At Swim, Two Boys - Jamie O'Neill [6]
“God bless all here.” He touched the font on the jamb. Dryish. Have to see to that. Blessed himself.
“Hello, Aunt Sawney. Ready whenever to take over the reins. Mrs. Rourke, how’s this the leg is today? I’m glad to see you about, Mrs. Tansy.”
New tin of snuff on the counter. Must remember to mark that down in the book. Impossible to keep tabs else. Straits of Ballambangjan ahead. “I wonder if I might just . . . pardon me while I . . . if you could maybe.” Maneuver safe between. Find harbor in the kitchen. Range stone cold, why wouldn’t she keep an eye on it? Poke head back inside an instant. “Range is out, Aunt Sawney, should your guests require some tea.”
Three snorts came in reply as each woman took a pinch of snuff.
He sat down at the kitchen table, laid the new package in front of him. His eyes gauged its contents, while he reached behind his neck to loosen the back-stud of his collar. He flexed his arms. Let me see, let me see. The boy at the ironmonger’s had dangled the package by the twine and he had a deal of difficulty undoing the knot. Keep the torn paper for them on tick.
And finally there they were. Bills, two gross, finest American paper, fine as rashers of wind, in Canon bold proclaiming:
Adelaide General Stores
Quality Goods At Honest Prices
Mr. A. Mack, Esqr.
Will Be Pleased To Assist In All Your Requirements
An Appeal To You!
One Shilling Per Guinea Spent Here
Will Comfort Our Troops In France!
Page was a touch cramped at the base so that the end line, “Proprietress: Sawney Burke,” had to be got in small print. Still, it was the motto that mattered, and that was a topper. Will comfort our troops in France. Appeal to the honor of the house.
Mustache. Touch it. Spot of something in the hairs. Egg, is it? Stuck.
Was I right all the same to leave it to honor only? Nothing about the pocket. How’s about this for the hookum?
Pounds, Shillings and Pence!
Why Not Buy Local And Save On Leather?
Appeal to the pocket of the house. Might better have had two orders made up. One for the swells, other for the smells.
Never mind the smells, the Macks is on the up.
Jim. What time is it? Home for his dinner at five after one. Gone twelve now. He could maybe deliver the startings in his dinner-hour, the leavings before his tea.
Have I missed the Angelus so? How’s this I missed the Angelus?
Clink. That’s the door. Customer? No, exeunt two biddies. She’ll be in now, tidy away. Aunt Sawney, I’ve had these advertising-bills made up . . . ? No, wait till they’re delivered first. Fate accomplished. Where’s that apron? Better see to the range. “Aunt Sawney, there you are. Must be puffed out after that stint. I’ll do shop now. You read the paper in your chair. We’ll soon have a feel of heat.”
“Stay away from that kitchener,” she said.
“The range?” said Mr. Mack.
“That kitchener wants blacking.”
“The range?”
She was already on her knees. She had a new tin of Zebra blacklead with her. “Ye’ll have me hands in blisters. I left it go out since yesternight.”
Surely a touch uncivil to name a kitchen range after the hero who avenged Khartoum. “Did we finish that other tin of Zebra already? Right so, I’ll mark that down in the book. It’s best to keep tabs.”
“’Tis cold plate for dinner. And cold plate for tea.”
“Whatever you think is best, Aunt Sawney. But you’re not after forgetting it’s his birthday today?”
“I’m not after forgetting this kitchener wants blacking.” She damped a cloth in the black-lead tin, letting out a creak of coughing as she did so.
The door clinked. Customer. “I’ll be with you directly,” he called. Then, thoughtfully: “Not to trouble yourself, Aunt Sawney. I have a cake above out of Findlater’s. Sure what more could his boyship want? But no mention of birthdays till after his tea. We’ll have nothing brought off all day else.”
“I suppose and you got him them bills for his treat.”
Well, I’ll be sugared. How would she know about the bills? He watched her at her labor for a moment. Wiry woman with hair the color of ash. The back tresses she wore in a small black cap