The Missing Angel by Erle Cox (english books to improve english txt) đ
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searching eye on the two. âGood ole Billy. Allers did help a pal.â
To Tydvil, the situation was impossible. He felt hot flushes crawling
all over him. He felt he had narrowly escaped meeting the genuine Billy
Brewer. Now, at all costs, he must shake off Billyâs beery friend. âLook
here, Jerry,â he said firmly, âIâve got an appointment I must keep.
Thanks for the money, but Iâll just have to go.â He jerked his sleeve
from the hand that held it with a curt âGood night!â and walked swiftly
towards Collins Street.
The other stood watching the retreating hat bobbing above the crowd. His
world had crashed on him. He had just paid Billy Brewer a debt that was
six months overdue and Billy, who in normal circumstances would have
helped him make a night of it, had walked off and never even asked him
to have a drinkâand a bar door within twenty feet of them.
Jerry watched Billy till he disappeared, then, still wondering, he
stepped back off the kerb into the roadway where his fate was
accomplished by a heavy limousine. Tydvil Jones was too far off to hear
the cry, or to see the crowd that gathered as the limp figure was lifted
from the blocks.
Little dreaming that Jerry had been gathered to the Mercy of Allah,
Tydvil turned into Collins Street in order to avoid pursuit. It had come
home to him with some force that in adopting Billyâs person, he was
adopting with it some no slight risks. However, the risk, whatever it
might be, added spice to the adventureâafter all, was he not seeking
adventure?
Tydvil had reached Elizabeth Street and turned towards Bourke Street,
when again the words âSaloon Barâ arrested his attention. Then, since
there was no Jerry McCann to intervene, without hesitation he passed
through the multicoloured glass door and along a heavily carpeted
corridor into a small but brilliantly lighted room at the end.
To Tydvilâs relief there were no customers at the counter that ran along
the whole of one side. At the further end from where he stood, behind
the counter, were two girls in deep converse. One, with a sleek, black
head, was seated, the other, a blonde of surpassing blondeness, was
standing before her. They were quite oblivious of Tydvilâs presence, so
he had ample time to take in the details at his leisure.
The mirrored walls and the close array of bottles and cut glass flashed
under the electric light. So this was the abode of sin against which he
had raised his voice so earnestly on numberless occasions. As he gazed,
the blonde moved slightly and gave him a better view of her companion.
Jones wondered how one so petite could possess such amazing eyes and
such a pink bud for a mouth. Had he but known it, his admiration of the
two presiding angels at the Carillion bar was heartily endorsed by the
leading authorities of the city.
Tydvil inwardly raged at the shyness that kept him glued as he stood
staring at the two damsels. It needed all his strength to save him from
taking flight. Then, suddenly the two dazzling eyes of the brunette
turned full on him. As they did so their expression of indifference
turned into evident surprise and pleasure that had a magical effect on
Tydvilâs nerves. His heart gave two big, bumps, and his bashfulness
vanished.
The brunette had risen to her feet. âConnie, look!â she exclaimed. âLook
at the villain of the piece.â
Then she of the massed blonde hair turned on Tydvil two of the softest
blue smiling eyes he had ever seen, or, at any rate, had ever noticed.
âBilly,â she said gently as he stood before them (he never knew how he
crossed the room), âBilly, youâre the quintessence of a disagreeable
piggy. Where have you been all these centuries?â The unflattering
epithet, falling from a perfect cupidâs bow mouth, seemed almost a
caress.
âDooce of a lot of work,â said Tydvil, off-handedly. âPositively could
not get round.â
The two exchanged glances, and the smaller shook a white, pink-nailed
finger at him. âDooce of a lot of work!â she mimicked derisively. âDo
you think we never hear anything? Dooce of a lot of redheaded typist!
Thatâs your work, Mr. Billy Brewer.â
The charge, unexpected as it was, made Jones forget for the moment his
borrowed individuality. He disgraced Billy Brewer by a rich,
all-embracing blush. The two stared at the mounting colour with
amazement, and peals of merry laughter filled the bar. âBilly, youâve
blushed! Connie and I will get in our breach of promise writs before the
rush sets in. Oh, Billy! You swore you would never love anyone but us.â
âLook here!â he objected indignantly, âitâs not trueâŠâ
âThe Lord donât love liars, Billy,â said Connie shaking her head. Then,
turning, she placed a bottle of whisky and a glass before him. Those
were the days when the customer said âWhen.â
Tydvil had scarcely bargained for that. He was doubtful if Billy
Brewerâs body carried that gentlemanâs capacity for absorbing whisky
without calamitous results, or his own incapacity. He determined to play
for safety. âNot that,â he said, glancing at the bottle, âIâll take
claret and lemonade.â Again the bar rang and rippled with laughter.
âSure you donât mean milk and soda?â giggled Millie. âYou are a
break-up, Billy.â As she spoke, she poured a generous first mateâs
snifter into the tumbler and passed it across to him. At the same time
Connie placed a bubbling bottle of soda water beside it.
âLap it up like a good boy,â Connie laughed, âand forget the redhead a
minute. Jerry McCann was in looking for you a little while ago.â
Recognising that the claret and lemonade position was untenable, Tydvil
filled the glass with soda, determined to play his part for the honour
of Billy Brewerâhe owed him that much.
âI saw Jerry just now in Swanston Street,â he said as he took up his
glass. âI should say he had been here,â he added with meaning.
Millie nodded. âHe was a bit damp round the edges,â she commented, âso
Connie wouldnât give him any whisky. Youâd have laughed to hear her
âkidding him to be good and go home. Talked sister stuff to him and
managed to make him swallow two glasses of Spa water.â
âHe wasnât too bad when I saw him,â said Tydvil, inwardly amazed that
the girls he thought would be sirens would go to the trouble to protect
Jerry from himself. This was a new angle on barmaids.
Connie laughed. âHe would have been worse if I hadnât squeezed out two
big tears and pleaded with him. It was the tears that did it. Look,
Billy.â She blinked her heavy lashed lids quickly and looked into
Tydvilâs eyes. As she did, the big blue orbs swam with an appeal that
might have softened the heart of the Commissioner of Taxes. A little
soft hand fell on the big one of Tydvil that rested on the counted.
âBilly,â she murmured, âlap it up for my sake.â
Tydvil, under those appealing eyes, began to feel queer. He, Tydvil
Jones, of all men, felt an irresistible urge to kiss the owner of those
blue eyes. But Connie, evidently diagnosing the symptoms from
experience, withdrew from the danger zone.
âLittle kidder, isnât she?â laughed Millie.
âLittle devil!â retorted Tydvil, and raising the glass to his lips he
sent the C6 0 H + Soda to the ultimate destination of all such mixtures,
in two gulps. The spirit caught his throat and made him feel for the
moment as though he had swallowed a jazz band wrapped in barbed wire. He
concealed is emotions admirably, and replaced the glass on the counter
as though the rite were mere routine.
âGood boy,â laughed Connie. âTook his medicine like a little man. Now
heâll have strength enough to pay over that eleven quid.â
Jones gasped. âEh! Elevenâehâfor a drink! Why I paid youâŠâ
âDonât be silly! Why, you promised you would put that pound on King
Rufus for meâŠâ
Jones was no fool, and hastily recognised that with Billyâs
individuality he had assumed his liabilities, and he must meet them so
as to leave no reflection on Billyâs good name. The transaction
evidently demanded immediate settlement. Without a momentâs further
hesitation he pulled out a wad of notes and paid over.
âLucky wog, Connie! Wish Iâd invested, too,â remarked Millie.
Connie turned aside and lifted a tiny suede-cased foot to the chair.
There was a flirt of skirt, a flashing glimpse of deep red garter, a
snap of elastic, and the notes disappeared.
âHuzzy!â said Tydvil, playfully; rather more moved than he had been by
the whisky.
The girlâs eyes twinkled with amusement. âShouldnât have looked, Billy,â
she said. âI notice you didnât blush that time.â
There came a sound of voices from the corridor. Tydvil took fright. âIâm
off,â he said. âGoodnight, girls.â But it was too late. Entered three
jovial souls who hailed him as a brother.
Tydvil thought swiftly. âNo good, you chaps. One more and Iâm off. Got
an appointment; positively! Canât wait, a fact!â He spoke convincingly.
Loud were the protests. They were looking for a game of âdraw.â But
Jones did not dare risk more than two drinks. The one he had already was
feeling its way round happily. He paid for one more and, despite their
chaff which imputed scandalous motives for his desertion, he turned and
fled.
Out in the street again, Tydvil felt a hitherto unknown sense of
exhilaration and courage. The world looked brighter. With two whiskies
under his vest he squared his shoulders and made his way up Bourke
Street with one object in view, âThe Red Haired Girl.â
As he went he pondered on the coincidence that mixed Billy, Geraldine
Brand, and the show he hoped to see. On his way he was saluted by name
several times by unknown men, but he flung them a curt âgoodnight,â
without pausing.
He had turned into Exhibition Street. Another twenty yards would have
brought him to the door of the theatre, when a light touch fell on his
arm, and a soft voice murmured, âBilly! 0, Billy! At last!â
Jones looked down at the owner of the voice, and for the second time
that night his heart gave an unaccustomed jump.
She was something like that lovely little Millie he had just left.
Though it were hardly possibleâprettier! Her eyes were as big and
bright, but they held nothing of Millieâs reserve. As they looked up
into Tydvilâs face they were frankly adoring eyes. Jones began to think
that Billy Brewerâs reputation had been scandalously under-estimated.
He realised that he was on ground that was both hazardous and delicate.
Unless he moved with circumspection, he might come a cropper of colossal
dimensions. However, thanks to the two snifters of Scotch, he felt equal
to any emergency.
âHallo, little girl!â he smiled back into her eyes, âwhere were you
off to?â
Two red petals pouted at him, and there was just a hint of storm in the
big eyes. âBilly, you know quite well I was just getting home. Donât be
silly and pretend. Why didnât you come when I wrote?â
âWrote!â protested Tydvil, playing for time and enlightenment. âHonest,
I never got the letter.â
âNow, Billy,â she persisted suspiciously, âI wrote twice.â
âIâll swear on my honour, I never got any letter,â he asserted
virtuously.
âWell, I posted themâŠâ she began.
âLook here!â he interrupted, âwhatâs the use of wrangling.
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