‘I’m not sure you can stand there.’
Bicket did not answer, his throat felt too dry. He had heard of the police. Had he gone the wrong way to work? Suddenly he gulped, and said: ‘Give us a chance, constable; I’m right on my bones. If I’m in the way, I’ll stand anywhere you like. This is new to me, and two bob’s all I’ve got left in the world besides a wife.’
The constable, a big man, looked him up and down. ‘Well, we’ll see. I shan’t make trouble for you if no one objects.’
Bicket’s gaze deepened thankfully.
‘I’m much obliged,’ he said; ‘tyke one for your little girl – to please me.’
‘I’ll buy one,’ said the policeman, ‘and give you a start. I go off duty in an hour, you ’ave it ready – a big one, magenta.’
He moved away. Bicket could see him watching. Edging into the gutter, he stood quite still; his large eyes clung to every face that passed; and, now and then, his thin fingers nervously touched his wares. If Victorine could see him! All the spirit within him mounted. By Golly! he would get out of this somehow into the sun, into a life that was a life!
He had been standing there nearly two hours, shifting from foot to unaccustomed foot, and had sold four big and five small – sixpenny worth of profit – when Soames, who had changed his route to spite those fellows who couldn’t get past William Gouldyng, Ingerer, came by on his way to the P.P.R.S. board. Startled by a timid murmur: ‘Balloon, sir, best quality,’ he looked round from that contemplation of St Paul’s which had been his lifelong habit, and stopped in sheer surprise.
‘Balloon!’ he said. ‘What should I want with a balloon?’
Bicket smiled. Between those green and blue and orange globes and Soames’s grey self-containment there was incongruity which even he could appreciate.
‘Children like ’em – no weight, sir, waistcoat pocket.’
‘I dare say,’ said Soames, ‘but I’ve no children.’
‘Grandchildren, sir.’
‘Nor any grandchildren.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Soames gave him one of those rapid glances with which he was accustomed to gauge the character of the impecunious. ‘A poor, harmless little rat!’ he thought. ‘Here, give me two – how much?’
‘A shilling, sir, and much obliged.’
‘You can keep the change,’ said Soames hurriedly, and passed on, astonished. Why on earth he had bought the things, and for more than double their price, he could not conceive. He did not recollect such a thing having happened to him before. Extremely peculiar! And suddenly he realized why. The fellow had been humble, mild – to be encouraged, in these days of Communistic bravura. After all, the little chap was – was on the side of Capital, had invested in those balloons! Trade! And, raising his eyes towards St Paul’s again, he stuffed the nastyfeeling things down into his overcoat pocket. Somebody would be taking them out, and wondering what was the matter with him! Well, he had other things to think of!…
Bicket, however, stared after him, elated. Two hundred and fifty odd per cent profit on those two – that was something like. The feeling, that not enough women were passing him here, became less poignant – after all, women knew the value of money, no extra shillings out of them! If only some more of these shiny-hatted old millionaires would come along!
At six o’clock, with a profit of three and eightpence, to which Soames had contributed just half, he began to add the sighs of deflating balloons to his own; untying them with passionate care he watched his coloured hopes one by one collapse, and stored them in the drawer of his tray. Taking it under his arm, he moved his tired legs in the direction of the Bridge. In a full day he might make four to five shillings – Well, it would just keep them alive, and something might turn up! He was his own master, anyway, accountable neither to employer nor to union . That knowledge gave him a curious lightness inside, together with the fact that he had eaten nothing since breakfast.
‘Wonder if he was an alderman,’ he thought; ‘they say those aldermen live on turtle soup.’ Nearing home, he considered nervously what to do with the tray? How prevent Victorine from knowing that he had joined the ranks of Capital, and spent his day in the gutter? Ill luck! She was at the window! He must put a good face on it. And he went in whistling.
‘What’s that, Tony?’ she said, pointing to the tray.
‘Ah! ha! Great stunt – this! Look ’ere!’
Taking a balloon out from the tray, he blew. He blew with a desperation he had not yet put into the process. They said the things would swell to five feet in circumference. He felt somehow that if he could get it to attain those proportions, it would soften everything. Under his breath the thing blotted out Victorine, and the room, till there was just the globe of coloured air. Nipping its neck between thumb and finger, he held it up, and said: