Off To See The Wild West Show Part 2 Chapter 3 (5/6) By Frank Beill

(1/6), (2/6), (3/6), (4/6), (5/6), (6/6). Part 1 Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20. Part 2 Prologue, Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4.

'None for sale, mate. They're all spoken fer.' 'I'll pay you double for one of your sacks today ... and I'll have more tomorrow.' The man leaned back onto the sack and perched on the edge of his cart. He seemed to think for a moment before being distracted. His solid dray horse struck one of its hooves on the road and snorted as if to tell its master I was making an offer too good to refuse. 'O'right. You've twisted me arm. Where d'you want it tekin'?' The coal merchant nodded.

'Number forty-two. Down the passage alongside. I'll pay you when you deliver.' I turned in the direction of Sal's house and was gone before he took the opportunity to tell me I was 'not from round 'ere.'

Today I was supposed to be organising the distribution of more posters around Hull to advertise the arrival of the Wild West Show and I was feeling guilty about abdicating this responsibility. Major John Burke, who was responsible for all the show's publicity, wouldn't be pleased with me, but I would have felt even guiltier not doing something about Sal and her daughter. Colonel Cody would understand. Bill agreed to let me come to Hull - well in advance of the show - because he knew how important it was to me to find these special people from my past.

Hull folk used the back entrances of their houses rather than the front ones, even though it meant walking further. Front doors - and front parlours if they had them - were only for special occasions: for best, as they liked to say. So, I went down the side passageway again, into the backyard and knocked on the rear door.

There was no reply but I could hear angry voices inside the house. There was also a child crying. Martha hardly made a murmur the night before. She didn't possess the strength then or so it seemed but now it was certainly back again. I pushed the door open. I wasn't going to wait to be invited in. 'My offer's still goin'!' It was a man's voice. 'You know what you can do with yer offer!' Sal was almost screaming. Martha howled even louder.

'You're sittin' on a fortune, Sal,' the man said sarcastically. 'An' I'm stayin' sat on it!' I was in the living room now and could see Sal's antagonist. He looked to be about the same age as myself and was dressed in a brown suit with a black derby - sorry, bowler - hat perched at a rakish angle.

There was something familiar about him hidden behind a dark brown walrus moustache, which failed to hide the scars left by childhood acne. 'What's going on?' I interrupted the argument. 'I'm here for the rent. Not that it's got owt to do with you!' The visitor leered at me. Instinctively I hated him. I wanted to hit him. 'Doesn't sound like collecting rent to me!' 'Wants it in kind!' Sal shrugged angrily. 'Knows I ain't got no money!'

'How much do you want?' I thrust my hand into a jacket pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. 'More than you can afford, brown boy!' The rent collector sneered and instantly I knew who he was. Years had gone by and I believed I'd managed to push him out of my memory but here he was once again dogging my footsteps. 'Snelgrove!' The old anger erupted in me again. My hands were around his throat before he could move. 'Stop, Sammy! He's not worth it!' Sal grabbed my arm.

Continued... Next Page (6/6)

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