COMPENSATION.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 183, 4 August 1936, Page 17

COMPENSATION.

God let it be that lie'll X pass," entreated the white-haired woman falteringly, "please, so that he may come from the pit—not that he's more deserving to be favoured than other lads, but ..." Mrs. Rogers raised herself from her unaccustomed- posture at the bedside and stood up self-consciously. For a moment she iet her eyes rest upon the enlargement of her husband, who seemed to look down upon her with eyes imaged by the decade which had worn down her youth. She went over to the lace curtained window and looked out 011 the dusty, rutted street, her memory stirred by the echoes of a long-lniried grief. Ten years ago. That was when she had last prayed —a prayer that had gone unanswered. Awakened by the heavy tread of feet in the darkness before the dawn, she had gone to the window to see the dancing, flickering lamps which dangled from the belts of the colliers who approached slowly along the street with their burden. Half awake, she had imagined it to be a procession of fairy lights. Then, stifled by a sudden realisation of what it ineaut, she had cried out: "Not here! Don't let it stop here! Dear God, don't let it be Evan!"

Stupidly, she had watched them carry him up and lay him as they brought him on the white sheets, faintly breathing,

grimed with sweat and dust and blood. Crazed and choked with grief, she had knelt long after the doctor, whose hopeless gesture greyed her hair and lined her brow, had gone. Dumb with misery, she had watched the callous morning sun raise a slanting beam of blucisli dust between her and the still figure on the bed. Then the neighbours persuaded her to come away. "You've got to think of David, now," they admonished. For months she went AlM>H,ff^c tT taßk%iylt^ ; drv. burning eyes, 'and' her mouth set -Hn a bitter line — until her {son terrified-her by saying that in a few weeks held, be leaving school to start in the pit. "There's. .hothing else-," David had leiterated. , ' "Nothing, only the'pit. '. I've been everywhere—round all the shops! They don't take boys on in the offices if they haven't been to secondary.' Anyway, office boys don't earn half as much as colliers' butties," lie added scornfully, Avith a youthful realisation of ways and means.

Mrs. Rogers had done everything in her power to dissuade him from the pit, but 4/ maintenance for a child ceased at the age of 14. Four shillings made a vast difference to her compensation grant of 15/, plus the widows pension. Apprehensively she prepared his pit clothes, got up before daylight to light the fire and get his breakfast. Her heart heavy, she watched his diminutive figure hurry towards the pit head. In the afternoon, when the hooter blared the end of one shift and the commencement of another, she waited on the doorstep. Half an hour later she saw him come round the corner of the street, walking with exaggerated strides, his cap set at a rakish angle.. Only, then did she breathe a sigh of relief and hurry indoors to dish up the dinner. Three davs each week, Mrs. Rogers went out washing. On Wednesdays, she washed at the house of Professor Jones, the music teacher and conductor of the famous 0 went Children's Choir. Da\ id had been working nearly a year as collier's butty when the professor called her into his study. "I'm afraid David is no longer an apset to our choir, Mrs. Rogers," he had said kindly." Perhaps you've noticed the.change in his voice? Well, I don t want to let him out of my sight, so 1 wondered what you'd say to his taking up the piano for a time?" Mrs Rogers had stood silent, wiping her red hands in her apron. She had often thought that David might some day • There was the old German | piano' idle in the parlour that hadn't ! been opened since Evan had played on i;- and the piles of manuscript upon I which he had written hymns had been packed away. If only David could become a music leacher iike the professor, and leave the pit just as the professor himself had done' . . But how could she afford. "Evan and I were great friends," said the musician, reading her expression. "We won't consider until —until we | find how he takes to it.

Mrs. Rogers suddenly remembered that it was Saturday. There was a Jot to be done, and she wanted to have all the work over by the time the postman came. A week had passed since David had travelled to London for the exam., and returned two days later, looking moie tired than if lie had worked a doubler oil the conveyer. The professor had told him that they'd be sure to let him know by Saturday, the latest. Last night he had been on edge, lounging about in the garden, hanging around the door, going to tlie piano, leaviii™ it, to slump into a chair and stare into the fire. In desperation lie had set out upon what lie had termed a loiif walk, returning in less than five minutes to find the secretary of the Methodist Chapel had sent for him to deputise at their concert. "I never saw anybody to worry like vou, David," said liis mother anxiously, as sJie packed him off. Saturday momins came, and he went off to work, lookins as if he hadn't slept. The days ; before th/} exam, were bad enough, but this waiting made him a bundle of nerves.

(SHORT STORY.)

(By T. D. POWELL.)

Mrs. Rogers shook the mattress vigorously, replaced the bedclothes and placed her son's evening clothes in readiness. Saturday in Incline Row was devoted by every miner's wife to a last grand assault of the week in putting to temporary flight the layers of coal-dust which had settled like a grey film over everything.

By 10 o'clock the flagged floor had been scrubbed, the hearthstone whitened, and the glittering brass fender and fireirons put back. Mrs. Rogers drew,the red plush cloth over the whitewood table, dusted the sofa and chairs. The passage again, and she'd have done.

In accordance with the unwritten law of the street, she washed a semi-circle of pavement outside the front door. Hurriedly, she wrung the cloth as the postman appeared sft the end of the row; gave the semi-circle a final wipe, poured out the black water into the nutter, and returned to the kitchen, lier heart fluttering.

Finding the door open, the postman walked in, a privilege accorded to doctors, insurance agents, and postmen.

"Here it is, Mrs. Rogers," he declared, handing over a typewritten envelope. "I bet lie's passed," lie went on. "Although it'll cost him a couple o' bob for a diploma with a 6eal . . . and I daresay a couple o' quid for a cap an' gown . . . not that Dave is one for dressing

up." Mrs. Rogers flopped on to the sofa and examined the letters "R.A.M." embossed on the back.

"Come, ma, let's hear the worst," exclaimed the postman, stamping impatiently. Mrs. Rogers drew out the flimsy report. "I can't tell from this," she said agitatedly; it doesn't-say . . . there so many marks for different subjects, I don't "understand; and it says that so many marks are required for a pass."

"Well, all you've got to do,"< said the postman importantly, "is to add up all the marks and see if there's enough; .here, diet's,.-'.ha-v-e- lie explained, 'showing -her the total which he had calculated, "he's passed all right, and plently spare." "Thank God," murmured Mrs. Rogers.

Like one iri a dream, she eat on the hard sofa, the letter pressed against her heart.- David Rogers, she whispered, L.R.A.M., teacher of the piano . . . they swould bo asking him to play at the seminational this year. David would have to get cards printed, and take a room 'in the High .Street. Her eyes grew troubled. She should have known that it would have come right in the end. She had been a wicked woman not to have believed . . . been suspicious of Gpd, dreading every day for the last ten years that David might not appear at the street corner. Resentful and unforgiving all years, and now her son had been given back to her out of the pit. Overwhelmed, she covered her face in her apron. "Well, well, Mrs. Rogers!" declared Jane Thomas, leading a group of neighbours into the kitchen. "If this isn't a funny way to celebrate. The postman just told us that your David has irot through." Awkwardly, they shook hands with Mrs. Rogers and patted her on the back. "I'm sure we're all very glad, and now I suppose you'll fie taking a house on the main street . . . .. you're a lucky woman, Mrs. Rogers, lucky to have your boy leave that devil's pit, specially," she contradicted, "now that they're working short time more often thjji not." "It's the seat of his pants you'll be inendin 1 now," chuckled old grannie Morgans,.."not ,the knees .an' elbows." "It's not me you should it's, it's ." stammered Mrs. Ivogers. "Oh. don't you worry," chimed Marv Evans. "We'll congratulate him, David will have to stand us a gallon o' porter when' ho conies." Mrs. Rogers brought out a bottle of elderberry wine from the cupboard in the parlour," seeing that her friends were determined to stay until it became time to prepare their men's dinners. "Mrs. -Rogers in?" boomed a voice from the doorway. The women looked at each other and Mrs. Rogers stiffened. "That will be Edwards, Compo," announced Mary Evans. "The postman must have got to Co-operative Street and told him . . ." "It's all right." called Mrs. Rogers. "Come in, it's only a few of us celebrating because David has passed." Edwards walked slowly into the kitchen. He was in his pit clothes. The blood drained from Mrs. Rogers' face when she saw him, and the Glass crashed from her hand. Mary Evans glared at him. "Haven't you jjot a tongue in your month, stupid," she snapped, "standing there like a mope. What's happened?" "It's all right." replied Edwards stolidly. "David sent me on so that you wouldn't be scared . . . he'll be cominir . . . soon as the doctor's finished." Mrs. Rogers sanded limply against the head of the sofa.

"Don't you worry, nia," lie explained. "Dave won't have to go down again . • ■ he'll be getting a good slice o' compo. Doctor said as he'd be able to take oil a light job in a couple o' weeks." Mrs. Rogers closed her eyes, her lips moving soundlessly. "He won't need to," said Mary Evans, handing up the letter. "David's passed his examination, he'll be handing in his notice . . . Edwards, a compensation man, employed as - a tipper on the* screens, shuffled uncomfortably, and beckoned Mary Evans into the passage. "You've got to tell her" he urged in a whisper,, holding up his right hand from which three fingers were missing. "He's got it . . . like this."