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The Record of Badalia Herodsfoot
163
'Not me. She won't hurt. Do 'er good. I'm goin' to sleep. Look
at those there clean sheets! Ain't you comin' too?'
Jenny bent over Badalia, and there was intelligence in the bat-
tered woman's eyes - intelligence and much hate.
'I never told 'im to do such,' Jenny whispered. "Twas Tom's own
doin' - none o' mine. Shall I get 'im took, dear?'
The eyes told their own story. Tom, who was beginning to snore,
must not be taken by the Law.
'Go,' said Jenny. 'Get out! Get out of 'ere.'
'You - told - me - that - this afternoon,' said the man very
sleepily. 'Lemme go asleep.'
'That wasn't nothing. You'd only 'it me. This time it's murder —
murder - murder! Tom, you've killed 'er now.' She shook the man
from his rest, and understanding with cold terror filled his fuddled
brain.
'I done it for your sake, Jenny,' he whimpered feebly, trying to
take her hand.
'You killed 'er for the money, same as you would ha' killed me.
Get out o' this. Lay 'er on the bed first, you brute!'
They lifted Badalia on to the bed, and crept forth silently.
i can't be took along o' you - and if you was took you'd say I
made you do it, an' try to get me 'anged. Go away - anywhere
outer 'ere,' said Jenny, and she dragged him down the stairs.
'Goin' to look for the curick?' said a voice from the pavement.
Lascar Loo's mother was still waiting patiently to hear Badalia
squeal.
'Wot curick?' said Jenny swiftly. There was a chance of salving
her conscience yet in regard to the bundle upstairs.
"Anna - 63 Roomer Terrace - close 'ere,' said the old woman.
She had never been favourably regarded by the curate. Perhaps,
since Badalia had not squealed, Tom preferred smashing the man
to the woman. There was no accounting for tastes.
Jenny thrust her man before her till they reached the nearest
main road. 'Go away, now,' she gasped. 'Go off anywheres, but
don't come back to me. I'll never go with you again; an', Tom -
Tom, d'you 'ear me? — clean your boots.'
Vain counsel. The desperate thrust of disgust which she bestowed
upon him sent him staggering face down into the kennel, where a
policeman showed interest in his welfare.
'Took for a common drunk. Gawd send they don't look at 'is
164 Rudyard Kipling
boots! 'Anna, 63 Roomer Terrace!' Jenny settled her hat and ran.
The excellent housekeeper of the Roomer Chambers still remem-
bers how there arrived a young person, blue-lipped and gasping,
who cried only: 'Badalia, 17 Gunnison Street. Tell the curick to
come at once — at once — at once!' and vanished into the night. This
message was borne to the Rev. Eustace Hanna, then enjoying his
beauty-sleep. He saw there was urgency in the demand, and unhes-
itatingly knocked up Brother Victor across the landing. As a matter
of etiquette, Rome and England divided their cases in the dis-
trict according to the creeds of the sufferers; but Badalia was
an institution, and not a case, and there was no district-relief
etiquette to be considered. 'Something has happened to Badalia,'
the curate said, 'and it's your affair as well as mine. Dress and
come along.'
'I am ready,' was the answer. 'Is there any hint of what's wrong?'
'Nothing beyond a runaway-knock and a call.'
'Then it's confinement or a murderous assault. Badalia wouldn't
wake us up for anything less. I'm qualified for both, thank God.'
The two men raced to Gunnison Street, for there were no cabs
abroad, and under any circumstances a cab fare means two days'
good firing for such as are perishing with cold. Lascar Loo's mother
had gone to bed, and the door was naturally on the latch. They
found considerably more than they had expected in Badalia's room,
and the Church of Rome acquitted itself nobly with bandages,
while the Church of England could only pray to be delivered from
the sin of envy. The Order of Little Ease, recognizing that the soul
is in most cases accessible through the body, take their measures
and train their men accordingly.
'She'll do now,' said Brother Victor, in a whisper, it's internal
bleeding, I fear, and a certain amount of injury to the brain. She
has a husband, of course?'
'They all have, more's the pity.'
'Yes, there's a domesticity about these injuries that shows their
origin.' He lowered his voice, it's a perfectly hopeless business, you
understand. Twelve hours at the most.'
Badalia's right hand began to beat on the counterpane, palm
down.
i think you are wrong,' said the Church of England. 'She is
going.'
'No, that's not the picking at the counterpane,' said the Church
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