The Woman Who Had Imagination by H.E. Bates

Haven’t lost nothing, have you?’
    â€˜I’m all right,’ said Henry.
    He refused to sip of his mother’s lemonade and walked away. He felt bored, morose, out of touch with everyone.
    With relief he saw the passengers emerge from the public-house and begin to climb back into the brake. He climbed up also and found himself sitting, this time, between a tall scraggy man with a peg-leg whogave off the mustily dry odour of leather, and a girl of his own age who was dressed as if she were going to a baptism, in a white silk dress, white straw hat, long white gloves that reached to her elbows, white cotton stockings, white shoes and a white sunshade which she carried elegantly over her left shoulder.
    â€˜Oh! It’s going to be marvellous,’ she said.
    â€˜What is?’ he said, ‘Don’t poke me in the eye with that sunshade.’
    â€˜The choir, the house, everything.’
    â€˜Glad you think so,’ he said.
    The brake had begun to move again, the shouting and excited laughter of the passengers half drowning the girl’s voice and his own. And above the din of the brake’s departure there arose the sound of insistent argument.
    â€˜I tell you it’s right! Seen it times with my own eyes.’
    â€˜You dreamt it.’
    â€˜Dreamt it! I
seen
it. Plain as a pikestaff.’
    â€˜In a churchyard? Tell your grandmother.’
    â€˜Well, if you don’t believe me, will you bet on it? You’re so cocky.’
    â€˜Ah, I’ll bet you. Any money. Anything you like.’
    â€˜All right. You’ll bet as what I’ve told you ain’t on that tombstone in Polwick churchyard? You’ll bet on that?’
    â€˜Ah! I’ll bet you. And I
know
it ain’t.’
    â€˜Well, go on. How much?’
    â€˜Tanner.’
    There were shouts of ironical laughter and reckless encouragement. A little black frizzy-haired man was bobbing excitedly up and down on the brake seat urging a large blond man wearing a cream tea-rose in his buttonhole to increase the bet. ‘Go on. Make it sixpence ha’penny. You’re so cocky. How can you lose? You know it ain’t there, don’t you? Go on.’
    â€˜Sixpence,’ said the blond man. ‘I said sixpence and I mean sixpence.’
    â€˜You’ll go to ruin fast.’
    â€˜I dare say. But I said sixpence and I mean sixpence. And here’s me money.’
    â€˜All right! Let the driver hold it.’
    The blond man handed his money to the fishmonger, who had climbed up to sit by the driver, and then began to urge the little man:
    â€˜Give him your money. Go on. And say good-bye to it while you’re at it. Go on, say good-bye to it. Ah, it’s no use spitting on it. It’s the last you’ll ever see o’ that tanner.’
    â€˜You’re so cocky. Why didn’t you bet a quid?’
    â€˜Ah, why didn’t I?’
    Up on the driving-seat the driver and the fishmonger rolled against each other in sudden storms of laughter. Women giggled and men called out to each other, making dark insinuations, urging the driver to stop at the churchyard.
    Opposite Henry and the girl a handsome man witha dark moustache and wearing a straw hat at a devilish angle had rested his hand with a sort of stealthy nonchalance on the knee of a school teacher in pink. She in turn averted her eyes, trying to appear as though she were thinking profound, far-off, earnest thoughts.
    â€˜What’s the matter?’ he said.
    â€˜It’s so hot,’ she murmured.
    â€˜So are you,’ he whispered.
    The school teacher’s neck flushed crimson and the blood surged up into her face.
    And as if to cover up her own embarrassment the girl at Henry’s side began to talk in a rather louder voice to him, but her prim banal voice became lost for him in the giggling and talking of the other passengers, the loud-voiced arguments about the bet, the everlasting sound of wheels and