Page 82 - An Australian Lassie

CHAPTER XIX

THE BENT-SHOULDERED OLD GENTLEMAN

"Let's go somewhere and count my money," said Betty, when she had watched the last pupil of Westmead
House disappear down the long avenue. "You see T easily make a shilling an hour, don't T?"

John admitted she had chosen a good paying profession; and that if "things" didn't improve with him very
soon he should try singing in the frequent spare moments of his errands running.

The day wore on, and although it must be recorded that Betty did not always make a shilling an hour, her
"takings" were very fair, considering many things, notably her lack of voice and great shyness so soon as
anything approaching an audience gathered around her.

[Tllustration: "Only a little barefooted girl asleep--fast asleep upon his lounge."]

By six o'clock a great weariness had crept over her. Unused to city pavements, her limbs ached wofully, her
feet were blistered and swollen, her head ached from the noises of the busy city, and her heart ached for her
little white bed at home. For the day was growing old and it was almost bed-time.

Presently the stars stole out and began to play at hide and seek, and Betty who had finished counting her
money again, was still standing tiredly on one foot at the corner of Market and George Streets, waiting for
John--John who had promised to be with her at six; and now it was after seven and he had not come.

The tears were too near for her to attempt to wile away the minutes with another song--tears of weariness and
disappointment. The disappointment was caused by the non-arrival of the keen-eyed, bent-shouldered old
gentleman who was to raise her eventually to the pinnacle of fame--and by John's absence.

Tt was just as this great matter was straining her heart almost to breaking point that a heavy hand fell upon her
shoulders, and she looked up into the face of a roughly clad, ill-kempt looking man-- a face that in some way
seemed familiar to her.

"T b'lieve you're the very little girl as T've been on the look-out for all day," he said. "Le's look at you! Yes,
s'elp my Jimmy Johnson, you are! Tf you'll just come along with me, we'll talk about your name an' a few
other things."

He held out his hand and took hers.

"Your name," he said, "as it ain't John Brown, may be Elizabeth Bruce. Ain't T right now?"

Betty tremblingly admitted that he was, and listened as she walked the length of a street by his side to his
jocularly spoken lecture and to all the dire happenings--gaols, reformatories, ships, etc.--that befell she or he
who left the home nest before such glorious time as they were twenty-one.

Finally Betty and her earnings were placed in a cab, and the man, holding her arm firmly, stepped in after her.
He seemed to be afraid, all the time, that if he moved his hand from her she would be off and away. They
rattled down the Sydney streets in the lamplight, which Betty had never seen before this night, to the harbour
waters and across them in a punt, and the little girl thought tiredly of her journey in the greengrocer's cart not
so very many hours ago.

The remembrance brought with it a flash of light. This man by her side was the greengrocer!--their morning
friend. She decided that she would soon ask him about John, ask him whether he had found John also.