More Deadly Than The Male

for work, and just as he was giving up hope, he obtained a job with the World-Wide Publishing

Company. It wasn't much of a job, but, by now, George was glad to take anything.

He was, however, a little dismayed to find that the Company expected him to sell a set of children's hooks from door to door on a 'commission only' basis.

George had no confidence in his ability to sell anything. But the sales manager assured him that he need not worry about that. They would train him, and by the time they were through with him he would be able to sell coals to Newcastle. George was introduced to Edgar Robinson, head of the group of salesmen on whose territory George was to work. Robinson, an odd, aggressive creature with a shock of black hair and a blotchy complexion took George aside and earnestly congratulated him on his good fortune to be working with him. What he did not know about selling the Child's Self-Educator, Robinson told him, could be written on his thumbnail. Every salesman who worked on his territory received personal tuition, and there was not a man trained by Edgar Robinson who was not earning at least ten pounds a week.

George became much more enthusiastic after he had heard this, and greatly encouraged when he realized that he was going to be shown how to obtain orders. He was, in fact, given an intensive two-day course in salesmanship along with the other applicants, and then he went out with Robinson and saw for himself how orders could be obtained.

A week later George was canvassing on his own, and by sheer hard work managed to earn three pounds ten shillings a week. He soon discovered that Robinson's stories about salesmen earning more than this amount was so much sales talk, but, as George knew that he was not likely to get anything else, he stuck to the job, and continued to make enough to keep himself going.

The job of calling from door to door was a great blow to George's pride. At first his shyness and timidity were a handicap. He would stand outside a house, screwing up his courage for such a time that people would become suspicious of him, and once one old lady telephoned for the police. Many people slammed the door in his face, while others were extremely rude to him. This treatment greatly increased his inferiority complex: there were moments when he suffered from moods of black depression, and he was driven more and more to rely on his fantasies of violence and adventure to sustain his bruised ego.

While Ella was tidying the room, George wrestled with his hangover. He had spent the previous evening at the King's Arms, and had drunk one too many beers. Feeling the tea might help him recover, he reached for the cup.

'Seen Leo this morning'?' he asked, for something to say.

Ella gave the dressing-table a final flick and moved to the door.

'He's somewhere around,' she said indifferently. She was plainly disappointed that George wasn't in a talkative mood. 'The silly thing! Wot you see in that cat I can't imagine. Not that I don't like cats meself, but not an old stupid like Leo. Leo indeed! I wonder who gave 'im that name. As much like a lion as I am. 'E's frightened of 'is own shadow. I reckon it's cool to keep 'im alive. 'E never comes near anyone but you, Mr George. But I must say 'e does seem to lave taken a proper fancy to you, doesn't 'e?'

George's face lit up. 'Animals like me,' he said simply. 'Poor old Leo! He must have had a pretty rotten time as a kitten, I should think. He's all right once he knows you.'

Ella sniffed. 'He's 'ad enough opportunity to know me,' she returned, 'but 'e bolts as soon as 'e sees me. 'E's daft, that's wot 'e is,' and she reluctantly took herself off to make the ten beds and clean the ten bedrooms of the other boarders who had, three hours since, gone off to their various offices.

As soon as she had gone, George slipped out of bed and opened the door. He left it ajar, went over to the dressing- table, found his cigarette case and then returned to bed. He left his door ajar every morning, for as soon as Ella was out of the way, Leo would come to see him

When George first came to the hoarding-house, Leo had been as terrified of him as of everyone else. The room George took over had been vacant for some little time, and the cat had used it as a kind of sanctuary. Several times George, coming home late, had found Leo curled up on his bed. The moment he opened the door the cat had sprung from the bed and had shot past him out of the room, a terrified streak of black fur.

George had been sorry for Leo. He saw, with a startling flash of intuition, that Leo was very much like himself. The cat was big and imposing, but its soul was as timid as George's. He understood the cat's fear of strangers, and he made up his mind that he would win its confidence.

For two months George wooed Leo's affection. He bought fish, which he left under his bed, he was always careful to enter his room slowly and without noise, and he would sit motionless if the cat ever visited him It took a long time before Leo would stay with him Even then the cat would spring away if he came near. But gradually, with inexhaustible patience, George won its affection. Now Leo came regularly every morning and kept him company.

This was a major triumph for George. He was not only flattered, but his interest, filling many hours of otherwise lonely boredom, developed into an intense love for the animal. He depended on Leo for company, and their association afforded an outlet for his own repressed affection.

While he was thinking about the cat, he felt a weight on the bed and, opening his eyes, he found Leo looking at him. The cat was a big black Persian with enormous yellow eyes and long whiskers. It stood on George's chest, padding with its paws while it sniffed delicately at George's face.

'Can't stay long, old boy,' George said, stroking its head with tender fingers. 'I've got work to do this morning Cone on, settle for a moment,' and he pulled the cat down beside him.

He continued to talk to it, stroking and fondling it, feeling at peace with life, grateful to the cat for its company, lavishing on it the urgent, rather overpowering love which unconsciously he yearned for himself.

2

George Fraser wandered into the saloon bar of the King's Arms at ten minutes to one o'clock. He walked to his favourite corner at the far end of the long bar counter and propped himself up against the wall.

The bar was not particularly full, and after a moment or so, Gladys, the barmaid, a big, good-natured looking girl, detached herself from a group of men with whom she had been gossiping and came towards him, wiping the counter with a swab as she did so.

'How's yourself?' she asked, giving George a fleeting smile as she drew a pint of mild and bitter, which she set before him.