Sparrows: The Story of an Unprotected GirlNewte, Horace W. C. (Horace Wykeham Can)
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Sparrows: The Story of an Unprotected Girl
Newte, Horace W. C. (Horace Wykeham Can)
London (England) -- Fiction
While she was pleading, she was conscious that the man was looking in
his sideways fashion at her figure. He approached her. Mavis suddenly
felt an instinct of repugnance for the man. She said all she could
think of, but Mr Orgles remained silent; she anxiously scanned his face
in the hope of getting some encouragement from its expression, but she
might as well have stared at a brick wall for all the enlightenment she
got. Then followed a few moments' pause, during which her eyes were
riveted on Mr Orgles's nostrils: these were prominent, large, dilating;
they fascinated her. As he still remained silent, she presently found
courage to ask:
"Will you take me?"
He turned his face so that one of his eyes could look into hers,
fiercely as she thought. He shook his head. Mavis uttered a little cry;
she rose to go.
"Don't go," said a voice beside her.
Mr Orgles was standing quite near.
"Do you badly want a place?"
"Very badly."
"H'm!"
His big nostrils were dilating more than ever; he turned his head so
that one of his eyes again looked into hers.
"Something might be got you," continued the man.
"It all depends on influence."
Mavis looked up quickly.
"I was wondering if you'd like me to do my best for you?"
"Oh, of course I would."
"Excuse me," said Mr Orgles, as he took what seemed to be a tiny piece
of fluff from the skirt of her coat. "You must have got it coming
upstairs."
"Do you think you would speak for me?" Mavis found words to ask.
Mr Orgles's eyes again rested on Mavis, as he said:
"It depends on you."
"On me?"
"You say you have never been out in the world before?"
"Not really in the world."
"I am sorry."
"Sorry!" echoed Mavis.
"Because you haven't lived; you don't know what life can be--is," cried
Mr Orgles, who now waved his arms and moved jerkily about the girl.
She looked at him in astonishment.
"Excuse me; a further bit of fluff," said Mr Orgles.
This time he placed his hand upon the breast of her coat and seemed in
no hurry to remove it.
Mavis flushed and moved away; at any other time she would have hotly
resented his conduct, but today she was desperately anxious to get
employment, Mr Orgles took courage from her half-heartedness.
"Let me show you," he cried.
"Show me what?" she asked, perplexed.
"How to live: how to enjoy life: how to be happy. The rest is easy: you
will be employed here; you will rise to great things; and it will all
be owing to me."
Mavis looked at the excited, gesticulating old man in surprise; she
wondered if he were right in his senses. Suddenly, his gyrations
ceased; he glanced at the door and then moved his head in order to dart
a horrid glance at the girl. He then approached her with arms
outstretched.
Mavis intuitively knew what he meant. Her body quivered with rage; the
fingers of her right hand clenched. Perhaps the man saw the anger in
her eyes, because he stopped; but he was near enough for Mavis to feel
his hot breath upon her cheek.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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