Tommy

The Brunford Town Hall clock was just chiming half-past three as Tom Pollard left his home in Dixon Street and made his way towards the Thorn and Thistle public-house. It was not Tom's intention to stay long at the Thorn and Thistle, as he had other plans in view, nevertheless something drew him there. He crossed the tram lines in St. George's Street, and, having stopped to exchange some rustic jokes with some lads who stood at the corner of the street, he hurried across the open space and quickly stood on the doorsteps of the public-house.

The weather was gloriously fine, and for a wonder the air in the heart of the town was pure and clear. That was accounted for by the fact that it was Sunday, and the mills were idle. Throughout the week-days, both in summer and in winter, the atmosphere of Brunford is smoke laden, while from a hundred mills steamy vapours are emitted which makes that big manufacturing town anything but a health resort. Tom was making his way up the passage towards the bar, when the door opened and a buxom, bold-eyed, red-cheeked girl of about twenty-four stopped him.

"You're late, Tom," she said.

"Am I?" replied Tom. "I didn't mean to be."

"I was thinking you weren't coming at all. Some young men I know of wouldn't have been late if I'd said to them what I said to you on Friday night." Then she looked at him archly.

"I couldn't get away before," replied Tom. Evidently he was not quite comfortable, and he did not return the girl's glances with the warmth she desired.

"Anyhow I am free till half-past five," she went on. "I don't know what father and mother would say if they knew I was walking out with you; but I don't mind. Do you like my new dress, Tom?"

Tom looked at her admiringly; there was no doubt that, after her own order, she was a striking-looking girl, and her highly coloured attire was quite in accord with her complexion.

"Jim Scott was here half an hour ago," she went on; "he badly wanted me to go with him, but I wouldn't."

Tom looked more uncomfortable than ever; he remembered the purpose for which he had set out, and was sorry that he had called at the Thorn and Thistle at all, even although the girl evidently favoured him more than any of her other admirers.

"I just called to say I couldn't come for a walk with you this afternoon," he said, looking on the ground. "You see I have an appointment."

"Appointment!" cried the girl. "Who with?"

"Oh, with no one in particular; only I must keep it."

The girl's eyes flashed angrily. "Look here," she cried, "you are still sweet on Alice Lister; I thought you had given up all that Sunday-school lot."

"Well, I have noan been to Sunday School," said Tom.

"Ay, but you're going to meet Alice Lister now, and that is why you can't go wi' me." Evidently the girl was very angry, and a look of jealousy flashed from her eyes. Still there could be no doubt that she was very fond of Tom and meant if possible to capture him.

"I can't go out wi' you this afternoon, and--and----but there, I'm off."

For a moment the girl seemed on the point of speaking to him still more angrily, and perhaps of bidding him to leave her for good. She quickly altered her mind, however, and seemed determined to use all her blandishments.

"Ay, Tom," she said. "Tha'rt too good to throw thyself away on the goody-goody Alice Lister sort. Tha'rt too much of a man for that, else I should never have got so fond of thee."

"Art'a really fond of me, Polly?" asked Tom, evidently pleased by Polly's confession.

"I'm not goin' to say any more," replied the girl. And then she laughed. "I was thinkin' that after we'd been to Scott's Park you might come back to tea. I don't believe father and mother would mind. Father wur sayin' only this morning that you'd got brains. You took three prizes at the Mechanics' Institute last winter, and he said that if you got manufacturing on your own, you'd make brass."

"Did he say that?" asked Tom eagerly,

"Ay, he did, only this morning."

"But I have no capital," said Tom rather sadly.

"Father's saved money," replied Polly eagerly. "The Thorn and Thistle's a good house and we have good company; and if father liked a lad, especially if I recommended him, he could easily find money to start a small mill. But there, I suppose you are only thinking of Alice Lister."

The Town Hall clock chimed the three-quarters, and, much as he wanted to stay with Polly, he moved towards the door and said, "Well, I must be goin' now."

Again anger flashed from Polly's eyes, but still controlling her temper she said: "Ay, but you'll come back this evening, won't you, Tom? Jim Dixon's coming to tea, and if you're not here, and he wur to ask me to go out for a walk with him tonight, I shouldn't have any excuse for refusing."

There could be no doubt about it that, to Tom, Polly Powell looked very alluring. She was rather older than he, and her beauty was of a highly coloured order. At that moment Tom's mind was much distracted, nevertheless as the sound of the deep-toned bell in the Town Hall tower died away he determined to take his leave.

"And I thought we might have such a nice time, too," she said, following him. "But never mind, you'll be back this evening. Ay, Tom lad, tha doesn't know when tha'art well off." And she gave him her most bewitching smile.

Tom hurried up Liverpool Road with the sound of Polly's voice in his ears and the memory of the flash in her great black eyes in his mind. "She is a grand lass," he reflected, "and she's fair gone on me too; and what's more she's not so finickin' as some lasses are. After all, why should I be so straitlaced? She's a lass as loves good company, she likes a lark, and--and----" After that Tom became thoughtful.

Tom Pollard was typical of thousands of lads who dwell in the manufacturing districts of Lancashire. His father and mother had been weavers, and while his mother had ceased going to the mill, his father still earned his thirty shillings a week behind the looms. They did not belong to the best class of Lancashire operatives, and Tom's home influence was not all it might have been. That was why, years before, many wondered that Tom promised to turn out so well. He was not particularly clever, but he possessed a large share of the proverbial Lancashire sharpness and common sense; he had an eye to the main chance, and dreamt of becoming something better than an ordinary weaver. For that reason he had attended some technical classes at the Mechanics' Institute, and, as Polly Powell had reminded him, had only a few months before taken prizes there. Young as he was, he had already been promised a Tackler's job, which meant that he would be a kind of foreman, and have the oversight of a small part of a mill. This, Tom was sure, would open the way to a more responsible position, and then if he had good luck he might in a few years start manufacturing for himself. Many of the mill-owners in Brunford were, a few years before, poor men, while now, owing to a great boom in the cotton trade, they were quite wealthy men. During the last few months, however, Tom's best friends had not been quite so hopeful about him. He had been a frequent visitor at the Thorn and Thistle; and he had altogether given up attendance at Sunday School. This was considered a bad sign in Brunford, where the great bulk of the respectable young men attend one of the many Sunday Schools in the town.

As Tom neared the Town Hall his face changed somewhat, and a look of eager expectancy came into his eyes. He noted with satisfaction that the yard outside a big building was empty. "I'm in time after all," he reflected. "They've just sung the last hymn."

A few minutes later several hundred young people came into the street, and Tom was not long in singling out one for whom he had evidently been watching. This was a young girl of about twenty years of age, and it was easy to see at a glance that she was superior to those whom she accompanied. Her face was refined, her eyes large and intelligent; and her neat, well-fitting clothes did not suggest the flamboyancy of Polly Powell's adornments.

"There's Tom Pollard waiting for you, Alice," said one of the girls. Alice Lister flushed as the girl spoke, and the colour which rose to her cheeks told its own tale.

"If I were you, Alice," said another, "I should keep my eye on him. Sin' he give up going to Sunday School he's noan so much of a catch; besides, I saw him with Polly Powell last Sunday evening after he went home with you; and Polly Powell is noan your sort."

Alice did not reply to this, but her lips trembled; evidently the words wounded her. All the time Tom stood smoking a cigarette. Although he had come to meet Alice, he did not like the idea of going up to claim her while so many girls were around.

"Ay, Tom," said one of the girls, shouting to him. "How's Polly Powell?"

Tom did not reply; his ready wit left him for the moment.

"If I were Alice," said another, "I'd give thee the sack. Tha's noan fitted to go with her."

"Ay," said another, "and Polly's only just playing wi' him; she's got more nor one string to her bow, has Polly. And she'd noan look at thee, Tom, if the young landlord at the Bull and Butcher had made up to her."