Something Wholesale Read Online Free Page A

later I arrived in Sheffield, by train. I was wearing a pre-war suit that was so full of moth holes when I first put it on that it looked as though it had been peppered with shot. My mother had had it neatly repaired in the workroom with wool of an odd shade of blue.
    It was raining steadily and although it was only eleven o’clock in the morning the sky was almost as dark as night. With me were four enormous wicker baskets, things called ‘skips’, which contained the Gown Collection.
    ‘Commercial?’ demanded the man at Left Luggage. He was a gloomy-looking, hollow-eyed fellow. If it was always like this it was difficult to see how he could have looked otherwise.
    ‘No,’ I said. At this stage I was sensitive about my amateur status. ‘Have it your own way,’ he said. ‘Cheaper if they’reCommercial. It’s all the same to me if they’re full of corpses,’ and gave me a ticket.
    My father had written to Throttle and Fumble announcing that ‘Our Mr Newby will be calling on you,’ but no reply had been received when I left London, so I telephoned.
    ‘Throttle and Fumble,’ a voice said at the other end and I pressed Button A. There was a click and I was disconnected. All attempts to gain the attention of the operator failed.
    There was an interval while I bought a magazine I didn’t want in order to collect some change and a further wait in a queue for a telephone.
    ‘Throttle and Fumble,’ said the voice again.
    ‘I want to speak to the Gown Buyer.’
    ‘Speciality Model Gowns, Model Gowns, Dream Girl Room or Inexpensives?’ the voice said, archly. Confronted with such a choice I wasn’t sure.
    ‘Well, if you’re not sure, I can’t connect you.’
    ‘Speciality Model Gowns,’ I said, guessing wildly.
    There was a whirring noise and a new voice said, ‘Throttle and Fumble, Dream Girl Room, Good morning.’
    ‘I want Speciality Model Gowns.’
    ‘Just a moment, I’ll have you transferred.’ There was a succession of tocking noises and yet another voice said, ‘Sorry to trouble you, dear, will you transfer this call to Specialitys.’
    ‘Hallo, Speciality Model Gowns? I want to speak to the Buyer.’
    ‘I’m Miss Flagstone, the Under Buyer. Miss Trumpet can’t be disturbed. She’s having a Fashion Parade. Whom do you represent?’
    ‘Lane and Newby of London. My name is Newby.’ Put in this way it sounded ridiculous.
    ‘Oh yes, we had a letter about you. You should have been here earlier. We don’t see Travellers after eleven o’clock, and MissTrumpet has done all her buying. I’ll have to speak to her. She’s just going to coffee. Are they nice dresses?’
    ‘All the dresses are very nice,’ I said.
    There was an interval of five minutes which seemed longer. People were banging on the door of the telephone box.
    ‘Miss Trumpet doesn’t want anything unless you have something very special she could use in her parade.’
    ‘They’re all very nice.’
    ‘In that case Miss Trumpet says to come right away. Don’t bring a lot. And she doesn’t promise to buy.’
    There were no taxis outside the station.
    ‘Don’t you know there’s a war on?’ said the porter, who was trailing after me with a trolley piled high with my wicker baskets. ‘Like Gol-dust. You need a Barrow Man.’
    ‘Barrow Man?’
    ‘Chap with a barrow to push your stuff up to Throttle and Fumble.’
    ‘How far is it?’
    ‘Couple of mile.’
    At this moment, a man appeared, pushing a barrow. He was a shifty-looking little man with watery eyes.
    ‘Throttle and Fumble. Cost you a couple of quid.’
    It seemed a lot of money.
    ‘Carry ’em yourself,’ said the little man, ‘it’s all the same to me.’
    The immense load was transferred to the barrow. I rewarded the porter, I thought handsomely.
    ‘What’s this?’ he screamed. Other travellers waiting for the taxis that were now beginning to appear turned at the noise.
    ‘Five shillings.’
    ‘Five—shillings! What do you think I am