The Stars Look Down (69 page)

“No, Clem, no, on second thoughts I won’t. A good idea though, if we wasn’t catching the three o’clock for London!”

At this Heddon laughed, and Bebbington with a cold astonishment seemed to discover him all at once and then immediately to forget him.

Nugent turned to David:

“You’ve been busy stirring up Sleescale, I hear.”

“I don’t know about that, Harry,” David answered with a smile.

“Don’t you believe it,” Heddon interposed bluntly. Heddon was smarting under Bebbington’s arrogance, determined not to be put under by any half-baked politician from London. He had downed a pint of bitter on top of two doubles of Scotch and was just in the mood to throw his weight about. “Haven’t you read the papers? He’s just put a new housing scheme through that’s the best in the country. He’s got an ante-natal clinic opened, and free milk for necessitous kids. They’ve always been a set of grafters down there; local government has been one long sweet laugh, but now there’s an honest man got in amongst the back-scratchers and they’re all sitting up with the fear of God in them askin’ to be let join the Band of Hope.” Heddon took a dogged pull at his bitter. “Ah, if you want to know, he’s bloddy well wiped the floor with them.”

A silence followed. Nugent looked pleased. Dudgeon dosed his chump chop with ketchup and said with a grin:

“I wish we could do that with our lot, Harry. We’d knock off Duckham and water pretty quick.”

At the mention of the recent Report David leaned forward with sudden interest.

“Is there any immediate prospect of nationalisation?”

Bebbington and Nugent interchanged a glance, while Dudgeon retired in amusement behind the horn-rimmed spectacles. He put one nobby forefinger on the table-cloth before David.

“You know what Sir John Sankey submitted in his Report. All coal measures and colliery undertakings to be acquired by the Government. You know what Mr. Lloyd George said in the House of Commons on the 18th August. That the Government accepts the policy of State purchase of mineral right in coal, on which subjects all the reports of the Royal Commission were perfectly unanimous. Well! What more
do you want? Don’t ye see it’s as good as done!” And, with every evidence of enjoyment, Jim Dudgeon began to laugh.

“I see,” David said quietly.

“It was pretty funny, the Commission.” Dudgeon laughed even more jovially. “You should have heard Bob Smillie arguing the toss with the Duke of Northumberland and Frank goin’ after the Marquess of Bute on the origin of his claim to royalties and wayleaves. All coming from the signature of a boy of ten, Edward the Sixth. Oh, we had a rare bit o’ fun. But God! that’s nothing. I’d have gave my hat to have had the scalpin’ of Lord Kell.
His
great, great, great-grandfather got all the coal lands through doin’ a pretty bit of pimping for Charles II. Can you beat it? Millions in royalties for a successful week-end’s pimping for ’is Majesty.” Dudgeon lay back and relished the joke until the cutlery rattled.

“It doesn’t strike me as amusing,” David said bitterly. “The Government pledged themselves to the Commission. The whole thing is a gigantic swindle.”

“That’s exactly what Harry said on the floor of the House of Commons. But, my God, that don’t make no difference. Here, waiter, bring me another lot of chips.”

While Dudgeon talked, Nugent studied David, remembering long discussions squatting behind the sandbags of the front-line station while a white moon sailed round a misery of wire and mud and shell-holes.

“You still feel pretty strongly about nationalisation?” he asked.

David nodded without speaking; in this company no answer could have been more effective.

There was a short pause. Silently, Nugent interrogated Dudgeon who, with his mouth full of potato, made an emphatic sound in his throat, then he looked at Bebbington who gave a faint and non-committal acquiescence. Finally Nugent turned to David.

“Listen to me, David,” he said authoritatively. “The Council have decided to amalgamate the three local areas here and create a complete new district. The new institute at Edgeley is to be the headquarters. And we want a new organising secretary who’ll not only be District Treasurer but Compensation Secretary for the Northern Miners’ Association. We’re looking for a young man and a live man. I mentioned it to Heddon this morning but it’s official now.
We’ve asked you to meet us here to offer you the post.”

David stared at Harry Nugent, completely taken aback, overwhelmed by the offer. He coloured deeply.

“You mean you’d like me to apply?”

Nugent shook his head.

“Your name and three others were submitted to the committee last week. This is the committee and you’re the new secretary.” He held out his hand.

Mechanically David took it, while the full force of the appointment struck home.

“But, Heddon…” He swung round suddenly, facing Tom Heddon, to whom he had been so obviously preferred, and his eyes clouded with dismay.

“Heddon gave you a fine testimonial,” Nugent said quietly.

Heddon’s eyes met David’s in one swift interchange when the hurt yet courageous soul of the man lay exposed; then he forced out his chin with vehemence.

“I wouldn’t have the job for love nor money. They want a young man, diddent you hear. I’m glued to Rudd Street. I wouldn’t leave it for nobody.” His smile, though rather strained about the edges, was almost successful. He thrust his hand upon David.

Bebbington surveyed his wrist watch, fatigued by this emotionalism.

“The train,” he said, “leaves at three.”

They rose and went by the side door into the station. As they crossed to the crowded platform Nugent lagged a little behind. He pressed David’s arm.

“It’s a chance for you at last,” he said. “A real chance. I’ve wanted you to have it. We’ll be watching to see what you can do with it.”

Beside the train a Press photographer was waiting. And at the welcome sight Jim Dudgeon put on his glasses and looked official: he adored being photographed.

“Business is lookin’ up,” he remarked to David. “This is the second time they’ve caught me to-day.”

Overhearing, Bebbington smiled coldly; he carefully took the foreground.

“It’s not surprising,” he said, “considering that I arranged it both times.”

Harry Nugent said nothing, but when the train steamed out David’s last impression, as he stood there with Heddon beside him, was the quiet serenity of his face.

Towards the beginning of the following February when Arthur secured the contract with Mawson, Gowlan & Co., he felt it was the turn of the tide at last. Business at the pit had been deplorable for the past twelve months. Reparations, in wringing coal from Germany, had damaged the export trade on which, at the Neptune, they very considerably depended. France naturally preferred cheap or free coal from Germany to Arthur’s beautiful but expensive coal. And as if that were not enough, America had most unkindly entered the European field, a powerful and relentless competitor for Britain’s exclusive war-time markets.

Arthur was not a fool. He saw clearly that the pre-existing coal famine in Europe had produced an artificial inflation of the export price of British coal. He felt acutely the general illusion of prosperity, and his efforts were most sensibly directed towards making contact with local consumers and re-establishing himself by selling Neptune coal at home.

This return contract with Mawson Gowlans had been implied when the Neptune order for equipment was placed as far back in 1918. But Mawson Gowlan were keen customers and it was only now that Arthur had persuaded them to implement their word: even so he had been forced to shave his prices to the bone.

Nevertheless his mood that morning was one of natural elation as, with the draft contract in his hand, he rose from his desk and went into Armstrong’s office.

“Have a look,” he said. “Full time and double shift for the next four months.”

With a pleased expression, Armstrong pulled his glasses out of his breast pocket—his sight was not what it had been—and slowly surveyed the contract.

“Mawson Gowlan,” he exclaimed. “Well, well! Wouldn’t it beat the band, sir, when you think that this fellow Gowlan worked hand-putting under your father and me in this very pit!”

Pacing up and down the office Arthur laughed rather mirthlessly.

“Better not remind him of it, Armstrong. He’s coming
down at ten. By the way, I shall want you to witness our signatures.”

“Ay, he’s a big noise in Tynecastle now, by all accounts.” Armstrong meditated. “Mawson and he have got their fingers in half a dozen pies. I heard they’ve taken over Youngs—you know, the brass-finishers in Tynecastle that went burst last month.”

“Yes,” Arthur said shortly, as if the reminder of yet another local bankruptcy annoyed him, “Gowlan is expanding. That’s why we get this contract.”

Armstrong gazed at Arthur over the gold rims of his spectacles, then he went back to the contract. He read the contract meticulously, his lips moving over the words. Then, not looking at Arthur, he said:

“I see there’s a penalty clause.”

“Naturally.”

“Your father never held with the penalty clause,” Armstrong murmured.

It always irritated Arthur to have his father cast reprovingly in his teeth. He paced up and down the room a little faster with his hands clasped behind his back, and declared with nervous vehemence:

“You can’t pick and choose these days. You’ve got to meet people half-way. If you don’t, then somebody else will. And besides, we can fulfil this contract all ends up. We’ll have no trouble with the men. We’re still under control and the Government have definitely promised no decontrol until August 31st. We have more than six months’ guaranteed control to complete a four months’ contract. What more do you want? And damn it all, Armstrong, we do need the work.”

“That’s true,” Armstrong agreed slowly, “I was only thinking. But you know what you’re doing, sir.”

The sound of a car in the yard cut off Arthur’s quick reply. He stopped his pacing and stood by the window. There was a silence.

“Here’s Gowlan,” he said, watching the yard, “and he doesn’t look like he was going hand-putting now.”

A minute later Joe walked into the office. He advanced impressively, in double-breasted blue, with his hand outstretched and an electric cordiality in his eye. He shook hands vigorously with Arthur and Armstrong, beaming round the office as though it rejoiced him:

“You know it does my heart good to walk into this pit
again. You remember I worked here when I was a lad, Mr. Armstrong.” Despite Arthur’s fears there was no mock modesty about Joe, oh dear, no! his big-hearted frankness was human and edifying. “Yes, it was under you, Mr. Armstrong, I got my first groundings. And from your father, Mr. Barras, I drew the first money I ever earned in my life. Well, well! It’s not so long ago either when you come to think of it.” He sat down, pulled up his smartly creased trousers, genial and triumphant. “Yes, I will say,” he mused, “I was absolutely delighted to think of fixing up this contract. A bit of sentiment maybe, but who can help that? I like this pit and I like the way you do things, Mr. Barras. You’ve got a magnificent place here, magnificent. That’s my exact words to my partner, Jim Mawson. Some folks say there’s no feeling in business. Well, well, they’re a long way off
beginning
to understand the meaning of business, eh, Mr. Barras?”

Arthur smiled; it was impossible to resist Joe’s joyous charm.

“Naturally we’re very glad on our side to have this contract.”

Joe nodded graciously. “Business not so good as it might be, eh, Mr. Barras? Oh, I know, I know, you don’t have to bother to tell me. It’s a regular toss-up when you’ve got all your eggs in the one basket. That’s why Jim and myself keep spreadin’.” He paused, helped himself absently to a cigarette from the box on Arthur’s desk; then, rather solemnly: “Did you know we were floating ourselves next month?”

“You mean a company?”

“Certainly, I do. A public company. The time’s ripe for it. Things is absolutely boomin’ on the market.”

“But surely you’re not relinquishing your interests?”

Joe laughed heartily. “What do you take us for, Mr. Barras? We’ll take two hundred thousand for the goodwill, a packet of shares and a controlling interest on the board.”

“I see.” Arthur blenched slightly. For one second, thinking of his own discouragements at the Neptune, he hungered for an equal success, to lay his hands on such a staggering profit.

A silence; then Arthur moved towards the desk.

“What about the contract, then?”

“Certainly, Mr. Barras, sir. I’m ready when you are. Always
ready to do business. Ah, ha! good clean honest business.”

“There’s just one point I’d like to raise. The question of this penalty clause.”

“Yes?”

“There isn’t the slightest doubt about our fulfilling the contract.”

Joe smiled blandly.

“Then why worry about the clause?”

“I’m not worrying, but as we’ve cut our price so close and included delivery at Yarrow, I thought we might agree to delete it?”

Joe’s smile persisted, bland and friendly still, yet tinged with a kind of virtuous regret.

“Ah, now, we’ve got to protect ourselves, Mr. Barras. If we give you the contract for coking coal we’ve got to make sure that we get the coal. It’s only fair play after all. We’re doing our bit and we’re only making sure that you do yours. If you don’t like it, of course, well, we must just—”

“No,” Arthur said quickly. “It’s quite all right, really. If you insist I agree.”

Arthur above everything did not want to lose the contract. And there was no doubt that the clause was perfectly just; it was simply a very tight piece of business which any firm might well demand at this troubled time. Joe produced a large gold-encased fountain pen to sign the contract. He signed with an enormous flourish and Armstrong, who had once cursed Joe over half a mile of ropeway for letting a tub run amain, witnessed Joe’s signature neatly and humbly. Then Joe beamed and pump-handled his way into his car, which whisked him away triumphantly to Tynecastle.

When Joe had gone Arthur sat at his desk worrying a little—as he always did after taking a decision—and wondering if he had not allowed Gowlan to get the better of him. And it struck him that he might insure against the remote contingency of his failure to complete the contract. On an impulse he took the telephone and rang up the Eagle Alliance Offices with whom he usually did business. But the rate quoted was too high, ridiculously high, it would swallow up his small margin of profit. He hung up the receiver and put the matter out of his head.