VENDETTA

By FRANK TILSL.EY

"MISTER! " They crowded round me as I left the pay-box. " Mister—can we come in with you? It's an A film an' the chap at the door won't let us in 'less we go in with a grown-up."

There were three of them, ages ranging between eight and twelve, evacuees, by the look of them, from a town slum —pert-faced, sharp-featured, giggling, sly, bubbling over with the joy of being young, ragged. They looked odd, in the smooth, ornate, over-furnished vestibule of our brand- new super-cinema.

I felt I oughtn't to aid them in seeing a film branded un- suitable except for adults, but their voluble appeal was irresistible.

" All right," I said. " All right. But you'll have to be as quiet as mice, or I'll have you put out. Understand? "

" Yes . . . yes . . . 000h yes . . . thanks, Mister . . ." I led the way to the door where a blue-uniformed attendant was taking the tickets. He took mine absently, glared down at the three urchins I trailed behind me, and barred the way.

" Clear off! " he told them, threateningly. " Go on, buzz off. . . ." They protested: a shrill clamour of voices. I realised immediately that I had intruded on a vendetta. " Go on, clear off. You can't come in here. This is an A film."

" We're with him . . . we're with this gentleman . . . we're with you, aren't we, Mister? " I nodded and stood on one side whilst the attendant took more tickets. He took them almost savagely.

" These here lads," said the attendant. eyeing me with- out enthusiasm, " are a pest. You don't know what they're like. I've told 'em I won't have them in here." He was asking me to disown them. I tried to compromise. I looked down at the boys very severely. " They've promised to be no trouble whatever," I said. " Haven't you? "

" They'd promise ought," said the attendant, taking a few more tickets, absently, and organising all his resources for resistance. " The only time we don't have trouble with them is when they're outside. They're always up to monkey tricks. I turned them away last Saturday matinee, and blow me when the people came out, there they were, trooping out with 'em, large as life! " He addressed himself, ferociously, to the oldest boy, the evident ringleader: " It's my opinion," he said, slowly and weightily, " that you got in without paying! "

" Oooh no! Honestly, Mister! " The boy's eyes rounded with astonishment. " No! lot us, honest."

The attendant turned back to me. " There's a notice up, by the pay-box," he said, severely, " asking patrons not to assist children in evading the regulations ; " the official words came out of his mouth clumsily but with a curious dignity. I accented the renroof but stuck to my suns. " I shall take care in future," I said, " to observe the regulations most scrupulously."

He thought about that and then glared down at the boys even more balefully.

" The notice also says," he told me, " that adults who take children into the cinema must sit by them and take complete responsibility for them."

" Of course," I said, " of course. Come on, you fellows." They came on. I wished they could have come on a little less triumphantly. But the attendant wasn't beaten yet. " Where's your gas masks? You're not allowed in here without your gas masks. You know that."

The elder boy held up a brown paper carrier he had trailed behind him. " They're in here," he said.

" Yes? ' The attendant regarded him sceptically. " You had me on with that a week or two back. You've forgotten that, haven't you? " He turned to me again. " Told me their gas masks were in that carrier," he said, " and as they were trooping out, after the show, they opened it under my eyes and showed me—it was full of groceries. Come on, now. Lets have a look inside."

But it wasn't groceries this time. There they were, the three cardboard cases. Chagrined, the attendant made them open the cases to make sure they were gas masks. They were. I think he'd have tried to find even other means of stopping the boys, but just then a particularly heavy stream of people came from the pay-box and behind their barrage, so to speak, we got into the cinema.

The three boys sat beside me and were very good and quiet. Except that they looked, with great ostentation, at the girl with the chocolates, whenever she glided round, they gave their undivided interest to the films. " Would you like some chocolate? " I asked at last.

" Oooh yes! " they joined in a whispering clamour. " But we only get our picture-money, you know."

" That's all right," I said, and bought them some. . . .

Fulfilling my part of the bargain, I kept by them all the way out: we walked down the wide, sweeping steps together, outside. " Well," I said, " good-bye," and nodded. The smallest boy raised his hand, to wave. Something flashed in it, and he darted along the pavement to rescue the coin he'd dropped. It was a sixpence. I thought the oldest boy looked at me oddly.

" I understood," I said, looking down at him thoughtfully, " that you only had your picture-money? "

" That's right," he said, grinning. He opened his own hand and showed me a sixpence resting there, too. " We . er . . . didn't need them," he said.

" You mean . . but . . . what about your tickets? "

" We didn't have tickets. He never asked us for them. I didn't think be would . . . somehow."