Two for Three Farthings Read Free Page B

Orrice. Be a job, wouldn’t it, taking tables and chairs.’ Constable Brownlaw smiled again. ‘Look, round at the station – well, there’s this.’ He slipped a hand into his tunic pocket and extracted a stiff brown envelope. Orrice and Effel looked at it, Effel from behind her brother. ‘It’s a little collection we made at the station, just to give you a bit of cheer. If your aunt and uncle do take you to an orphanage – you sure they would?’
    â€˜Well, yer see, mister, they’re ’ard-up and they already got two boys an’ three girls, and only a little ’ouse. An orphanage ain’t what they want, only they ain’t got room for me and Effel as well as their own kids, like. It ain’t their fault—’
    â€˜I see, Orrice. Well, if you do land up in an orphanage, they’ll ask you what money you’ve got, and they’ll want to look after it for you, and maybe give you a penny each from it now and again. But if you want to spend some of it before you get there, say on a little treat for yourselves, you go ahead. Here.’ He handed the envelope to Orrice, who took it in wide-eyed astonishment. He could feel it was heavy with coins.
    â€˜Mister—’ He had a lump in his throat. ‘Mister, did yer like our mum an’ dad?’
    â€˜Bless yer, Orrice, salt of the earth your mum and dad were. That’s from the station, from all of us. It’s rough luck that’s come your way, young ’un, but you’re good kids, and you’ll grow up fine, you and Effel, and don’t let anyone discourage you. You keep your chins up all the way. Good luck, kids.’ Constable Brownlaw gave them both a pat and a smile, and departed.
    Orrice called his thanks, then closed the door and went into the kitchen with Effel. He opened the envelope. Out came the money, pennies, three-penny bits, and even tanners. They counted it. It came to nineteen shillings and sevenpence.
    â€˜Cor lummy,’ breathed Orrice, ‘we’re nearly rich, Effel.’
    â€˜Can we buy the ’ouse?’ asked Effel.
    â€˜Well, I dunno about that,’ said Orrice cautiously, ‘I should fink the ’ouse might cost a bit more than nineteen bob. No, we best keep it for buyin’ food. Effel, we got twenty-five bob an’ sevenpence in all, would yer believe.’ They had found three shillings and eightpence in their mum’s purse, and two and fourpence on the chest of drawers in their parents’ bedroom, which was where their dad had always put his money at night. ‘Well, we best ’ave our dinner now, and run away afterwards.’
    As well as the tin of sardines and half a loaf, they also found some Quaker Oats. To stop Effel just sitting and pining, Orrice let her make some porridge. It turned out a bit lumpy, but they put milk and sugar in it and stirred it in their bowls. The resultant concoction was white, glutinous and irregular, and not too much like the porridge their mum put on the breakfast table each morning.
    â€˜We best ’ave a good wash before we go,’ said Orrice, ‘we got lots of time.’
    â€˜â€™Ad me wash,’ said Effel, which meant a lick and a promise at Aunt Glad’s. She spooned the porridge into her mouth. She grimaced and cast a covert look at her brother. Orrice was getting on manfully with his lumpy helping. ‘Is it a’ right?’ she asked.
    â€˜You betcher,’ said Orrice gallantly. ‘Yer goin’ to be a nice cook, Effel, when yer growed up a bit. Listen, we best have a proper good wash, in case, like. Yes, we best do that.’ He was thinking of an empty house that would give them shelter but might have the water turned off. He was a clean boy, and his face, cheerful and earnest by turn normally, always had a fresh look. Effel, however, never minded a smudged face. She was far from the stage of worrying about what she looked like. Her