Two for Three Farthings by Mary Jane Staples Page A

hospital? And what-a you two kids doing? You don’t-a go to school?’
    â€˜Effel’s ’ad measles,’ said Orrice, which she had, a year or so ago. ‘I’ve ’ad mumps.’ Which he had, two years ago. ‘Effel’s still poorly, mister. ’Ow much is the Bovril an’ toast?’
    â€˜Crazy kids, go away,’ said Toni.
    â€˜Shush, shush,’ said Maria, and went through a door at the back of the counter. Orrice and Effel waited hopefully, Toni prowled about, served a customer, and prowled about again. Maria reappeared with a tray, on which stood two mugs of steaming Bovril and two slices of buttered toast, the toast created under the grill of her gas oven in the upstairs kitchen. Toni smacked himself on the forehead at his wife’s weakness.
    â€˜What-a you up to, eh? We don’t-a serve Bovril or toast. You crazy too?’
    â€˜Shush, shush,’ said Maria again, placing the tray on the counter.
    â€˜Cor, you ain’t ’alf a sport, missus,’ said Orrice. ‘’Ow much, if yer please?’
    â€˜Penny each Bovril,’ said Maria, ‘penny for two toasts. You like?’
    â€˜You betcher,’ said Orrice, fishing for three pennies.
    Toni tore his hair.
    â€˜I give up, I retire, I don’t-a like going broke.’
    Orrice paid Maria, and he and Effel carried the Bovril and the toast to a table. Orrice returned for the sacks. Toni watched out of dark, fiery eyes. Maria smiled and patted his arm. Toni grinned. New customers came in. Orrice and Effel devoured the toast and drank the Bovril. They lingered over it, savouring its heat and flavour.
    When they were ready to go, Effel scuttled out with her sack and it was left to Orrice to smile and say thanks.
    â€˜All right, all right,’ said Toni, ‘but don’t-a you come back again.’
    â€˜Nice kids,’ smiled Maria. ‘Come back when you like, eh?’
    â€˜Women, what-a you think of women, eh?’ growled Toni. ‘Barmy, eh?’
    â€˜Nice, she is,’ said Orrice, ‘like our mum.’
    Maria’s smile beamed.
    Orrice and Effel went to the stallholder selling dates and oranges. His mound of dates was smaller, his mound of oranges glowed. He put on a straight face for the boy and girl. Orrice asked for half a pound of dates.
    â€˜Yer sure that’s all yer want, me young cock sparrer? Yer sure you don’t want me stall and the shirt off me back?’
    â€˜No fanks, mister, just a penn’orth of dates. The uvvers done Effel good yesterday, she’s better today, ain’t yer, sis?’
    â€˜Ain’t,’ said Effel.
    â€˜Gawd ’elp us,’ said the stallholder, ‘you’ve come to cough ’ooping cough all over me dates, ’ave yer?’ He bagged the fruit, weighed it, and handed it to Orrice. ‘You tell yer sister she’s goin’ to get me nicked for selling dates with ’ooping cough. Right, let’s see yer copper coin, sunshine.’
    â€˜â€™Ere y’ar, mister.’ Orrice paid his penny. ‘Mister, we gotter go callin’, could we leave our sacks under the stall till we come back?’ Orrice had realized that carrying the sacks around all day was a bit daft.
    â€˜I knew you’d come for more’n dates,’ said the stallholder. ‘What’s in the sacks? Bombs?’
    â€˜Course not, we ain’t Bolshies,’ said Orrice. ‘It’s just fings we’ve collected.’
    â€˜All right, shove ’em under.’
    It was a relief to unburden themselves and to go freely in search of a roof for the forthcoming night. They covered streets on the other side of the Walworth Road. Orrice showed revived optimism, but Effel soon became morose. They did see one place, but its windows were boarded up and so was the door. After two hours they went back to the market, where they ate hot faggots and pease pudding in a shop that specialized