Free Thrush Green by Miss Read Page A

discussed chess, Mrs. Bailey was the only customer. Two girls, in mauve overalls with cherry-colored cuffs and collars, did their best to emulate fuchsia flowers, and certainly drooped silently against the gray walls quite successfully. A stack of mauve- and cherry-striped boxes stood on the glass counter in readiness to hold the excellent home-made cakes which were already cooling in the window, adding their fragrance to that of the coffee. A beam of sunlight fell suddenly upon Mrs. Bailey's hand, the first real warmth for months, she thought delightedly, and her spirits rose at this token of the summer to come.
    What fun Lulling was! she told herself for the thousandth time. She looked affectionately at the old men, the lackadaisical waitresses, the chapel notice, the few leisurely-moving people walking outside on the wide pavement beneath the whispering lime trees. I suppose I'm so fond of it because I'm really part of it, she mused to herself. Attached to it, she added, echoing Eeyore as he mourned his lost tail; for Mrs. Bailey's mind was a ragbag of snippets, some of which she drew out for herself to admire and delight in, and some of which fell out of their own accord, gay unconsidered trifles which she had long forgotten, as in the present case, but which afforded her infinite joy when they reappeared.
    The door swung open and interrupted Mrs. Bailey's ponderings. Ella Bemsbridge blew in, her felt hat jammed low over her brow, followed by Dimity Dean bearing a laden basket. The room, which had seemed so large and peaceful, suddenly shrank to half its size and became a battleground of conflicting noises as Ella Bembridge thrust her way between wheel-backed chairs, booming cheerful greetings. It was at times like this that Mrs. Bailey had the feeling that she had at last grasped Einstein's theory of relativity, but it was always a fleeting glimpse of Olympian clarity. Almost at once the clouds would close over that bright vision and Mrs. Bailey would realize that she was still in her usual woolly-minded world of three dimensions.
    "Anyone with you? Coming, I mean?" shouted Ella.
    "No. No one," responded Mrs. Bailey, lifting her basket from a chair and smiling at Dimity who collapsed upon it gratefully.
    "Just been to get—" began Dimity in an exhausted whisper.
    "My prescription made up," roared Ella.
    "The fish," added Dimity.
    "For my rash," boomed Ella.
    "For lunch," finished Dimity.
    Mrs. Bailey was quite used to this dual form of conversation and nodded politely.
    "Think that young Lovell knows what he's up to?" asked Ella, planting her sturdy brogues well apart and affording the assembled company an unlovely view of the formidable underclothes which had offended Dr. Lovell earlier that morning.
    "I'm sure he does," answered Mrs. Bailey equably. She wondered how many more questions Ella would ask.
    "How's your husband? Taking a partner yet?" went on Miss Bembridge, feeling in her jacket pocket.
    "Much better," said Mrs. Bailey, answering the first, and ignoring the second, question. Ella produced a worn tobacco tin, undid it, took out a cigarette paper from a small folder, pinched up a vicious-looking dollop of black tobacco from the depths of the tin and began to roll a very untidy cigarette.
    "Oh, do let me do it for you, darling," said Miss Dean, leaning forward eagerly.
    "Don't fuss so, Dim," said her friend brusquely, raising the limp tube to her mouth and licking the edge of the paper with a thick wet tongue. She lit the straggling tobacco which cascaded from one end, inhaled strongly, and blew two terrifying blasts down her nostrils. Mrs. Bailey was reminded of the rocking horse which had lived in her nursery sixty years earlier, and would have liked the leisure to recall its half-forgotten beauties, the dappled flanks, the scarlet harness bright with gilded studs and its worn hospitable saddle. But no one mused in Ella's company.
    "Hell of a time that girl takes getting the coffee," said she, in far too