More Deadly Than The Male (2 page)

The horse finished a length ahead of the field, and George received twenty pounds from a disgruntled bookmaker. He immediately jumped to the conclusion that he could make his fortune by hacking horses. Before long he was in debt, and in desperation he turned to a money-lender to get him out of the mess. Then he couldn't pay the money-lender's charges, and the bank heard about it. George got the sack.

He was out of work for two miserable weeks, and he soon discovered that a discharged bank clerk was not a proposition an employer cared to consider. Things looked pretty black for George. He tramped the streets looking for work, and just as he was giving up hope, he obtained a job with the World-Wide Publishing

He was, however, a little dismayed to find that the Company expected him to sell a set of children's hooks from door to door on a "commission only" basis.

George had no confidence in his ability to sell anything. But the sales manager assured him that he need not worry about that. They would train him, and by the time they were through with him he would be able to sell coals to Newcastle. George was introduced to Edgar Robinson, head of the group of salesmen on whose territory George was to work. Robinson, an odd, aggressive creature with a shock of black hair and a blotchy complexion took George aside and earnestly congratulated him on his good fortune to be working with him. What he did not know about selling the Child's Sel
f-Educator
, Robinson told him, could be written on his thumbnail. Every salesman who worked on his territory received personal tuition, and there was not a man trained by Edgar Robinson who was not earning at least ten pounds a week.

George became much more enthusiastic after he had heard this, and greatly encouraged when he realized that he was going to be shown how to obtain orders. He was, in fact, given an intensive two-day course in salesmanship along with the other applicants, and then he went out with Robinson and saw for himself how orders could be obtained.

A week later George was canvassing on his own, and by sheer hard work managed to earn three pounds ten shillings a week. He soon discovered that Robinson's stories about salesmen earning more than this amount was so much sales talk, but, as George knew that he was not likely to get anything else, he stuck to the job, and continued to make enough to keep himself going.

The job of calling from door to door was a great blow to George's pride. At first his shyness and timidity were a handicap. He would stand outside a house, screwing up his courage for such a time that people would become suspicious of him, and once one old lady telephoned for the police. Many people slammed the door in his face, while others were extremely rude to him. This treatment greatly increased his inferiority complex: there were moments when he suffered from moods of black depression, and he was driven more and more to rely on his fantasies of violence and adventure to sustain his bruised ego.

While Ella was tidying the room, George wrestled with his hangover. He had spent the previous evening at the King's Arms, and had drunk one too many beers. Feeling the tea might help him recover, he reached for the cup.

"Seen Leo this morning'?" he asked, for something to say.

Ella gave the dressing-table a final flick and moved to the door.

"He's somewhere around," she said indifferently. She was plainly disappointed that George wasn't in a talkative mood. "The silly thing! Wot you see in that cat I can't imagine. Not that I don't like cats meself, but not an old stupid like Leo. Leo indeed! I wonder who gave 'im that name. As much like a lion as I am. 'E's frightened of 'is own shadow. I reckon it's cool to keep 'im alive. 'E never comes near anyone but you, Mr George. But I must say 'e does seem to lave taken a proper fancy to you, doesn't 'e?"

George's face lit up. "Animals like me," he said simply. "Poor old Leo! He must have had a pretty rotten time as a kitten, I should think. He's all right once he knows you."

Ella sniffed. "He's 'ad enough opportunity to know me," she returned, "but 'e bolts as soon as 'e sees me. 'E's daft, that's wot 'e is," and she reluctantly took herself off to make the ten beds and clean the ten bedrooms of the other boarders who had, three hours since, gone off to their various offices.

As soon as she had gone, George slipped out of bed and opened the door. He left it ajar, went over to the dressing- table, found his cigarette case and then returned to bed. He left his door ajar every morning, for as soon as Ella was out of the way, Leo would come to see him

When George first came to the hoarding-house, Leo had been as terrified of him as of everyone else. The room George took over had been vacant for some little time, and the cat had used it as a kind of sanctuary. Several times George, coming home late, had found Leo curled up on his bed. The moment he opened the door the cat had sprung from the bed and had shot past him out of the room, a terrified streak of black fur.

George had been sorry for Leo. He saw, with a startling flash of intuition, that Leo was very much like himself. The cat was big and imposing, but its soul was as timid as George's. He understood the cat's fear of strangers, and he made up his mind that he would win its confidence.

For two months George wooed Leo's affection. He bought fish, which he left under his bed, he was always careful to enter his room slowly and without noise, and he would sit motionless if the cat ever visited him It took a long time before Leo would stay with him Even then the cat would spring away if he came near. But gradually, with inexhaustible patience, George won its affection. Now Leo came regularly every morning and kept him company.

This was a major triumph for George. He was not only flattered, but his interest, filling many hours of otherwise lonely boredom, developed into an intense love for the animal. He depended on Leo for company, and their association afforded an outlet for his own repressed affection.

While he was thinking about the cat, he felt a weight on the bed and, opening his eyes, he found Leo looking at him. The cat was a big black Persian with enormous yellow eyes and long whiskers. It stood on George's chest, padding with its paws while it sniffed delicately at George's face.

"Can't stay long, old boy," George said, stroking its head with tender fingers. "I've got work to do this morning Cone on, settle for a moment," and he pulled the cat down beside him.

He continued to talk to it, stroking and fondling it, feeling at peace with life, grateful to the cat for its company, lavishing on it the urgent, rather overpowering love which unconsciously he yearned for himself.

George Fraser wandered into the saloon bar of the King's Arms at ten minutes to one o'clock. He walked to his favourite corner at the far end of the long bar counter and propped himself up against the wall.

The bar was not particularly full, and after a moment or so, Gladys, the barmaid, a big, good-natured looking girl, detached herself from a group of men with whom she had been gossiping and came towards him, wiping the counter with a swab as she did so.

"How's yourself?" she asked, giving George a fleeting smile as she drew a pint of mild and bitter, which she set before him.

George tipped his hat and returned her smile He liked Gladys. She had served him regularly for the past four months, and he had a vague feeling that she was interested in him. Anyway, George always felt at home with barmaids, considering them to be friendly, comfortable women, not likely to jeer at him nor to pass unkind remarks about him behind his hack.

It gave him considerable pleasure to enter the saloon bar of the King's Arms and receive a pint of beer without actually asking for it, and for Gladys to inquire how he was. These trifling attentions made him feel that he was one of her special clients, and he regarded the King's Arms as a kind of second home.

 "I'm fine," he said. "No need to ask how you are. You always look wonderful." He paid for his beer. "Don't know how you do it."

Gladys laughed. "Hard work agrees with me," she confessed, glancing in the mirror behind the bar. She patted her mass of dark, wavy hair and admired herself for a brief moment. "Your Mr Robinson was in last night. Oo's his new friend—young, white-faced feller with a scar? I haven't seen him around 'ere before."

George shook his head. "Don't ask me. Robo's always picking up waifs and strays. He can't hear his own company for more than five minutes." He winked and went on, "Case of a bad conscience, if you ask me."

"Well, I dunno about that," Gladys said, polishing that part of the counter within reach of her arm. "But this Teller looked like a bad conscience if ever anyone did. 'E fair gave me the creeps."

"Go on." George's rather vacant blue eyes widened. "How's that?"

Gladys sniffed. "Something fishy about 'im. I wouldn't like to run into 'im in the dark."

George was mildly intrigued. "Oh, come off it," he said, smiling. "You're imagining things."

An impatient tapping on the counter reminded Gladys that she was neglecting her duties.

"Shan't be a jiffy," she said. "There's old Mr Henry. I mustn't keep 'im waiting."

George nodded understandingly. He was used to carrying on interrupted conversations with Gladys. It was understood between them that customers should not be kept waiting no matter how pressing the topic of discussion happened to be.

He glanced at Mr Henry, who was waiting impatiently for a small whisky. Mr Henry, like George, was a regular customer of the King's Arms. He was a thin, red-faced little man, and he kept to himself. George often speculated what he did for a living. This morning, George decided that there was something rather mysterious about Mr Henry. He drank a little of his beer and relaxed against the wall.

Edgar Robinson jogged George's elbow. "Wake up, cock," he said, settling himself comfortably on a stool. "You look like sleeping beauty this morning. Bin on the tiles?"

George Fraser blinked at him, sighed and said, "Morning."

Robinson took off his thick glasses and polished them with a grimy handkerchief. Without his glasses his eyes looked like small, green gooseberries. "Be a pal and ask me what I'll have," he said, showing his yellow teeth as he beamed at George. "I've bin and left me money at home."

George eyed him without enthusiasm. "Well, what'll it be?"

Robinson put his glasses on again and looked round the bar. "Well, I'd like a double whisky," he said, after a moment's thought, "but seeing as 'ow you're paying, I'll make it a beer."

George signalled to Gladys.

"What's up?" Robinson asked, eyeing George keenly. "Very strong and silent this morning, aren't you? Gotta touch of pox or something?"

"I'm all right," George said shortly. He disliked Edgar Robinson, while admiring his ability as a salesman.

"That's the spirit," Robinson returned, beaming again. "Must have my boys on the top line. The right mental attitude gets the business, you know. If you're worrying about anything, 'ow can you hope to get orders?" He smiled his horsey smile as Gladys joined them. "Hello, my pretty," he went on; " 'pon my soul, she gets more desirable every day. Wouldn't you like a little session with our Gladys in the park, George?"

George looked uncomfortable. Sex embarrassed him, and Robinson was always making him feel awkward by his loose talk in mixed society.

"Oh, shut up," he growled, and without looking at Gladys he muttered, "Give him a mild and hitter, please."

Robinson grinned. "Glad, my girl, I believe we've the privilege of drinking in the company of a virgin. Not being one meself, and knowing from the saucy look in your eye, my pretty, that you'd make no false claims, we knows Who we're talking abaht, don't we?"

Gladys giggled, drew another pint of beer and set it before Robinson. She glanced at George's red face, winked at him and said, "Don't you take any notice of him. It's those who talk the most that do the least."

Robinson dug George in the ribs. "She's calling you a dirty old man, George," he cackled. "Maybe you are. What's your particular vice, old boy? 'Ere Glad, don't go away; you might learn something."

"I can't waste my time talking nonsense with you," Gladys returned. "I've got my work to do."

When she had gone to the other end of the bar, Robinson stared at her broad hack for a second or so and then winked at George.

"Rather fancy her meself," he said, his small green eyes lighting up. "Think she's a proposition?"

George scowled at him. "Oh, dry up," he snapped. "Can't you get your mind off women for five minutes?"

Robinson gave him a sneering, amused smile. "Funny bloke, aren't you, George?" he said, taking out a crumpled packet of Woodbines. " 'Ere, have a smoke. The trouble with you, me boy, is you're repressed. You're scared of sex, and if you ain't careful, it'll fester inside you, and then anything may happen. Me—I'm as free as the air. It's just a cuppa tea to me. When I want it, I have it, and that way it don't do me any 'arm."