The World Peril of 1910
Page 25
CHAPTER XXIV
TOM BOWCOCK--PITMAN
Lennard found himself standing outside the Trinity Street Station atBolton a few minutes after six that evening.
Of course it was raining. Rain and fine-spun cotton thread are Bolton'sspecialities, the two chief pillars of her fame and prosperity, forwithout the somewhat distressing superabundance of the former she couldnot spin the latter fine enough. It would break in the process.Wherefore the good citizens of Bolton cheerfully put up with the dirtand the damp and the abnormal expenditure on umbrellas and mackintoshesin view of the fact that all the world must come to Bolton for itsfinest threads.
He stood for a moment looking about him curiously, if with no greatadmiration in his soul, for this was his first sight of what was to bethe scene of the greatest and most momentous undertaking that humanskill had ever dared to accomplish.
But the streets of Bolton on a wet night do not impress a stranger veryfavourably, so he had his flat steamer-trunk and hat-box put on to a caband told the driver to take him to the Swan Hotel, in Deansgate, wherehe had a wash and an excellent dinner, to which he was in a condition todo full justice--for though nation may rage against nation, and worldsand systems be in peril, the healthy human digestion goes on making itsdemands all the time, and, under the circumstances, blessed is he whocan worthily satisfy them.
Then, after a cup of coffee and a meditative cigar, he put on hismackintosh, sent for a cab, and drove to number 134 Manchester Road,which is one of a long row of small, two-storeyed brick houses, as cleanas the all-pervading smoke and damp will permit them to be, but notexactly imposing in the eyes of a new-comer.
When the door opened in answer to his knock he saw by the light of alamp hanging from the ceiling of the narrow little hall a small, slight,neatly-dressed figure, and a pair of dark, soft eyes looked upinquiringly at him as he said:
"Is Mr Bowcock at home?"
"Yes, he is," replied a voice softly and very pleasantly tinged with theLancashire accent. Then in a rather higher key the voice said:
"Tom, ye're wanted."
As she turned away Lennard paid his cabman, and when he went back to thedoor he found the passage almost filled by a tall, square-shoulderedshape of a man, and a voice to match it said:
"If ye're wantin' Tom Bowcock, measter, that's me. Will ye coom in? It'sa bit wet i' t' street."
Lennard went in, and as the door closed he said:
"Mr Bowcock, my name is Lennard--"
"I thou't it might be," interrupted the other. "You'll be LordWesterham's friend. I had a wire from his lordship's morning telling met' expect you to-night or to-morrow morning. You'll excuse t' kitchenfor a minute while t' missus makes up t' fire i' t' sittin'-room."
When Lennard got into the brightly-lighted kitchen, which is really theliving-room of small Lancashire houses, he found himself in anatmosphere of modest cosy comfort which is seldom to be found outsidethe North and the Midland manufacturing districts. It is the other sideof the hard, colourless life that is lived in mill and mine and forge,and it has a charm that is all its own.
There was the big range, filling half the space of one of theside-walls, its steel framings glittering like polished silver; the highplate-rack full of shining crockery at one end by the door, and the low,comfortable couch at the other; two lines of linen hung on cordsstretched under the ceiling airing above the range, and the solid dealtable in the middle of the room was covered with a snow-white cloth, onwhich a pretty tea-service was set out.
A brightly polished copper kettle singing on the range, and a daintilyfurnished cradle containing a sleeping baby, sweetly unconscious of warsor world-shaking catastrophes, completed a picture which, consideringhis errand, affected Gilbert Lennard very deeply.
"Lizzie" said the giant, "this is Mr Lennard as his lordship telegraphedabout to-day. I daresay yo can give him a cup of tay and see to t' firei' t' sittin'-room. I believe he's come to have a bit of talk wi' meabout summat important from what his lordship said."
"I'm pleased to see you, Mr Lennard," said the pleasant voice, and as heshook hands he found himself looking into the dark, soft eyes of aregular "Lancashire witch," for Lizzie Bowcock had left despair in theheart of many a Lancashire lad when she had put her little hand into bigTom's huge fist and told him that she'd have him for her man and no oneelse.
She left the room for a few minutes to see to the sitting-room fire, andLennard turned to his host and said:
"Mr Bowcock, I have come to see you on a matter which will need a gooddeal of explanation. It will take quite a couple of hours to put thewhole thing before you, so if you have any other engagements forto-night, no doubt you can take a day off to-morrow--in fact, as the pitwill have to stop working--"
"T' 'pit stop working, Mr Lennard!" exclaimed the manager. "Yo' dunnosay so. Is that his lordship's orders? Why, what's up?"
"I will explain everything, Mr Bowcock," replied Lennard, "only, for herown sake, your wife must know nothing at present. The only question is,shall we have a talk to-night or not?"
"If it's anything that's bad," replied the big miner with a deeper notein his voice, "I'd soonest hear it now. Mysteries don't get any t'better for keepin'. Besides, it'll give me time to sleep on't; andthat's not a bad thing to do when yo've a big job to handle."
Mrs Bowcock came back as he said this, and Lennard had his cup of tea,and they of course talked about the war. Naturally, the big miner andhis pretty little wife were the most interested people in Lancashirejust then, for to no one else in the County Palatine had been given thehonour of hearing the story of the great battle off the Isle of Wightfrom the lips of one who had been through it on board the now famous_Ithuriel_.
But when Tom Bowcock came out of the little sitting-room three hourslater, after Lennard had told him of the approaching doom of the worldand had explained to him how his pit-shaft was to be used as a means ofaverting it--should that, after all, prove to be possible--his interestin the war had diminished very considerably, for he had already come tosee clearly that this was undeniably a case of the whole being very muchgreater than the part.
Tom Bowcock was one of those men, by no means rare in the north, whowork hard with hands and head at the same time. He was a pitman, but hewas also a scientific miner, almost an engineer, and so Lennard hadfound very little difficulty in getting him to grasp the details of thetremendous problem in the working out of which he was destined to playno mean part.
"Well, Measter Lennard," he said, slowly, as they rose from the littletable across which a very large amount of business had been transacted."It's a pretty big job this that yo've putten into our hands, andespecially into mine; but I reckon they'll be about big enough for it;and yo've come to t' right place, too. I've never heard yet of a job asLancashire took on to as hoo didn't get through wi'.
"Now, from what yo've been telling me, yo' must be a bit of an earlyriser sometimes, so if yo'll come here at seven or so i' t' mornin',I'll fit yo' out wi' pit clothes and we'll go down t' shaft and yo' cansee for yoursel' what's wantin' doin'. Maybe that'll help yo' before yo'go and make yo'r arrangements wi' Dobson & Barlow and t'other folk asyo'll want to help yo'."
"Thank you very much, Mr Bowcock," replied Lennard. "You will find mehere pretty close about seven. It's a big job, as you say, and there'snot much time to be lost. Now, if Mrs Bowcock has not gone to bed, I'llgo and say good-night."
"She's no'on to bed yet," said his host, "and yo'll take a drop o'summat warm before yo' start walkin' to t' hotel, for yo'll get no cabup this way to-neet. She'll just have been puttin' t' youngster tobed--"
Tom Bowcock stopped suddenly in his speech as a swift vision of thatsame "youngster" and his mother choking in the flames of the Fire-Mistpassed across his senses. Lennard had convinced his intellect of thenecessity of the task of repelling the Celestial Invader and of thepossibility of success; but from that moment his heart was in the work.
It had stopped raining and the sky had cleared a little when they wentt
o the door half an hour later. To the right, across the road, rose atall gaunt shape like the skeleton of an elongated pyramid crowned withtwo big wheels. Lights were blazing round it, for the pit was workingnight and day getting the steam coal to the surface.
"Yonder's t' shaft," said Tom, as they shook hands. "It doesn't lookmuch of a place to save the world in, does it?"