England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; English fiction -- 19th century
Ackroyd had changed a good deal during the last few months. The coarser
elements of his face had acquired a disagreeable prominence, and when
he laughed, as he did constantly, the sound lacked the old genuineness.
To-night he was evidently trying hard to believe that he enjoyed the
music-hall entertainment; in former days he would have dismissed
anything of the kind with a few contemptuous words. When the people
about him roared at imbecilities unspeakable, he threw back his head
and roared with them; when they stamped, he raised as much dust as any
one. Totty had no need to affect amusement; her tendency to laughter
was such that very little sufficed to keep her in the carelessly merry
frame of mind which agreed with her, and on the whole it was not
disagreeable to be sitting by Luke Ackroyd; she glanced at him
surreptitiously at times.
He drank two or three glasses of beer, then felt a need of stronger
beverage. Totty remonstrated with him: he laughed, and drank on out of
boastfulness. At length Totty would countenance it no longer; after a
useless final warning, she left her place and pressed through the crowd
to the door. Ackroyd sprang up and followed her. His face was flushed,
and grew more so in the sudden night air.
'What's the matter?' he said, putting his arm through the girl's.
'You're not going to leave me in that way, Totty? Well, let's walk
about then.'
'Look here, Mr. Ackroyd,' began Totty, 'I'm surprised at you! It ain't
like a man of your kind to go muddling his head night after night, in
this way.'
'I know that as well as you do, Totty. See!' He made her stop, and
added in a lower voice, 'Say you'll marry me, and I'll stop it from
to-night.'
'I've told you already I shan't do nothing of the kind. So don't be
silly! You can be sensible enough if you like, and then I can get along
well enough with you.'
'Very well, then I'll drink for another week, and then be off to
Canada.'
'You'd better go at once, I should think.'
She had moved a little apart from him. Just then a half-drunken fellow
came along the pavement, and in a freak caught Totty about the waist.
Ackroyd was in the very mood for an incident of this kind. In an
instant he had planted so direct a blow that the fellow staggered back
into the gutter, Totty with difficulty preventing herself from being
dragged with him. The thoroughfare was crowded, street urchins ran
together with yells of anticipatory delight, and maturer loafers formed
the wonted ring even before the man assaulted had recovered himself.
Then came the play of fists; Ackroyd from the first had far the best of
it, but the other managed to hold his ground.
And the result of it was that in something less than a quarter of an
hour from his leaving the music-hall, Ackroyd found himself on the way
to the police-station, his adversary following in the care of a second
constable, all the way loudly accusing him of being the assailant.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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