igs

ANGEL PAVEMENT

SUNDAY was fine, that is, there was no rain, sleet, or
snow falling. There was also very little sunlight falling,
and the streets of Camden Town and Kentish Town
were like echoing slaty tunnels. Turgis saw them when
he went out to buy a paper and a packet of cigarettes,
and as usual he disliked the look of them. They were
not very cheerful on a weekday, but they were a panto-
mime and a beanfeast then compared to what they were
on Sunday. It was on Sunday that Turgis felt his lone-
liness most keenly.

It must be admitted, though, that on this particular
Sunday morning he had received and refused two invi-
tations. The first was from Mr. Pelumpton, who had
decided that he must pay a visit to Petticoat Lane—
"jusht to shee 'ow the shtufFs gom'," he said, with an
impressive professional air. He had suggested, with
some condescension, that Turgis might like to go with
him. Turgis had promptly declined. He had been to
Petticoat Lane before, and he saw quite enough of old
Pelumpton in Nathaniel Street and had no desire to go
to Whitechapel with him, merely to provide him with a
listener and some free beer.

The other invitation came from his fellow lodger,
Park, the Bolshie. Park, a neat dark Jewy sort of chap,
quiet and civil enough but with something machine-like
and vaguely menacing about him, just as if he was not
quite human, worked in the printing trade and appa-
rently had to go at all hours, so that Turgis hardly
ever saw him. Moreover, he was a tremendous com-
munist worker, for ever attending meetings and con-