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 officiaclass="underline" 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.
SEVEN
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!”