Dalby had a flask in his pocket, and at late hours he often took a daffy or two when there was no one about. But now this saucy little bit of no-good business was sitting there, and whatever else was the truth of her, she was keeping him from his nip; the idea irked him, and he frowned into space, feeling frustrated. Whenever he couldn’t have a daffy, he wanted it especially much, or so it seemed.
After a space of time, the Judy spoke up. “If you granny I’ve a pink or two beneath me duds, see for yourself, and now.” Her tone was lascivious; the invitation was unmistakable, and to make it clearer, she began to scratch her limbs through the skirt, in languorous fashion.
You’ll be finding what you want, I reckon,” she added.
Dalby sighed.
The girl continued to scratch. “I know to please you,” she said, “and you may count on it, as God’s me witness.”
“And earn the pox for my troubles,” Dalby said. “I know your sort, dearie.”
“Here, now,” the girl protested, in a sudden shift from invitation to outrage. “You’ve no call to voker such-like. There’s not a touch of pox upon me; and never been.”
“Aye, aye, aye,” Dalby said wearily, thinking again of his flask. “There. never is, is there.”
The little tart lapsed into silence. She ceased scratching herself, and soon enough sat up straight in her chair, adopting a proper manner. “Let’s us strike a bargain,” she said, “and I warrant it’ll be one to your liking.”
“Dearie, there’s no bargain to be made,” Dalby said, hardly paying attention. He knew this tedious routine, for he saw it played out, again and again, every night he worked at the station. Some little bit of goods would be tugged in on an officer’s arm, all protests of innocence. Then she’d settle in and make an advance of favors, and if that was not taken up, she’d soon enough talk a bribe.
It was always the same.
“Set me to go,” the girl said, “and you’ll have a gold guinea.’
Dalby sighed, and shook his head. If this creature had a gold guinea on her, it was sure proof she’d been bug-hunting, as young Johnson claimed.
“Well, then,” the girl said, “you shall have ten.” Her voice now had a frightened edge.
“Ten guineas?” Dalby asked. That at least was something new; he’d never been offered ten guineas before. They must be counterfeit, he thought.
“Ten is what I promise you, right enough.”
Dalby hesitated. In his own eyes he was a man of principle, and he was a seasoned officer of the law. But his weekly wage was fifteen shillings, and sometimes it came none too promptly. Ten guineas was a substantial item and no mistake. He let his mind wander, over the idea.
“Well, then,” the girl said, taking his hesitation for something else, “it shall be a hundred! A hundred gold guineas!”
Dalby laughed. His mood was broken, and his daydreams abruptly ended. In her anxiety the girl was obviously weaving an ever wilder story. A hundred guineas! Absurd.
“You don’t believe me?”
“Be still,” he said. His thoughts returned to the flask in his pocket.
There was a short silence while the tart chewed her lip and frowned. Finally she said, “I know a thing or two.”
Dalby stared at the ceiling. It was all so dreary and predictable. After the bribe failed, there came the offer of information about some crime or other. The progression was always the same. Out of boredom, as much as anything else, he said, “And what is this thing or two?”
“A ream sight of a flash pull, and no slang.”
“And what may that be?”
“I know who did the train-robbery lay.”
“Mother of God,” Dalby said, “but you’re a clever judy. Why, do you know that’s the very thing we’re all wanting to hear— and hear it we have, from every blasted muck-snipe, smatter-hauler, and bug-picker who comes our way. Every blasted one knows the tale to tell. I’ve heard a hundred blows with these very ears you see here.” He gave her a wan smile.
In fact, Dalby was feeling something like pity for the girl. She was such a down-and-out case, a bug-hunter, the lowest form of common and sleazy clime, and hardly able to formulate a reasonable bribe. In truth, Dalby seldom was offered information about the train robbery any more. That was old news, and nobody cared. There were half a dozen more recent and captivating crimes to blow.