LEAD
I'll let you in," said Polly Myatt.
She led the way to the adjoining house, turned the key, and threw the door open.
"We just keep the key hard by to save trouble," she said. "But you must apply to Butcher & Co. for terms and take. This is an end house, and there was a bit of space not to be had for the others, so they gave a passage with a stair in it. But you'll have to pay extra for that—I bet my bones, old Butcher will frank you if he can."
Joan went over the little house. It needed whitewashing and fresh papering in the parlour or front kitchen, but when furnished it would serve.
"I shall take it," she said.
"Well, I'm glad to have you come by us," said Polly. "Now you'll be wanting beds and chairs and other sticks. Shall you go on the hire system or buy right out?"
"I shall buy."
"It is best in the end. I've nothing particular to do, so I'll go with you and show you where you can buy cheap. How much brass shall you spend?"
"At the outset no more than is absolutely necessary. I can add more furniture after I have found work."
"That's right—come now along with me into No. 17 and take a snapping. I've got the kettle on the hob, but I ain't got no milk."
"I shall be happy, and much obliged to you."
"Oh, there's no call for that. You'll have to pay Butcher & Co. a month in advance. They are not trusting innocents."
Joan followed her new acquaintance into No. 17. Along with freedom of speech and bluntness of manner, there was no little kindliness in the pale, red-haired girl. If the difference in the way in which she was addressed and treated startled Joan, it did not disconcert her. She knew that the manner in which she would be treated must be in accordance with that in which she met little advances made to her, and answered such as questioned her. She was wholly prepared to do her utmost to gain the good opinion of those with whom she was likely to be associated. There was a crispness in the social atmosphere that she felt was stimulating, and there was the novelty of new acquaintanceship that was interesting.
"Now you just turn this over. A hint is as good as a blow to a wise horse. If I was you and loved a quiet sleep and pleasant dreams, I would not take the front bedroom over the passage. There's a four and half brick and no more between that room and the chamber mother and father have in our house. You see father has the ovens to fire, and it's hot and trying work, tending the fires. It's not always, but just off and on, that father comes home the worse for liquor. He's lively then, and mother she lays on with her tongue, and he answers, and there's pretty games I can tell you. Well—it's p'r'aps amusing for the first hour, but you get stalled the second, and the third you'll be swearing at 'em through the four and half wall. Father's a tidy old chap in general. But we've all our little failings, and that's just what makes the difference between us and the angels."
"I cannot understand," said Joan, as she sat over the fire sipping tea, that was mainly tannin, so long had the pot been stewing on the hob, "I cannot understand why you are allowed to poison yourself. The manufacturers should not suffer it."
"Bless your boots! the thing has to be done, and someone must do it. The public will have their ware glazed and coloured, and there is now quite a run on majolica, which is worse than all. We must find them what they demand. If we do not the Germans will do so."
"But are not means taken to prevent these consequences?"
"They do what they can, but they can't do everything. In the little potbank it is worse than in those that are big. At Fenning's they have fans to carry off the dust, and they do tell me that the Government are going to insist there shall be fans everywhere. But even with fans, all is not swept away. Nigh on half of those who do the painting and gilding and ground-laying are short-sighted. We begin as kids, and with looking close at what is under our noses, it makes our eyes come so. You'll see—a lot have to wear spectacles, but a girl won't wear them unless she's forced to it. Well, that means that those who are ground-laying lean over their work, and so they get the lead into them. There are respirators. But if you breathe through them all day it is like to bring on asthma. Then we are a careless lot. They are making a fuss now about our taking our meals in the workrooms—that is what we always used to do—and in the little pot-banks I don't see how they can do any other. It isn't everywhere you can have a separate room in which the girls can get their breakfast and tea—and of course by right we should always wash our hands before eating. But some are so daring and so thoughtless, that I've known one girl as licked her hand, that was blue with dust, just out of display of bravery."
"This ought not to be allowed."
"Bless your life! you must have nurses to attend on everyone, and see that they keep to the regulations. We don't want to have that—no thank you."
"But what is this ground-laying, as you term it?"
"I'll tell you what it is. Say you have a bit of ware—a cup, or a saucer, or a vase, or a teapot—to cover with colour, all over, or, maybe, all but where there are to be flowers in gold or other colour. Well, then, we paint in the pattern first in treacle and water, and then cover all with the oil or medium. So soon as this is done, with cotton wool we take up powder-paint and dab it all over the surface, till it is completely and evenly covered. And it is in doing this that the dust flies. There is lead in the powder to fix the colours. When all is covered, then the pot is fired — and the flowers come out white, but the ground is fast. Then next the flowers and sprays are painted in. Do you see?"
"Yes," answered Joan. "I can understand. The colour dust is an impalpable powder, and is applied by means of cotton wool. In so doing, much becomes detached, floats in the air, and by this means is absorbed."
"That is just it. They are now trying a plate of glass between the work and your eyes, but Lord love your bones! one can't manage with that for long. The dust lies on the glass so that we cannot see what we are doing, and if we wipe it there is a smear; and if you're doing piece-work, you can't spare the time to clear the plate of glass, and you must do without it; and if you do try to clear it—why, it sets the dust flying again."
"The manufacturers should refuse to produce this ground-laid ware."
"The public insists on having it, and will pay for it—better the money come to us than go to the Germans. The pay is too good for us to let that slide."
"But you're selling your very lives."
"Well, we have a short life and a jolly one."
"How old are you?"
"Going four-and-twenty."
"And I am twenty-three. We are of the same age, and see how strong and hale I am, whereas you—oh, Polly! Polly!" The tears came into Joan's eyes.
"Blazes!" exclaimed the paralysed girl; "don't look so scared. I need not have gone into the ground-laying unless I had liked."
"Then why did you do so?"
"There—I don't mind telling you. It was all along of a sealskin tippet."
"What do you mean?"
"It was so—Jessie Armstrong got a muff of seal-skin and her hat trimmed with it too—and my word and bones she was a duchess. She was setting her cap at Jack Duncalf, and thought she'd compass and captivate him with them there muff and trimmings. Jack, I had a notion, rather liked me, and I wasn't going to let Jessie carry him off just with sealskin muff and 'at. But Jack was that deep, no girl knew where his real fancy lay. I was that mad jealous, that I went into the ground-laying and high wages, because I vowed I'd out-sealskin Jessie Armstrong. And I did—I got a tippet. I've got it still, but I didn't get Jack Duncalf. He went and married Eliza Bowers."
"And so you cast away your health—perhaps your life—for a sealskin tippet!"
"I've got the tippet still."
"But your health is gone."
"Ah!" said the girl, with an air of triumph, "I intend to have a grand funeral. My mother will raise a pound or two on my tippet. Folks are getting mighty particular over us girls that are lead-poisoned, and we're all inquitched when we die, and the coroner sits, and there's full accounts in the papers. Oh my! that will be fine; a column and a half on the inquitching of Polly Myatt. But the pity is that I shall never see it; only it will be a satisfaction to mother and the rest of the family to have my name in print. And that's sure to draw a lot of folks to my burying, so the sealskin tippet will come in handy then."
"My dear Polly," said Joan, "this is poor satisfaction. Have you no expectation of recovery?"
"Recovery! What's the good of me recovering with my useless hand? That I'll never get right even if I get over the lead in my blood. Some say that I ought to go right away and have fresh air and country runs, and plenty of milk and eggs. But Lord love your bones! how is that to come about? And a pretty lump I'd remain with one hand good for nothing."
Joan studied the fire, and Polly notice distress in her face.
"There," said she, "it can't be helped. We're born to trouble as the sparks fly upwards; that's Scripture. Now about yourself. You want to get into the works, do you?"
"I do indeed, Polly. I must do something to earn my livelihood, and I cast about, and could think of no better way than this."
"You'll not find it so easy as you suppose. You're too old, for one thing. Our girls begin 'cry young. You'll have to be apprenticed and receive a small wage for the first few months. A young girl, till she is seventeen, pays half her earnings, and then one-third till the last year. Or, look here, every pattern is priced, so much painting or gilding. Work done in the week is entered in the worker: book and reckoned up to indicate wage to be received. But so long as you're an apprentice, so mucus deducted from the wage. If, for instance, a half-price apprentice earns ten shillings, five shillings will b taken off; when it's fourpence, there'll be six-and-eight; and twopence, there'll be eight-and-four. Unless you have some money of your own to help you, you will not be able to live on what you earn till you are out of your apprenticeship."
"Well, I shall have to draw on that which I have. Can I get into the bank?"
"If you have some money, that's made the matter easier. I'll see you through, I will, I will indeed."