'Of course I will do that,' said Nutt. 'But why don't you ask Miss Glenda yourself? She knows you.'
Trev grinned again. 'Yes, she does and that's why I know she won't tell me. If I am any judge, and I'm pretty sound, she would like to know you better. I've never met a lady so good at feelin' sorry for people.'
'There's not much of me to know,' said Nutt.
Trev gave him a long, thoughtful glance. Nutt had not taken his eyes off his work. Trev had never seen anyone who could be so easily engrossed. Other people who ended up working in the vats were a bit weird, it was almost a requirement, but the little dark-grey fellow was somehow weird in the opposite direction. 'You know, you ought to get out more, Mister Nutts,' he said.
'Oh, I don't think I should like that at all,' said Nutt, 'and may I kindly remind you my name is not plural, thank you.'
''ave you ever seen a game of football?'
'No, Mister Trev.'
'Then I'll take you to the match tomorrow. I don't play, o'course, but I never miss a game if I can 'elp it,' said Trev. 'No edged weapons, prob'ly. The season starts soon, everyone's warming up.'
'Well, that is very kind of you, but I - '
'Tell you what, I'll pick you up down 'ere at one o'clock.'
'But people will look at me!' said Nutt. And in his head he could hear Ladyship's voice, calm and cool as ever: Do not stand out. Be part of the crowd.
'No, they won't. Trust me on that,' said Trev. 'I can sort that out. Enjoy your pie. I'm off.'
He pulled a tin can out of his coat pocket, dropped it on to his foot, flicked it into the air, toed it a few times so it spun and twinkled like some celestial object and then kicked it very hard so it sailed off down the huge gloomy room a few feet above the vats, rattling slightly. Against all probability it stopped in its flight a few feet from the far wall, spun for a moment and then started to come back with, it seemed to the amazed Nutt, a greater speed than before.
Trev caught it effortlessly and dropped it back into his pocket.
'How can you do that, Mister Trev?' said Nutt, astonished.
'Never thought about it,' said Trev. 'But I always wonder why everyone else can't. It's just about the spinning. It's not hard. See yer tomorrow, okay? And don't forget that name.'
The horse buses were not much faster than walking, but it wasn't you doing the walking, and there were seats and a roof and a guard with a battle-axe and all in all it was, in the damp grey hours before dawn, good value for tuppence. Glenda and Juliet sat side by side, rocking gently to the sway, lost in their thoughts. At least Glenda was; Juliet could get lost in half a thought, if that.
But Glenda had become an expert at knowing when Juliet was going to speak. It was rather like the sense a sailor has that the wind is going to change. There were little signs, as if a thought had to get the beautiful brain warmed up and spinning before anything could happen.
'Who was that boy what come up for his bubble and squeak?' she asked nonchalantly, or what she probably thought was nonchalantly, or again, what she might have thought was nonchalantly had she known that there was a word like nonchalantly.
'That's Trevor Likely,' said Glenda. 'And you don't want anything to do with him.'
'Why not?'
'He's a Dimmer! Fancies himself as a Face, too. And his dad was Big Dave Likely! Your dad would go mad if he heard you'd even talked to him.'
'He's got a lovely smile,' said Juliet, with a wistfulness that rang all kinds of alarms for Glenda.
'He's a scallywag,' she said firmly. 'He'll try on anything. Can't keep his hands to himself, too.'
'How come you knows that?' said Juliet.
That was another worrying thing about Juliet. Nothing much seemed to be going on between those perfect ears for hours on end and then a question like that would come spinning towards you with edges on it.
'You know, you should try to speak better,' Glenda said, to change the subject. 'With your looks you could snag a man who thinks about more than beer and footie. Just speak with a little more class, eh? You don't have to sound like - '
'My fare, lady?'
They looked up at the guard, who was holding his axe in a way that was very nearly not threatening. And when it came to looking up, this was not a long way. The axe's owner was very short.
Glenda gently pushed the weapon out of the way. 'Don't wave it about, Roger,' she sighed. 'It doesn't impress.'