Our Time Is Gone (47 page)

Meanwhile Mr. Johns hung about in the adjoining room. He had no intention of leaving until he had told the noble Captain where he got off. He hadn't come all the way from Gelton for nothing. And that done he would go and have a drink, something to eat, and, catching the six-ten express back to Gelton, return home to his wife and family.

By noon certain plans had come on the table. They were Captain Fury's. Enrolment of all workers in the auxiliary and industrial battalions. Tongues wagged. Who was the fellow? Where had he come from? A very fine specimen of the North. Obviously a clever organizer. Should have been at the service of the Government long ago. So the tongues wagged.

At one o'clock the assembly dispersed with the knowledge that they had got somewhere. One need not envisage strikes, industrial unrest, not even lock-outs. Very fine. Very hopeful. Proof of the pudding, etc. You had to be a worker to know the workers, etc. etc. Captain Fury invited everywhere. Two people asked him to lunch; the Punjab Colonel invited him to dinner.

Funny how they got round you! Like bloody flies! Well, he could laugh. They thought they were having a hell of a time, serving their own ends. And when it was all over, drop him flat. Well, they would be wrong. They wouldn't be able to. He had them set. It was nice to think about it. And saluting and smiling, Captain Fury went out.

‘Here you are!' said swarthy little Mr. Johns. ‘Glad to meet you, Captain.'

Desmond looked down at him. Here were old days, old times. Right in front of him. ‘Well, Johns,' he said, and suddenly was quite unable to prevent himself from looking sheepish. ‘Well?'

Mr. Johns looked him up and down. Then he spat into the street, and rubbed the hand down his trousers. Apparently this was his method of acknowledging the existence of the ‘noble Captain,' an old friend, an old fellow-worker—of the hard days, the days of struggle and of trial. Here he was. Six foot of him. Looking rather well in uniform all the same.

‘You look well, Johns,' said Desmond, smiling down at the bright brown shoes.

‘What's that to you?'

‘Oh! It's like that, is it?' replied Desmond. ‘Well, then, get it off your chest, Johns.'

Mr. Johns said quietly: ‘I'm surprised by you, Fury. You used to be one of the best of the crowd. When somebody told me they'd seen you going about in
that
'—he meant it as purely derogatory—‘well, I could have kissed my behind and that's a fact! To-day, though you may not know it, your name stinks among Gelton workers. Stinks, putting it mildly, Fury!'

‘I did quite a lot for them at one time or other,' said the Captain slowly.

‘Perhaps you did. But it doesn't count tuppence. We're simply mugs to you. I was talking to a friend of yours the other day. I remember you used to call him a cod. But they called him up, and he wouldn't go to that damned war. Which shows he's not such a cod as you think. I wonder where you think you're getting, Fury?'

‘Where I want to go to is the best answer to that,' replied Desmond. ‘Why, Johns?'

‘Nothing! But strike me dead, when I saw you standing there among the nobs, you just made me bloody sick! A hell of a lot of thanks you'll get for your kindness!'

‘I'm not expecting any from gentlemen. I don't want their thanks. You made a big mistake, Johns. I set out to get somewhere, and I'm going there, and it won't have to be through ranks of gentlemen. But I thought you wanted to say something. You made enough row about it in there,' and he jerked a thumb in the direction of the conference room. ‘
My
idea stands.'

‘This is what I want to say, Fury. You've made the biggest mistake of your life setting yourself against the workers like this. They might pay you good money and give you a smart uniform. But it won't last long, and when our time comes—and it
will
come, yes, you bastard!—you may stand there laughing and thinking you're a hell of a fellow—but it
will
come, and we'll know what to do with the likes of you. That shows I'm not scared, Mr. Bloody Fury, in spite of the fact that you make twice of me in bulk. Since you married that tart, you got ideas into your head, or she put them there for you. People like you, Fury, just amuse people like that. We're not all thick. We see as far as our noses. That tart's ruined you for good; you daren't show yourself anywhere where Gelton workers hang out. By God, no!
I
believe in loyalty. Yes, sir, even if you have to live your life in a closet—up to your eyes in muck. I believe in loyalty, and like any working man it goes to my family, and then it goes to my workmates. That's the only place it belongs. It doesn't belong to the Government who don't care two pins about you, or anybody else. It belongs to all of us who, if we win this war, will have to
pay
for it? See? And the only ones who won't pay will be those who are killed.

‘You think you're a marvel! You got a bloody swelled head! That's all you've got. I was talking to Kilkey the other day. He told me you hadn't been near one of your family since—oh, well, since you got on in the world. Well, to me a thing like that is
lousy
, and I'll say it to your face. You
are
lousy, and a bloody turncoat into the bargain! Never mind. We know what to do now. We'll fight your dirty scheme every bit of the way, even if we get gaol for it. The more I think of it, the more amazed I am.'

Captain Fury remained in the same position. Not a muscle of his face moved. He rose on his heels, up and down, up and down, his hands behind his back, playing with the stick he carried People had passed through. Now the place was empty, and in the huge building Mr. Johns' voice took on almost thunderous tones, rolling about like ominous waves, and in the midst of them stood the Captain, calm, unperturbed, even attentive, and seemingly very interested in Mr. Johns's volubility. For a shy man, and he always remembered Johns as the shyest of men, he had developed enormously.

‘I came all the way from Gelton. I was delegated to come here, to fight against you, and the other so-called Labour leaders. Labour! It makes me want to puke with disgust! You say you're getting somewhere. We'll see! Wait till they've had the fun, had what they want. They'll kick you back where you came from. That tart went to your head.' He wanted to add ‘to your brother's too,' but he didn't mention it.

Now he looked the Captain up and down, sized him up. Six foot of arrogance. No more than that. And his old father sweating his guts out in a furnace room. Well! Well! There's loyalty for you. Run off with a tart! And what a tart! He'd heard about her.

‘I gave up representing workers at the last big strike, Johns,' said Desmond.

‘It's nothing to compliment yourself about. You think you're clever, Fury, but not half as clever as that tart you married. Not half as clever! You just wait. D'you suppose they come to Gelton to be educated, or to help anybody? Do they hell!' Mr. Johns paused.

‘I'm trying to be interested, Johns,' said the Captain, ‘but you're losing your temper. You were always such a cool man. But you seem to have changed. I admit I turned my back on them. Well, no law says I can't. It's a free country. I want to go my own road. Besides, you're just talking nonsense about loyalty. Look at this morning. Who were the people who tried to bite each other's heads off? The gentlemen as you call them? Not it. The bloody union men! Yes, Johns, you're right. It's a farce. I'm honest, anyhow. I'm out for myself, so far as I'm concerned I don't give a damn for anybody.
Nobody.
'

‘You don't have to tell me that, either,' countered Mr. Johns dryly.

‘Well then, why hold up the bloody traffic? I'm in a hurry now, anyhow.'

‘You always were. Maybe you travel too fast. I won't get in your way. But let me tell you this before I see the last of you, Fury. You'll travel just as far as that tart wants you to go. You're a fine specimen to look at, I'll admit that. That's what
they
like. Yes, Mr. Bloody Fury, you'll travel where they want you to. And that won't be any farther than under the bedclothes. That's honest too. So now you have it!' Mr. Johns spat contemptuously.

Captain Fury gripped the other's vest and shook him. His face was livid with rage. ‘I'd like to kill you, Johns,' he said under his breath, and he continued to shake him.

‘You haven't the guts!' said Johns, who tore away from the Captain. ‘You haven't the guts to kill
anything
. Well, there it is anyhow,' and he turned his back on Desmond, and strode out, and down the steps.

‘At least I've told the sod what I think of him,' thought Mr. Johns as he repaired to the nearest pub for refreshment.

A few minutes later Desmond Fury was in a taxi and heading for home.

‘Life begins this morning,' he said, ‘and it
has
!'

II

‘Everything's in a blasted mess!' said Mr. Kilkey, and somehow he seemed to be addressing his own long reflection of himself as he went down the long stone corridor. A mess! Though the war beat everything.
That
was the worst mess of all. Half of Price Street empty now. Hundreds of his friends gone. Half of them dead. And they were still going. Take you with one leg even. Which showed the mess it was.

‘Well,' he thought, as he went down the convent steps, ‘the kid's safe anyhow! Poor little beggar! Still, nothing can get him there, unless it's a bomb.'

When he reached the street he heard a newsboy crying the paper. Big offensive on the Western Front! He bought one, and stood for a moment under the gas lamp to read. H'm! Another lost battle, I'll bet. Hello! What's this? Oh, Lord! Him again. H'm! In London now, eh! Getting on indeed! Well, perhaps there was something in it. Perhaps there is, and I'm too dull to see it. Desmond always said I was dull.

However, he was at no pains to analyse what that something was. He had plenty to think of besides somebody else's ambitions.

“Soon as I got that paper I knew. I could see it coming. If I hadn't gone to Blacksea I would never have seen that kid again. The girl's like stone.”

When he reached the end of the street he stopped. Oh yes, Mrs. Fury. Must see her! He'd promised Denny. Denny was in the war too. So was Anthony. Everybody was dragged into the rotten thing. A lot they'd get out of it. Ah well! No use thinking about it. But he went on thinking about it, even to juggling with the thought that there
might
be a mistake in his being called up. Besides, so far as he knew he came in amongst the indispensables. Perhaps they'd find out. The chances were that they never would. That was the safer reflection.

‘Well, here she is,' he exclaimed as the tram came in sight. ‘Suppose I'd better see the firm at the same time.' Yes, might as well. They might see the mistake.

Dermod never left his mind. Well, he couldn't worry. Those nuns were good. He knew all about those people. Thoughts came at random, flashed like sparks, disappeared again. What a curious creature Maureen's living with.

Hello! What's this? and he craned his neck to see over a woman's hat. There was a commotion in the street below. When he looked out he saw a band passing, troops in column of four, singing, cheering, laughing, shouting. All working lads, I'll bet! he thought, what a damned shame! Just listen to them!

Where would they be to-morrow? You simply didn't know. It was playing draughts, with a handkerchief round your eyes. The tram had stopped outside the Gelton General before he realized it. He hurried off and just cleared the platform in time, for the driver seemed in a great hurry and the tram clanged on again. He rang the bell, the porter opened the door, and he went in. The porter looked dubious, said: ‘Wait here,' and went off.

Five minutes later a sister came down. Joseph Kilkey said. ‘Evening, nurse.'

‘'Ning,' the sister said. She clipped all her words. Mrs. Fury? She wasn't there. She had left—oh, nearly a month ago. Mr. Kilkey looked more puzzled. She had gone on her own responsibility. ‘Where, we don't know. Home, we presume.'

Mr. Kilkey looked at the floor, then at the nurse. ‘Thank you, sorry! Oh, d'you know her address, please?'

It came quicker than he expected. The porter had written it on a sheet of paper. Hey's Alley, No. 17. Now where was that?

‘Thanks.'

Then he hurried out. Not there at all. Gone home. I'll be hanged!

Outside he bumped into two workmates. ‘Hello, Joe,' they said. ‘Not gone yet? Good Lord! War'll be lost if you don't go!' All three of them laughed. ‘Come and have a drink, Joe. Do you good. Buck you up!'

All three went along the road.

‘Fancy me forgetting that address, and the old man pressed it on to me so hard. Hey's Alley. Why of course. I know.'

They stopped outside the pub.

‘You fellers know I don't like drink.'

‘Never mind,' one said. ‘Have one with us now. When you've gone we'll probably come after you. Mightn't meet again. That sort of thing. You know. Soldiers as common as turds. Hardly miss them when they get killed. Come on!'

The other man was forcing Mr. Kilkey towards the swing-door of the pub. But there was no need to, for Mr. Kilkey opened the door himself and led the way in. They grouped round the counter. It was slack period, the place was almost empty.

‘What you having, Joe?' they asked in unison.

‘Never mind what I'm having,' he replied. ‘It's what are you having? This is on me, mates. I'll tell you what. Have a good one while you're at it. I'm good for a couple of bob. You never know, do you? It's God's truth. Mightn't ever see you chaps again,' and without even waiting to hear what they wanted, he rambled on about his child. ‘Just left the little lad in the convent. It's damned hard, you know. This war doesn't know the harm it's doing. I feel all in bits myself. Anything for a quiet life. That's my motto. What you having, chums?'