The Adventures of Tom Leigh by Phyllis Bentley Page A

fellow enough in his way; a pale plump face very clean and closely shaven, a sparkling eye, a good tie wig, well curled and tied in a neat black bow, a short round body, a well-shaped leg, and a very fresh-looking suit of bright green cloth with brass buttons. His stockings were scarlet and his shoes had big square buckles. He did not speak with a Yorkshire voice, but to me he seemed too smooth and mincing in his talk, even for one of his trade, who are noted for their eloquence.
    â€œNow those mittens you are holding, madam,” he went on, “I might have known you’d pick out those—they are, I assure you, the very best of their kind. Knitted in Dent, in the north of Yorkshire—I’m sure you’ve heard of Dent, madam, it’s noted for its stockings, gloves and mittens. Pure wool throughout. Two colours, as you see. Handsome pattern. Or, if you prefer, madam, I can order you a special pair, with the initial letters of your name knitted in at the wrist. M.F. that would be, would it not?”
    At this moment Jeremy sprang up, dragging me with him. We made quite a clatter between us, and drew the pedlar’s eye. His glance swept over us, cold as a snake’s. Mr. Firth looked up, too.
    â€œWell, come down if you wish, don’t stand poking aboutin a corner up there,” he said crossly. “If you want to buy owt, Jeremy, get it bought quickly and get back to your work. As for you, Tom, you’ve no money to buy owt with, so be off with you.”
    â€œAn apprentice has no need to buy owt, master,” put in Jeremy in an agreeing, obsequious tone.
    â€œWell, you can stay for a minute if you like, Tom,” said Mr. Firth, whose second thoughts, as I had already discovered, were always kinder than his first, particularly if someone had agreed with him.
    I followed Jeremy down the stairs.
    â€œI had the good fortune to see your honoured father yester evening, Mistress Firth,” said the pedlar.
    â€œIndeed?” cried Mrs. Firth in a flutter. “You were at Clough End? You saw my father? How is he?”
    â€œMr. Sykes is well, madam, and commends himself warmly to you,” said the pedlar.
    Somebody gave a sigh as of relief, but I could not tell from whom it came.
    â€œI am glad to hear that, very glad,” said Mr. Firth heartily. “My wife has been anxious, and over there by Almondbury, right beyond Huddersfield, you know, is quite some distance away, so it’s not easy for us to get news. I am obliged to you, pedlar, for your message. Come, wife, buy something. What do you fancy, eh?”
    â€œI wouldn’t mind a pair of mittens,” said Mrs. Firth in a shy pleased tone.
    â€œAye, to be sure, have some mittens, love.”
    â€œHave some knitted for you with your letters on,” urged the pedlar. “Then you can choose your own colours. I shall be back with them in a week or two.”
    â€œWell—grey, with a brightish blue, then,” said Mrs. Firth.
    â€œGrey with a bright blue, from Dent, it shall be.”
    â€œFather,” said Gracie in a pleading tone, clutching at his hand, “will you buy me something?”
    â€œOf course I will, lovey. What do you fancy?”
    Gracie stretched up towards him and he stooped to her and she put her arms round his neck and whispered in his ear.
    â€œWell, well,” said he, laughing. “It shall be so. Child wants to buy summat to give to Tom,” he said to Mrs. Firth.
    The pedlar, scenting custom, at once stooped down to bring his tray to the level of Gracie’s eyes.
    â€œShe’s not called on to do any such thing, that’s certain,” cried Mrs. Firth, vexed. “I never heard anything so nonsensical.”
    â€œHe saved my cat when Jeremy kicked him,” said Gracie.
    She stuck out her underlip and looked ready to cry, and Mrs. Firth yielded.
    â€œWell—choose something sensible, then,” she said. “A few buttons, maybe, or a