rinkled girls in shabby black were
whispering together behind the counter. The cash-den was empty. Through
the open door he could keep an eye on his motor-bicycle, which was being
surreptitiously regarded by a boy theoretically engaged in cleaning the
window. A big van drove up, and a man entered with pastry on a wooden
tray and bantered one of the girls in black. She made no reply, being
preoccupied with the responsibility of counting cakes. The man departed
and the van disappeared. Nobody took the least notice of George. He
might have been a customer invisible and inaudible. After the fiasco of
his interview with Mr. Haim, he had not the courage to protest. He
framed withering sentences to the girls in black, such as: "Is this
place supposed to be open for business, or isn't it?" but they were not
uttered. Then a girl in black with a plain, ugly white apron and a dowdy
white cap appeared on the stairs leading from the basement, and removed
for her passage a bar of stained wood lettered in gilt: 'Closed,' and
she halted at George's table. She spoke no word. She just stood over
him, unsmiling, placid, flaccid, immensely indifferent. She was pale, a
poor sort of a girl, without vigour. But she had a decent, honest face.
She was not aware that she ought to be bright, welcoming, provocative,
for a penny farthing an hour. She had never heard of Hebe. George
thought of the long, desolating day that lay before her. He looked at
her seriously. His eyes did not challenge hers as they were accustomed
to challenge Hebe's. He said in a friendly, matter-of-fact tone:

"A meat-pie, please, and a large coffee."

And she repeated in a thin voice:

"Meat-pie. Large coffee."

A minute later she dropped the order on the table, as it might have
been refuse, and with it a bit of white paper. The sadness of the city,
and the inexplicable sadness of June mornings, overwhelmed George as he
munched at the meat-pie and drank the coffee, and reached over for the
sugar and reached over for the mustard. And he kept saying to himself:

"She doesn't see her father at all for nearly two years, and then she
goes off to him like that in the middle of the night--at a word."

III

The office was not at its normal. The empty cubicle of the factotum
looked strange enough. But there was more than that in the abnormality.
There were currents of excitement in the office. The door of the
principals' room was open, and George saw John Orgreave and Ev