And although
Arthur Cotterill knew Trafalgar Road as well as Mrs Hopkins knew the
hundred and twenty-first Psalm, the effect of the scene on him was most
uncanny. He watched Simeon persuade the loaded barrow down the step into
the tiny front garden, not daring to help him, because Simeon did not
like to be helped by clumsy people in delicate operations. Mrs Hopkins
was rapidly pouring all the goodness of her soul into his ear, when
Simeon and the barrow reached the pavement, and Simeon staggered and
recovered himself.
"Look out, Arthur," Simeon cried. "The road's like glass. It's rained in
the night, and now it's freezing. Come along."
Arthur bade adieu to Mrs Hopkins.
"Eh, Mr Arthur," said she. "Things'll be different when ye come back,
this time a month."
He said nothing. The pincers and the anvil were at him again. He thought
of falls, torn garments, broken legs.
Simeon lifted the arms of the barrow, and then dropped them.
"Have you got it?" he demanded of Arthur.
"Got what?"
"_It_."
"Yes," said Arthur, comprehending.
"Are you sure? Show it me. Better give it me. It will be safer with me.
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