A Safety Match

by Ian Hay

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

  SOME ONE TO CONFIDE IN.

  Certainly matters were in a serious state in the Mirkley Collierydistrict. The whole industrial world was unsettled at the time. Therehad been trouble on the railways, and a great shipyard strike wasthreatening in Scotland. Most serious of all, the men were beginningto defy their own leaders. They had taken to organising littlesectional revolts of their own, and Employers' Federations werebeginning to ask how they could be expected to ratify treaties withTrades Union officials who were unable to hold their own followers tothe terms of agreements concluded on their behalf.

  The Mirkley district had caught the infection. The mischief hadoriginated at Marbledown and Cherry Hill, the immediate cause of thetrouble being a simple question of weights and measures.

  The ordinary collier is paid by piecework--so much per ton for all thecoal he hews. This coal is carefully weighed on coming to the surface,and to ensure fair play all round the weight is checked by the men'sown representative at the pit-head. Now just as all is not gold thatglitters, so all that comes to the surface of the earth from theinterior of a coal-pit is not necessarily coal. A good deal of it isshale, stone, and the like--technically summarised as "dirt"--and hasto be sorted out from the genuine article by a bevy of young ladiesretained at some expense for the purpose. As colliers are paid forhewing coal and not dirt, the mine managers, reckoning onehundredweight as the average weight of dirt in a tub of coal, had beenin the habit, when making out their pay-sheets, of deducting thisamount from the total weight of each load brought to the surface._Hinc lacrymae._ The man in the pit claimed that he should be paid forall he sent up the shaft, alleging that it was impossible to separatecoal from dirt at the face, and that dirt was quite as difficult tohew as coal. To this those in authority replied that a collier is aman who is employed to hew coal and not dirt, and that as such heshould only be paid for the coal he hewed. It was a nice point, and sohigh did feeling run upon the subject, and so fierce was the demeanourof their _employes_, that pliable Mr Aymer and pusillanimous MrMontague yielded to the extent of fifty-six pounds, and hencefortheach toiler in Cherry Hill and Marbledown Colliery was debited withone half instead of one whole hundredweight of dirt per tub.

  Encouraged by the success of their colleagues, the men employed at SirJohn Carr's great pit at Belton proffered a similar request. Butthough the request was the same its recipient was different. Sir Johngreeted the deputation with disarming courtesy, and announced in amanner which precluded argument that on the question of the owners'right to deduct for dirt in each load he would not yield one inch. Onthis the deputation rashly changed their ground and alleged that thetoll of one hundredweight per tub was excessive. Whereupon Juggernautwhisked them off without delay to the pit-head. Here a minuteexamination was made of the contents of the next ten tubs of coalwhich came to the surface, and it was found that, so far fromdefrauding his _employes_, Juggernaut was defrauding himself, for theaverage weight of dirt in each tub was not one hundred and twelve butone hundred and thirty pounds.

  "You see, Mr Brash?" said Sir John cheerfully. "I am afraid you haveall been in my debt to the extent of eighteen pounds of coal per tubfor quite a considerable number of years. However, if you will besensible and go back to work, we will call it a wash-out and say nomore about it."

  Then he departed to London.

  But he had to return. The half-hundredweight of Cherry Hilland Marbledown outbalanced Belton's plain facts and oculardemonstrations. The Pit "came out" _en masse_, against the adviceand without the authority of their Union officials; and for two orthree weeks men loafed up and down the long and unlovely streetwhich comprised Belton village, smoking their pipes and organisingoccasional whippet-races against the time when the despot whoemployed them should be pleased to open negotiations.

  But the despot made no sign. Presently pipes were put away for want oftobacco, and whippet-racing ceased for want of stake-money. Then camea tightening of belts and a setting of teeth, and men took to sittingon their heels against walls and fences, punctuating recrimination byexpectoration, through another four long and pitiful weeks.

  Not so utterly pitiful though. For a wonderful thing happened. Theunknown benefactor of the strike of seven years ago came to lifeagain. Every morning the postman delivered to the wife of each man inBelton a packet containing a ration of tea, sugar, and (once a week)bacon. Coal, too, was distributed by a mysterious motor-lorry, bearinga London number-plate, and manned by two sardonic Titans, whodeposited their sacks and answered no questions. So there was noactual destitution in the village. But there was no beer, and notobacco, and no money. Women and children can live for an amazinglylong time on tea and sugar eked out by a little bread, but man is theslave of an exacting stomach, and requires red meat for the upkeep ofhis larger frame. The whippets, too, had to be considered; and when,after an interval of seven weeks, a notice went up on the gates of thepit buildings, intimating that all who returned to work on thefollowing Monday would be reinstated without question, Belton Collieryput its pride into its empty pocket and came back as one man.

  But the danger was not over yet, as Juggernaut well knew. For themoment the men were subdued by sheer physical exhaustion. The firstpay-day would fill their bellies and put some red blood into theirpassions. And it was certain information, received on this head at thePit offices, that sent Sir John Carr home to Belton Hall with knittedbrow and tight-set mouth one wintry Saturday afternoon in early April,a fortnight after the men had resumed work.

  He stepped out of the big motor and walked into the cheerful fire-lithall. He stood and gazed reflectively upon the crackling logs as thebutler removed his heavy coat. But the removal of the coat seemed totake no weight from his shoulders. He felt utterly lonely and unhappy.Was he growing old, he wondered. He was not accustomed to feel likethis. He did not usually shrink from responsibility, or desire ashoulder to lean upon, but at this moment he suddenly felt the wantof some one to consult. No; consult was not the word! He could haveconsulted Carthew. In fact he had just done so, for Carthew hadreturned from his holiday two days before. What he wanted was some oneto _confide_ in. With a sudden tightening of the heart he thought of aconfidante who might have been at his side then, had things beendifferent--a confidante who would have sat upon the arm of his chairand bidden him play the man and fear nothing. Well, doubtless he wouldplay the man and fear nothing, and doubtless he would win again as hehad done before. But--_cui bono_? What doth it profit a man----?

  He wondered where she was. Yachting on the Mediterranean, orfrivolling on the Riviera. Or perhaps she was back in London by thistime, ordering her spring clothes and preparing for another butterflyseason. At any rate she was not at Belton Hall. Whose fault wasthat?...

  Had he been lacking in patience with her? Had he treated her too muchlike a refractory board-meeting?... A little fool? Doubtless; butthen, so were most women. And she was very young, after all....

  "Will you take anything before dinner, sir?" inquired a respectfulvoice in his ear. "Tea? Whisky-and----"

  "No, thank you, Graves. Is Master Brian in the nursery?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "I will go up shortly and say good-night to him. Meanwhile I shall bein the study if Mr Carthew or any one calls for me. But I don't wantto be disturbed at present."

  A minute later he opened the door of the apartment, half library, halfsmoking-room, which he called his study. It was in darkness, but forthe cheerful glow of the fire.

  As Juggernaut closed the door behind him and felt for theelectric-light switch, there came a rustling from the depths of agreat oak settle which formed a right-angle with the projectingmantelpiece; and a slim straight figure stood suddenly upright,silhouetted against the ruddy glare.

  "Daphne!"

  "Yes--me!" replied an extremely small voice.