“My fethur says there’s niver been no firedamp in the Neptune. He says the order agin matches is all b — s.”
Arthur’s nerves broke, everything inside him broke loose. The ignorance, the stupidity, the insolence. He had sacrificed himself, nearly ruined himself, yes, half killed himself with work and worry to make the Neptune safe, to give the men a decent deal. And this was the answer. He lost himself. He took a step forward and hit Wicks in the face.
“You fool,” he said; his breath came panting like he was running. “You cursed ignorant fool. Do you want to blow the pit to bits? Do you want us with another disaster? Do you want that? Do you want it, I say? Here am I throwing decent workmen out the pit with you skulking about in a corner, loafing, smoking, ready to blow us all to damnation. Get out, for God’s sake. Get out of my sight. You’re sacked. Take your matches and your filthy cigarettes. Go on, get out before I kick you out.”
He caught Wicks by the shoulders, spun him round and fired him through the door. Wicks went sprawling his full length on the corridor outside, and hit his leg against the step. Arthur banged the door.
Silence in the office. Arthur leaned back against his desk, still breathing like he had been running; he seemed scarcely able to breathe. Hudspeth gave him one quick perturbed glance. It was instinctive that glance and Arthur saw it.
“He deserved it,” he cried. “I had to sack him!”
“Ay, you wouldn’t want to keep a lad like him,” Hudspeth said, staring awkwardly at the floor.
“I can’t sit down under that sort of thing!”
“No, you wouldn’t want to do that,” Hudspeth said, still staring uncomfortably at the floor. He paused. “He’ll go straight and tell his father, of course — Jake Wicks, the check-weigher.”
Arthur struggled for control.
“I didn’t hit him hard.”
“He’ll be making out you near killed him. They’re rare ones for trouble that Wicks lot.” He broke off, turned to the door. “I better go over,” he said. He went out.
Arthur remained supporting himself against the desk. It was a mistake he had made, a horrible mistake, the cumulation of his anxiety and strain had made him make this horrible mistake, striking Bert Wicks.
Hudspeth had gone over to smooth out the mistake. He hoped it would be all right. He straightened himself and entered his little changing room that opened off the office. He had arranged to inspect New Paradise this morning and he got into his pit clothes. As he stepped into the cage to go inbye he still hoped it would be all right.
But it was not all right. When Bert Wicks picked himself up he made for the bank where his father stood checking tubs as they came rolling down the track. His leg hurt him where it had hit against the step and the more he thought about his leg the more his leg hurt him. He became afraid to put any weight upon his leg.
His father, Jake Wicks, saw him coming like that, afraid to put weight on his leg. Jake stopped the tubs.
“What’s up, Bert?” he asked.
In a high blubbering voice Bert told him, and when Jake had heard everything he said:
“He can’t do a thing like that.”
“He did it,” Bert answered. “He knocked us down and kicked us, he did. He kicked us when I wor down.”
Jake rammed the book he kept for checking tubs into the inside of his jacket and hitched his leather belt tight.
“He can’t do it,” he said again. “He can’t get away with that sort of thing on us.” Frowning, he reflected. All because poor Bert had forgotten to take a couple of matches out of his pocket before he went inbye. All because of that and these blasted new regulations. Would anybody stand it? — let alone him, the men’s checkweigher at the pit. He said suddenly: “Come on, Bert.”
He left the tubs altogether and he walked Bert the whole way up to the hospital. Dr. Webber, the young resident house surgeon, newly qualified and not long appointed to the hospital, was on duty and Jake, with the peremptory manner of a man who knew his own position, asked Dr. Webber to examine Bert’s leg. Jake Wicks, besides being check-weigher to the men, the post which Charlie Gowlan had once held, was treasurer to the Medical Aid Committee. It was quite important for Dr. Webber to be pleasant to Jake Wicks and he was most pleasant and obliging, making a long and grave examination of Bert’s leg.
“Is the leg broke?” Jake asked.
Dr Webber did not think so. In fact he was practically certain that the leg was not broken, but you could never be sure and in any case it was not wise to be sure. The medical journals were always turning up with fracture cases, nasty cases of damages too, damages against the doctor. And Jake Wicks was an unpleasant customer. Dr. Webber, not to put too fine a point on it, was afraid of Jake, and he said:
“We ought to have an X-ray.”
Jake Wicks thought an X-ray would be a good idea.
“Suppose we keep him in for twenty-four hours,” Dr. Webber suggested pleasantly. “Twenty-four hours in bed won’t hurt you, Bert, just to be safe, have a proper diagnosis. How does that strike you?”
It struck Jake and Bert as being quite the best course under the circumstances. Bert was put to bed in the men’s ward and Jake went straight down to the Institute and rang up Heddon at the Lodge offices in Tynecastle.
“Hello, hello,” he said cautiously. “Is that Tom Heddon? This is Jake Wicks, Tom. You know, Tom, the Neptune checkweigher.” Jake’s tone with Heddon was rather different from his tone with Dr. Webber.
“What is it?” Heddon’s voice came curtly over the wire. “And cut it short, for God’s sake. I haven’t all day to listen to you. What is it?”
“It’s my lad, Bert,” Jake said very propitiatingly. “It’s assault and victimisation. You’ve got to listen, Tom.”
For a full five minutes Heddon listened. He sat at the other end of the wire with the receiver clapped to his ear, listening darkly, intently biting his thumb nail and spitting the tiny pieces on to the blotter before him.
“All right,” he said at the end of it. “All right, I tell you I’ll be along.”
Two hours later when Arthur rode to bank from the Paradise and came out of the cage and across the yard Heddon was seated in the office, waiting on him. The sight of Heddon gave Arthur a shock; he went cold instantly. Heddon did not get up, but sat squarely in his chair as though planted there. And he did not speak.
Arthur did not speak for a minute either. He walked through to the bathroom and washed his hands and face. Then he came out, drying himself, but he had not washed himself properly, for his hands left a dark smudge on the towel. He stood with his back to the window, wiping his hands on the towel. He found it easier to keep doing something. He was not so nervous if he kept on wiping his hands. Trying to speak casually he said:
“What is it this time, Heddon?”
Heddon lifted a ruler from the desk and began to play with it.
“You know what it is,” he said.
“If it’s Wicks you’ve come about,” Arthur said, “I can’t do anything. I discharged him for rank disobedience.”
“Is that so?”
“He was caught smoking inbye in Globe. You know we’ve found firedamp there. I’ve spent a lot of money making this pit safe, Heddon. I don’t want any worse trouble than what we’ve had.”
Heddon crossed his legs easily, still holding the ruler. He was in no hurry. But at last he said:
“Bert Wicks is in hospital.” He told it to the ruler.
Arthur’s inside turned over and went hollow. He felt sick. He stopped wringing his hands upon the toweclass="underline"