explain this queerness of his father's. Next minute he found himself
clasped firmly in her arms. He was very thin and light--much thinner
than the Mactavish babies and Jock's children.
She marched up to Mr. Peters.
"I'm putting Jimmy to bed, Mr. Peters. It's late and cold." Then she
added, "May I?"
"Plezh--plezh--my dear," he said, smiling foolishly.
"Sweet of you--dear little chap," twittered the little lady.
They passed a group of some dozen men sitting round a brown blanket
hedged with a fence of tumblers. They were watching a game of cards. The
pock-marked man looked up from the pile of cards in front of him and
grinned at Jimmy.
"You find it easier to get off than I do, son," he shouted. Jimmy kicked
out at him as they passed, and there was a roar of laughter.
"I hate him--he's like the Beast," said the child as they went down the
companion-way.
"Poor man--he can't help that. The Beast turned into a prince, didn't
he?"
"He's a nasty man. He sleeps in with us. And the man with no fingers.
Ugh, they're dreadful. They stayed awake all night and so did daddy. And
they wouldn't let me put the bottles through the porthole this morning.
They put them themselves, and I did so want to see them go smash."
Marcella stopped dead. Things were trickling into her mind. She saw her
father and her little thin arm dangling sickeningly when he broke it
years ago; all her childish terrors of him came back, associated with
the whisky, changed into a general terror of anything that was a father.
She saw Jimmy's little arm broken--and there were three of them in that
tiny cabin to break his little arm!
"Oh, poor wee mannie! Jimmy, ye're just going to sleep in my little
house."
He started to dance with joy, holding on to her hand and hopping on one
foot in the alley-way. Then his face clouded over.
"There'll be nobody to make daddy get in bed, then," he said.
"Well--"
"His back'll be bad to-morrow if he lies on the floor."
"The ugly man will make him go to bed, because if he doesn't they won't
have anywhere to walk," she said, determined to save his arm at any
cost.
"D'you think so?" he asked eagerly.
"Yes, quite sure. He'll be quite safe. Where's your nighty?"
He darted into Number 15 and came back with a minute bundle.
"I don't have to have nighties now. Gran said I was grown up now I was
coming to Australia. So I wear pyjamas, made out of the same stuff as
Dad's," he explained, undressing h
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