“In hospital!” After a minute: “What’s happened to him?”
“You should know.”
“I don’t know.”
“They think his leg’s broken.”
“I don’t believe it,” Arthur cried. “I didn’t do anything. Mr. Hudspeth was there. He’ll tell you it was nothing.”
“Wicks has got to be X-rayed to-morrow — that’ll show you if it’s nothing. Dr. Webber’s orders. I’ve just come from the hospital.”
Arthur was very pale now; he felt weak. He had to sit down on the window sill. He remembered that young Wicks had fallen heavily outside the door.
“For God’s sake, Heddon,” he said in a low voice. “What are you getting at?”
Heddon dropped the ruler. There was no sweetness or brotherly love about Heddon; his job was to be violent and arbitrary and he intended to do his job.
“Look here, Barras. I’ll speak plain. You lost your temper to-day and assaulted a man. Don’t deny it. Never mind what the man did. You assaulted him with violence. You’ve as good as broke his leg. That’s a serious matter. It isn’t a question of reinstatement. It’s criminal. Don’t interrupt. I’m talking. I represent every man that’s left in your bloddy pit and if I lift my finger they’ll walk out on you.”
“What good will that do them?” Arthur said. “They want to work, they don’t want to walk out.”
“The men have got to stand together. What affects one affects all. I don’t like this Neptune pit. It stinks with me this pit ever since that time back when you had the flooding. I’m not going to stand no nonsense.”
The violence in Heddon’s voice knocked the heart right out of Arthur.
“Do you know how I’ve slaved at this pit?” he protested weakly. “What are you getting after?”
“You’ll find out in plenty of time,” Heddon answered. “We’ve called a meeting at the Institute for six o’clock. There’s a strong feeling about it. I’m only warning you. It’s no good your doing anything now. It’s done. You’re in a mess. You’re in one hell of a mess.”
Arthur did not speak. He was limp, sick of Heddon and Heddon’s threats. These threats were part of Heddon’s business. Heddon was trying to bully him and probably succeeding. But in his heart he could not believe that Heddon would bring the men out, the men who were at the Neptune were too glad to be in work to come out. The destitution in the district was terrible, the town festering with unemployed; the men in work were the lucky ones. He stood up listlessly.
“Have it your own way,” he said. “I know you don’t want trouble.”
Heddon stood up, too. Heddon was used to men who banged the desk with their fists and snarled at him and told him to get to hell out of here. He was used to bluster and counterbluster, oaths, threats and blasphemy. He was paid to fight and he fought. Arthur’s lethargy brought a vague pity to his eyes.
“That’s everything,” he said. “You’ll hear from us later.” And with a short nod he walked out.
Arthur remained motionless. He was still holding the half-folded towel and he completed folding the towel. He went into the bathroom and hung the towel up on the hot pipe. Then he saw that the towel was not very clean. He picked it off the rail and dropped it in the empty bath to be removed.
He changed into his ordinary clothes. He could not be bothered to take a bath to-night. He was still tired and listless and sick. Everything was a little unreal; he felt light inside his clothes, as if he did not belong to them. He was so sensitive he could feel acutely, but once his feeling had traversed a certain point of acuity he became numb. He was numb now. He caught sight of himself suddenly in the small square of mirror hung on the white enamel wall. No wonder he felt done up. He looked ten years more than his age of thirty-six, there were lines round his eyes, his hair was lustreless, almost gone upon the top. Why was he wasting his life like this, making an old man of himself before his time, chasing insane ideals, embracing the mad illusion of justice? Other men were enjoying their lives, making the most of their money, while he stuck here at this joyless pit working the treadmill thanklessly. For the first time he thought, God, what a fool I’ve been!
Back in the office he looked at the clock. Almost six o’clock. He took his hat and went out. He walked out of the empty pit yard and along Cowpen Street. He ought, of course, to go to the hospital to inquire about young Wicks, but he decided to put it off until later. It was very typical, this procrastination. As he walked up the Avenue he heard a loud sound of voices come from the Miners’ Institute. The voices came distantly, they seemed to him futile and remote. He knew there could be no trouble, it was too silly to think of trouble at a time like this.
FIFTEEN
But Arthur was wrong. Fact, once in a while, does violence to logic. And the events of the evening of December 14th do not necessarily discredit Arthur’s judgment. They merely took place.
The meeting at the Institute was held at six. It was short. Heddon saw to it that the meeting was short. Heddon’s policy was quite clear; he wanted no trouble, no trouble at all. The sadly depleted funds of the Union would not stand trouble. His policy was to intimidate Arthur, leave Arthur uncertain and worrying for twenty-four hours, then come down on the following day to drive a hard bargain with Arthur. Reinstatement for Bert Wicks and compensation and a something extra thrown in to make good measure. But above all Heddon’s policy was to get home, change his socks which were damp because his feet sweated badly, sit down to his tea in dry socks and slippers and then get into a chair by the fireside with his pipe. Heddon was not so young as he had been, his ambitions were dead, the hatreds of his youth merely smouldering. His policy was still vigorous enough, but it was governed less by Heddon’s head and more by Heddon’s feet.
He rushed the proceedings at the meeting, snubbed Jake Wicks, endorsed Harry Ogle’s briefly expressed views, then hurried out to catch the 6.45 for Tynecastle.
On the steps of the Institute he paused, rather taken aback by the size of the crowd outside. Hell, he thought, what’s taken them like, down here! There were perhaps as many as five hundred men, standing there, hanging about, waiting and talking amongst themselves. They were mostly men who were on the dole.
Confronted by this gathering Heddon felt an obligation to address it. He put his hands in his pockets, thrust forward his head and declared briefly:
“Listen, lads. We’ve just held a meeting to discuss the case that happened to-day. We can’t allow any member of our Union to be victimised. I’ll not stand for an unjust dismissal. But in the meantime we’ve adjourned on a point of order. I’ll be here again to-morrow for further negotiations. That’s all, lads.” With his usual abrupt gesture, Heddon went down the steps and towards the station.
The men cheered Tom Heddon as he walked up Freehold Street. Heddon represented the hope of these men, a vague and faintly illusory hope they were well aware, but still a hope. He represented tobacco, beer, a good bed, warm clothing and work. That was partly why they cheered him. But it was not a loud cheer and in it there could be detected a flatness, a basic note of dissatisfaction and unrest.
When Jake Wicks came out of the Institute five minutes after Heddon had gone it was apparent that he, too, was far from satisfied. He came down the steps slowly, wearing an injured look, and he was at once surrounded by the waiting men who wanted to know more about it. Everybody wanted to know, and in particular Jack Reedy and Jack’s crowd wanted to know. Jack’s crowd was part of the waiting men and yet it was not, it was perhaps a little different. They were mostly youngish men and they did not talk much, but they all had cigarettes. Their faces were curiously alike, each had a kind of hardness as though the owner of the face did not care any more. Jack’s face was exactly like that as if at one time he had cared but now did not care any more. The lines of Jack’s face all sloped downwards and the lines were twisted and set. The face was sucked in about the cheeks and temples and was very pale except for a yellow stain of nicotine at the corner of the upper lip. But the setness of the face was its most remarkable quality; the face was so set you saw at once it could not smile. You had the queer impression that if Jack’s face tried to smile it would break.