“What you making all the fuss about?” he whispered. “Do you want a lesson in pony cleaning?”
The figure did not straighten up. It continued to utter threats at Amos. Corky stared. It had sleek shiny hair—it wasn’t Ginger!
“Hello,” he spoke louder. “What are you doing here?”
“Minding me own business—for one thing,” came the retort. The figure stood. Corky recognized a boy who had often waited at the stable door for a job. “And for another thing—I’m working.” He added: “Did you think I was having me hair cut?”
“Oh, no offence——” began Corky.
“None taken,” cut in the boy.
“I was just wondering what had happened to old Ginger,” explained Corky. “This is his pony, see.”
“It was his,” replied the boy. “It’s mine now. And what’s more, it had better get used to me. I’ve quietened ponies bigger’n this one. I’ll not stand any of its saucy tricks.”
“That’s silly talk,” remarked Corky. “Old Amos is good as gold. What do you want to quieten him for? Anyway, you’d better save your energy to quieten Ginger, for he won’t like it.”
“If he don’t like it he can lump it!” said the boy. “Ginger or no Ginger—I’ve got a job, an’ that’s all I want.”
“We’ll see,” Corky said. “He’s coming down the stables this minute!”
“I should worry,” smirked the boy. “If it’s that redheaded little cuss, well—I’ve licked his sort before breakfast.”
“We’ll see,” said Corky.
“‘Morning, Corky!” Ginger had peeled his coat off, flung it on a hook, and was rolling up his sleeves. “What ho, Amos, slept well, me old china?” Then his voice cut off suddenly. He stopped dead. Gazed at the boy: “Well, this is a surprise! What are you doing here, mate?”
“I ain’t your mate——” answered the boy. “And I’m cleaning this pony before I take it out.”
“Not if I know it!” declared Ginger. “Give us that brush here. Go thy way. Vamoose! Scram! Take up thy coat and flee!”
“Now let me tell you summink,” began the boy. “I can be very nasty with anyone that gets on my nerves. I’ve got a little way of tying ’em up, and flinging ’em from my sight. An’ what’s more, I don’t want you coming around when I’m on a job of work. This is my pony.”
“Look here,” said Ginger, amicably enough, “if this is a joke I’ll admit you took me in for the first minute. Just the same, it’s gone far enough. Will you, or won’t you get out? That’s all I want to know, then I’ll be sure where I stand. It’s this way, there’s a limit to what flesh an’ blood will stand—especially when that flesh an’ blood’s got red hair!”
“Mr Crater says——”
“I don’t want to hear what Mr Crater says, or Mr Crater’s Aunt Fanny either. I want to know are you handing over that brush?”
“Not bloomin likely!”
“Right then. Here goes. Put up your mitts!—there’s nothing else for it——”
“Look out!” cried Corky. He’d seen the boy leaping at Ginger, brush raised in hand. The cry of warning was not heeded. Ginger’s left fist had shot straight out—before a sound left Corky’s lips—crack! ... clean in the eye it met the boy. The brush fell from his hands. He lay flattened in the bedding.
Corky felt upset. He didn’t like this sort of thing. There was no point to it. Not that he wouldn’t have a go himself. You just had to—else be trodden under. But he knew it wasn’t worth it. He knew how uncomfortable and scared stiff both boys always are—no matter how bold a face they put on. Your pals egg you on to fight—then tell you to shake hands after you’ve busted each other’s noses. The time to shake hands is before a fight. And then not to fight. Or else, fight and hate. Anyway, what was it all about—fighting? It could only settle one matter—who was the best fighter. Not who was right and who was wrong. Yes, Corky felt upset.
The boy got to his knees, then scrambled up, hand over his eye.
“What did you want to do that for, mate?” he sobbed. “I’ve been looking for a job this last month—now I’ll have lost it. And I’m the only worker in our house. Oh heck, I was looking forward to pay-day!”
“I’m sorry,” muttered Ginger, passing the boy his hanky. “But you was a bit cocky.”
“I know I was,” agreed the other. “You can’t help it when you just got a job.”
Corky whispered: “The guv’nor’s coming——”
“What’s up here?” asked Mr Crater. “You been fighting, Ginger?”
“Well, the way it was,” began Ginger, “I comes along here an’ catches this bloke a-cleaning of my Amos. He wouldn’t hand the brush over——”
“‘Course he wouldn’t hand the brush over,” interrupted Mr Crater. “He was cleaning your pony because I sent him to clean your pony. If you can’t get to work dead on time, I’ll give your job to sum’dy else. That’s what I’ve done.”
“But I left home at twenty to seven this morning,” protested Ginger. “I’d bags of time. Then I got stuck at Harrison’s wharf bridge, where they were bringing a couple of boats along. I had so much time that I waited. Then something went wrong with the mechanism. I lost twenty-five minutes or more, that’s why I’m late——”
“I don’t want no excuses,” said Mr Crater. “You’ve lost your pony. And if you don’t behave you’ll lose your job. As it is, I’ll let you sweep the stables——”
“For how long?” asked Ginger.
“For good,” said Mr Crater. “I’ve given Amos to Henry!”
“I’ve got my feelings,” said Ginger, white-faced. “Do you think I’d watch my little pony being led out by another hand?”
“You might have your feelings,” Mr Crater grinned, “but you ain’t got your pony. And furthermore, I don’t know that I’ve been very pleased in you lately——”
“I’ll admit I’m not perfect,” answered Ginger. “But tell me, who is? I can’t say I’ve been very pleased in you, betimes—because you’ve got your own funny ways; but that’s something we’ve got to put up with in each other.”
“A boss can afford to have funny ways—a workman can’t,” remarked Mr Crater. “So the best thing you can do, before it’s too late, is get hold of the brush.”
Ginger’s reply to this was a majestic rolling down of his shirt sleeves, and a cool, silent fastening of the buttons. And then he calmly picked up his coat.
“Hy, you, what about the brush?” Mr Crater’s voice had an edge to it.
“No ill-feelings,” said Ginger, and added with dark significance, “——but you know what you can do with your brush!” Then he approached Mr Crater, and set himself in all the dignity his slight boyish figure was capable of, then spoke: “You ain’t humbling me, guv’. Nor nob’dy else is—not if I know it. I’ve always done a decent day’s work for you. I only ask for a fair crack of the whip, that’s all——”
“What are you getting at?”
“I’m getting at nothing,” Ginger’s voice was low but clear: “I’ve never been ashamed to look a boss in the face after any job I’ve done—and I reckon to stay that way. You ain’t been a bad guv’nor, I’ll admit; but I’ve got to stick to my principles——”
“You can’t eat principles!” declared Mr Crater.
“Naw, I don’t suppose I can,” conceded Ginger. Then seeing a superior grin on Mr Crater, he cried defiantly: “Look! I’ll never starve while I’ve got these!” and under the guv’nor’s nose he exhibited his two hands, his young trembling hands.
“I’ve heard many a man say that,” said Mr Crater grimly. “And I’ve seen the same men go hungry. You mark my words—workers with hands three times the size of yours, an’ they ain’t found work for ’em to do.”
Ginger shook his head philosophically.
“‘Man don’t live by bread alone’,” adding, in his old chirpy tones: “Call on Friday for the wages due to me, Mr Crater?”
“You’ve no need, I’ll pay you now—out
of my pocket,” and Mr Crater dipped into his trousers.
It was that moment an odd feeling took hold of Corky. And he acted on it. He went straight before Mr Crater, and quietly said:
“I think you’d better count mine out, at the same time, sir, if you don’t mind. ...”
Everything hushed in the stables. The boys stopped brushing their ponies. Even these went quiet, and seemed to prick up their ears, waiting for what would come next.
Mr Crater stood stock still—shocked.
“What! I thought you liked this job?”
“I do,” said Corky.
“Do you mean to say,” Mr Crater was hoarse in his incredulity, “do you mean to say, you’re going because he’s going?”
“That’s just about it,” said Corky.
Mr Crater dropped his hands to his side. His face twisted in torment as his tongue felt for the words that might release his feelings.
Suddenly Ginger stepped up to Corky.
“No, no, mate, you can’t do it. Say you’ve made a mistake. Say you’ve had a change of mind. Quick—before it’s too late. ...” But now Mr Crater had found his voice: a great bellow descended on Corky’s ears.
“You idiot! half-wit! fool! You crazy loon! Do you think that’ll get you anywhere with self-sacrifice—principles—loyalty.”
“I don’t want to get anywhere,” said Corky, ignoring Ginger’s pleas, and taking his own coat.
“Here, here’s your money,” spluttered Mr Crater. “And get off—the pair of you. Don’t let me see either of your ugly mugs again!”
Regretfully, sadly, and yet with a consoling righteousness—that there was nothing else for it, the two boys trudged from the stables. They could hear Mr Crater’s challenging shout at their workmates: “Any more of you want to chuck your jobs in?” They heard no reply.
They felt someone moving after them outside the gates. It was Bill Posk.
“Oh, what did you want to do that for?” he asked.
“I had no option,” said Ginger. “But, much as I like Corky for doing what he did, I still feel he oughtn’t have——”
“Go back and ask for your jobs,” suggested Bill Posk. The pair of you; make out you just lost your tempers. He’s not a bad bloke, the guv’nor. He’ll certainly take you on, Corky; and most likely Ginger—after a day or two.”
“Not for me,” said Ginger determinedly. “Not if old Crater came out on his bended knees, offered me a gold clock as big as his head, and ten bob a week rise, would I go back! I’m the sort of bloke that never retraces his steps. Once I’ve done with a place—I’ve done. There’s no turning back for Ginger——”
Corky took a poetical stance on Ginger’s behalf, and muttered:
“I set my face
To the road here before me,
To work that I see,
To the death that I shall meet.”
“A moving little piece is that,” remarked Bill Posk. “I sometimes wish I’d have gone to school, and learnt to read. Perhaps I wouldn’t spend so much time in leg-pulling, if I could get something else in mind. But what about you, Corky—will you come back?”
“Will ye naw come back agin?” sang Ginger. “Will ye naw come ba’a’ack agin?”
Corky scratched his head.
“I don’t think so, Bill,” he began. “Not that I’m on the oneway trail, same as old Ginger. Matter of fact, I don’t think I could rightly say why I did pack the job in; because I’ve not helped Ginger, and it doesn’t seem likely we’ll both get jobs at the same outfit. But just the same, I had a strong feeling that it was right to do what I did.”
Bill Posk thrust out a friendly hand. “Goodbye, lads. I’m sorry to see you go,” he said. “You might have it rough for a time, but it’ll be worth it in the end.” The boys shook his hand, and then went quietly along the road.
16 A Start with Horses
“He’s got the biggest collection of old
crocks in South London.”
“BLIMEY, I got you the job, then I got you out of it,” said Ginger. “I’m sorry, Corky. But I’d like to tell you that I feel a real thanks in my heart, I do honest, for what you’ve done.”
“Oh, pipe down, Ginger,” said Corky. “I was getting a bit fed up with the job as it was.”
“What a tale! But what’ll your Uncle Dave say?”
“He’ll not say anything. What’ll your mum say?”
“I ain’t going to tell her,” said Ginger.
“You’ve got to tell her.”
“Oh no I ain’t—not till I get a new job,” said Ginger. “You don’t understand mothers like I do, Corky. It ’ud be all she could do, to hold herself back from running to the stables and dragging old Crater out by the scruff of the neck! Oh, they’re beggars to worry; the least thing sticks in their minds all day. Talk about the good shepherd going back for the one lost sheep ... he wouldn’t be in it with a mother! I reckon if a woman had a hundred children she’d worry separately abouteach one”——
“But that night you stayed at my house,” said Corky. “You told us your mother wouldn’t even miss you, how do you account for that?”
“Easy,” replied Ginger. “In the first place I only said that so that your Uncle Dave wouldn’t worry as well. I knew a thing like that would sit on me mum’s heart all night”——
“And in the second place”——
“Well, in the second place,” said the incorrigible Ginger, “I explained to her before I left home that I would be staying. I didn’t tell you that, well, because I don’t like to force myself on people. ...”
“You’re a bit of a card, Ginger,” was all Corky could say.
Then they went silent again. Thoughts of their ponies came to each boy.
“Have you noticed we’ve come along the road to Maggie’s caff?” said Ginger. “Let’s get off before the boys are along.”
Corky nodded. “We’ll take the first turn to the left.”
Before they had reached it, however, they heard the whoops of the boy drivers, and the rattle of carts in the distance. They both hurried round the corner, and went on walking.
“Corky,” said Ginger. “I’d rather we didn’t look.”
“Same here,” muttered Corky. “Much as something in me would like to take a peep at Prim.”
Nearer and nearer came the clatter of the carts, and the cries of the drivers. Corky and Ginger stood, listened: the sharp clap-clap of hooves, the splatter of wheels, went swiftly by. They stood until it was quiet.
“I picked old Amos’s steps out,” murmured Ginger. “He was the second pony up—”
“And I heard Prim,” Corky said. “I caught a fresh voice shouting at her. Ooh, I hope he’ll understand she’s got a sensitive little heart. A sharp word can make her nervous the whole day.”
“Poor old Amos—he’ll miss his carrots. And the bit of hot dripping toast at Maggie’s, he used to look forward to that.”
“Prim’s got a very tender mouth,” said Corky. “If he tugs those reins quick, it goes right through her. Ooh, crumbs! suppose she hears the old barrel organ waltzing away? I wonder should I go and tell him?’
“No, don’t bother, Corky. He wouldn’t thank you. He’s perhaps a decent lad, and he might look after her almost as good as you’ve done,” said Ginger. “But I can’t say I liked the look of that blighter I smacked in the eye. I’m sorry I done it, now, because it wasn’t his fault. But I do hope he don’t take it out of Amos. Perhaps I ought to apologize, just for Amos’s sake, eh?”
“You can’t turn back, Ginger. Anyway, old Amos can look after himself. And anyway, again, you’ve got to turn the old nose to the road before you——”
“I’ve decided I’m going to stop bursting out with noble sayings,” said Ginger. “It’s all right when you’re rolling them off the tongue, but it ain’t so good when you have to carry their messages out.”
The boys went on along the streets; thinking and thinking, each within himself.
“This freedom ain’
t all they make it out to be,” said Ginger vehemently. “Here we are, doing nothing at all, free as the birds in the air, and yet—and yet I’m feeling more tired than if I was working, and the old spirit couldn’t droop any more if I was in prison. I’ll bet you ain’t much different, by the looks of you.”
“The problem is, Ginger, that ever since we were born, people have been finding us something to do. They just won’t leave us alone. Soon as we can walk we’ve got to stay in the house, or else we’ll get run over. Soon as we can think they send us to school. Soon as we leave school we’ve got to start work. A man don’t get no time to find himself in this world, Ginger, that’s the trouble. That’s why they all die shortly after retiring.”
“My grandad ain’t dead, and he’s ninety!”
“What was he?”
“Mum used to call him a fretworker.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, she reckoned Grandad used to work one week, and fret for fifty. He was actually a snowshifter; but, same as he said, it was a most precarious profession——”
“Yay, but that’s just why he ain’t dead,” said Corky. “He adapted himself to not working, and was used to it——”
“I hope I never get used to it,” said Ginger. “This last hour has been enough for me.”
“Me too,” agreed Corky. “It’s times like this when a man might wish he’d learned to smoke. I can just fancy us two, with a bloomin’ fat Havana cigar each, and all our troubles wafting away in smoke-cloud dreams.”
“I’m no dreamer of dreams,” Ginger spoke sharply. “Action, that’s me. Action the whole time. What’s that place across the road? Sniggle’s Pickle Factory! I’m off, Corky—I’ve got to get cracking. Work, me boy, that’s the answer. Wait here while I enter. If they make me manager I’ll engage you as my confidential secretary.” Ginger was off. Corky watched him stride boldly through the gates, and away to the offices, as though he might be buying the factory.
Twenty minutes later Ginger swaggered out again.
“I told that bloke where to get off——” were his first words.
“What d’you think he offered me, Corky?—a job as a putter-on of pickle jar tops!
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