hospital in a blaze of glory. After that, the talented Miss Cowley drove
successively a trade delivery van, a motor-lorry and a general!” The last was
the pleasantest. He was quite a young general!”
“What brighter was that?” inquired Tommy. “Perfectly sickening the way
those brass hats drove from the War Office to the Savoy, and from the Savoy to
the War Office!”
“I’ve forgotten his name now,” confessed Tuppence. “To resume, that was in
a way the apex of my career. I next entered a Government office. We had several
very enjoyable tea parties. I had intended to become a land girl, a postwoman,
and a bus conductress by way of rounding off my career–but the Armistice
intervened! I clung to the office with the true limpet touch for many long
months, but, alas, I was combed out at last. Since then I’ve been looking for a
job. Now then–your turn.”
“There’s not so much promotion in mine,” said Tommy regretfully, “and a
great deal less variety. I went out to France again, as you know. Then they
sent me to Mesopotamia, and I got wounded for the second time, and went into
hospital out there. Then I got stuck in Egypt till the Armistice happened,
kicked my heels there some time longer, and, as I told you, finally got
demobbed. And, for ten long, weary months I’ve been job hunting! There aren’t
any jobs! And, if there were, they wouldn’t give ’em to me. What good am I?
What do I know about business? Nothing.”
Tuppence nodded gloomily.
“What about the colonies?” she suggested.
Tommy shook his head.
“I shouldn’t like the colonies–and I’m perfectly certain they wouldn’t
like me!”
“Rich relations?”
Again Tommy shook his head.
“Oh, Tommy, not even a great-aunt?”
“I’ve got an old uncle who’s more or less rolling, but he’s no good.”
“Why not?”
“Wanted to adopt me once. I refused.”
“I think I remember hearing about it,” said Tuppence slowly. “You refused
because of your mother—-”
Tommy flushed.
“Yes, it would have been a bit rough on the mater. As you know, I was all
she had. Old boy hated her–wanted to get me away from her. Just a bit of
spite.”
“Your mother’s dead, isn’t she?” said Tuppence gently.
Tommy nodded.
Tuppence’s large grey eyes looked misty.
“You’re a good sort, Tommy. I always knew it.”
“Rot!” said Tommy hastily. “Well, that’s my position. I’m just about
desperate.”
“So am I! I’ve hung out as long as I could. I’ve touted round. I’ve
answered advertisements. I’ve tried every mortal blessed thing. I’ve screwed
and saved and pinched! But it’s no good. I shall have to go home!”
“Don’t you want to?”
“Of course I don’t want to! What’s the good of being sentimental? Father’s
a dear–I’m awfully fond of him–but you’ve no idea how I worry him! He has
that delightful early Victorian view that short skirts and smoking are immoral.
You can imagine what a thorn in the flesh I am to him! He just heaved a sigh of
relief when the war took me off. You see, there are seven of us at home. It’s
awful! All housework and mothers’ meetings! I have always been the changeling.
I don’t want to go back, but–oh, Tommy, what else is there to do?”
Tommy shook his head sadly. There was a silence, and then Tuppence burst
out:
“Money, money, money! I think about money morning, noon and night! I dare
say it’s mercenary of me, but there it is!”
“Same here,” agreed Tommy with feeling.
“I’ve thought over every imaginable way of getting it too,” continued
Tuppence. “There are only three! To be left it, to marry it, or to make it.
First is ruled out. I haven’t got any rich elderly relatives. Any relatives I
have are in homes for decayed gentlewomen! I always help old ladies over
crossings, and pick up parcels for old gentlemen, in case they should turn out
to be eccentric millionaires. But not one of them has ever asked me my name–and
quite a lot never said ‘Thank you.’ ”
There was a pause.
“Of course,” resumed Tuppence, “marriage is my best chance. I made up my