question of
smackings! Why, if she hadn't had it in her...! It was a gift! But, on
the other hand, to excuse the folly of her marriage, she let them talk,
without protesting, like a poor little thing who would still be with her
Pa and Ma if she had been treated "fair." And there were always angry
disputes between her and Trampy. They were seen to disappear through the
stage-entrance, Lily with an arrogant air, Trampy drooping his head, his
lips distorted with stinging replies. Lily, though she was not
performing at the theater, sometimes received a letter there. When there
was one for her in the heap of envelopes, bearing the stamps of all
countries, which had been round the world prior to "waiting arrival" in
the doorkeeper's pigeonholes, Trampy looked at her furiously, wanted to
know. Lily refused. Forthwith, in the passages, or on the stage, endless
disputes went on between them ... oh, not in the least tragic in
appearance and interlarded with "Hullo, boys!" and "Hullo, girls!" to
left and right, whenever they passed any acquaintances. And in a low
voice, abruptly: "Show it to me, you wench!" "Shut up, you footy
rotter!" Trampy could n
to think that she had married him for "that!" Now it was the constant
allusion to "that" which made him die with shame. Everywhere, on the
stages of the different music-halls, people had for Lily that sort of
sympathetic pity which they feel for a performing dog: they approved of
her running away; everybody seemed to know about it. Poland, it must be
said, scored a fine revenge against Trampy, without counting the
artistes who had seen Lily practising and who knew what harsh treatment
meant, the Munich Roofers, among others, real ones, with their blows of
the hat, gee! Among them, it became the fashion, when they saw Lily, to
tap the back of their hands, and then to applaud with the tip of the
nail, as though to approve her flight. Lily at first was annoyed at the
reputation for cruelty which they were giving her Pa. He was right to
hit her, she thought, sometimes. She was also annoyed on her own
account. She was an artiste, damn it! It was not only a question of
smackings! Why, if she hadn't had it in her...! It was a gift! But, on
the other hand, to excuse the folly of her marriage, she let them talk,
without protesting, like a poor little thing who would still be with her
Pa and Ma if she had been treated "fair." And there were always angry
disputes between her and Trampy. They were seen to disappear through the
stage-entrance, Lily with an arrogant air, Trampy drooping his head, his
lips distorted with stinging replies. Lily, though she was not
performing at the theater, sometimes received a letter there. When there
was one for her in the heap of envelopes, bearing the stamps of all
countries, which had been round the world prior to "waiting arrival" in
the doorkeeper's pigeonholes, Trampy looked at her furiously, wanted to
know. Lily refused. Forthwith, in the passages, or on the stage, endless
disputes went on between them ... oh, not in the least tragic in
appearance and interlarded with "Hullo, boys!" and "Hullo, girls!" to
left and right, whenever they passed any acquaintances. And in a low
voice, abruptly: "Show it to me, you wench!" "Shut up, you footy
rotter!" Trampy could n