tic by remembrance: it was the past, what!
Nights sweet as milk, far from a man reeking of tobacco. And not only her
early childhood, but her life of yesterday returned to her: touring with
the troupe, the oatmeal porridge and the cakes she made--bricks!--but Pa
laughed at them, took them good-humoredly, whereas Trampy lost his temper.
In those days, it is true, she wasn't a lady, she used to work; but they
had good fun, all the same, in the dressing-rooms; they had tea at the
theater, romps in the passages, or else did crochet-work, to pass the
time; and all those practical jokes, intensified by distance: hustling
Glass-Eye into the hamper; coaxing the black cat into the dressing-room,
for luck; or making the pantomime lady speak her tag; or going in to the
Roofers, on some pretext, and giving a whistle which made them all rush
out, dressed or undressed or half-dressed, never mind, and spin round
three times to ward off the ill omen: all those memories touched her till
she felt inclined to cry. Oh, if she had been with her Pa now, she would
have sat down on his knee and begged his pardon!

At such times, if Trampy became affectionate and tried to kiss his little
wife, Lily would simply turn her back on him. Poor Trampy! And he could
not play the master! For, call on the agents as he might and write as many
fine letters as he pleased--an art in which he excelled--work was becoming
scarce. He no longer had any money. One pay-day, Trampy was obliged to
confess that he had had his salary in advance and spent it; a money-lender
held his contract and kept back three-quarters of his pay. Trampy,
tormented by urgent needs, had let himself in with a Brixton "financier,"
a specialist in "loans from five pounds upward, music-hall artistes
treated with the strictest confidence," who pocketed nearly the whole. Now
Lily just happened to want a new dress, a new petticoat and a tiny
mother-of-pearl lucky charm. Trampy had to own that he couldn't afford
these fancies and Lily had a fit of temper! But then why promise so many
things to a poor little wife who deserved better than that?

"A poor little wife," said Trampy, "should marry her husband for love and
not to escape whippings! There are ups and downs in the profession. It was
your own lookout; you shouldn't have married a star!"

"A star!" cried Lily, with a nervous laugh. "You a star! A damned
comedian! A nice sort of star, indeed! A music-hall could have twenty
black cats in it