"Now what about terms for me and my friend?" said Stephen.
Now followed friendly argument in which the lady and Stephen seemed
perfectly to understand one another. After asserting that under no
circumstances whatever could she possibly take less than at least double
the price that Stephen offered her she suddenly, at the sound of a child's
shrill crying from below, shrugged her shoulders with: "There's young
'Lisbeth Anne again ... well, Mr. Brant, 'ave it your own way--I'm
contented enough I'm sure," and vanished.
But the little discussion had brought Peter to a sharp realisation of the
immediate business of ways and means. Sitting on one of the beds afterwards
with Stephen beside him he inquired--
"How much have we got, Stephen? I've got thirty bob."
"Never you mind, Peter. We'll soon be gettin' work."
"Why, of course. I'll force 'em to take me. That's all you want in
these things--to look fierce and say you won't go until they give you
something--a trial anyhow."
And sitting there on the bed with Stephen beside him he felt immensely
confident. There was nothing that he could not do. With one swift movement
he seemed to have flung from him all the things that were beginning to
crowd in between him and his work. He must never, never allow that to
happen again--how could one ever be expected to work if one were always
thinking of other people, interested in them and their doings, involved
with anarchists and bombs and romantic adventures.
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