The BELT

Auckland Star, Volume LXIX, Issue 165, 15 July 1938, Page 17

The BELT

Short Story

JUIAXNINO PAXTOX, seated at the *"* breakfast table, opened his niornin" post. The butler stood by, concealing, ae usual, his fears. What wae in the post decided his master's temper for the day. And that meant a lot. Although Manning Paxton had heard that, in "Society," it was the custom for people to help themselves to their own breakfast—to go themselves to a sideboard where the eggs and bacon and grilled kidneys were waiting—he did not believe in thinge like that. ' He paid to be waited on, and waited on he was. He had made money. Money could ,buy service. And service he would get, whenever he wanted it. The butler's eyes did not betray, by a flicker, that he had seen that bills, as usual, had come in, bills over Trhich there were frequent arguments. For, the richer you are* he knew from a life's experience as a servaet, the lees did you, when you had made it, like to hand it on to other people. I "Business" meant watching things, cutting down, arguing. Nor did he change expression, when an invitation was opened, one of a kind that meant that one more rung in the long social .ladder that stretched up above hie master had been climbed. But even the butler could scarcely refrain from a broad beam of thankfulness when hi* master read the next communication that he opened. " "fiekr Mr. Paxton," he read, flret to himself and then out loud, "1 am pleased to tell yqu that I have advised His Majesty to include you ia the next

By. . . HANNEN SWAFFER

Honours List, due on the King's birthday, as the recipient of a knighthood. "There you •*?«! Manning Paxton. "It has come at last." And he read it a third time. ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ At first hie eyes had glanced through it quickly. Then he had read it out to himself. But this time it was not only to his wife, but to the butler. :?'You see what I've done for you now," said Manning Paxton. "You will be Lady Paxton in a month's time. And that'll give your old music hall friends something to talk about." • "I'm very glad, my dear," said Mrs. Paxton, not as though her voice expressed happiness, but more or less as though she were glad in a subdued kind of> way, merely agreeing, because someone else was glad.' "I know they laughed when you married me," eaid Manning Paxton. "They thought they Were more important than a man who made eweets. They topped the bills. I only footed them. Well, my sweets have gone all over the world and made a name for me, and now even the Prime Minister has had to take notice." . Hie wife did not reply, except with a "Yes, dear." But she wondered who had told the Prime Minister of big endowments to charity, of well-organised publicity schemes. She wondered which of the many people who had .been approached by her husband had succeeded in reaching 10, Br '.vning Street at last. She guessed that all of them would claim having done it. She knew that several of them, would. i;".: ♦■•:■♦ ♦;. ♦ But one thing she knew more than anything—that when her" * husband wanted to buy something he usually bought it, whatever the price was. And, once again, he had got what he wanted. "Go and tell your friends," said her Husband. "It's supposed to be a secret, I imagine. But it can't be for long. I'm going to tell mine." And he went, off to the sweet factory —to get on the telephone. "The King has honoured me with a knighthood.;? • • • that's one up for the old sweete, isn't it? ... Yes, we must' celebrate sometime when the list comes out. . . . ." Dollie Paxton sat in the breakfast room, surrounded by pictures her hueband's money had bought, facing the silver her husband's money had bought, otherwise accompanied only by her memories, the only thing her husband's money had not bought when he lad bought her. . Then Dollie got on the telephone, but not to call up city magnates or rich manufacturers. "Come round,' dearie," said Minnie Palling, the once famous serio-comic. "Look in at the first house," pleaded Gertie Watson, who still danced a bit when the Old-Timers got a week's work. - "My!" was all Ruth "Knighfe, wTio sang "Pippit Gives Me the Pip" until her voice gave out, could say.' She wasn't given to much more-than "ejaculations." Dollie Paxton, standing in the wings of the Coronium, watched the show. The Old-Timers were on. But it wa«> not like the old days. She thought back to the days when she .was Dollie Darling, when you went on all alone for 20 minutes. Twice you dashed off into the wings "and changed, while the band' played your last chorus until r you were ready. And, when you were ready, you rushed on again while the next,turn watched your last number, ready to take your place. • ......

But the Coronium, whch held 4000 people—yes, and with 7/0 stalls—\va* more like a great theatre than anything Dollie Darling had ever known. They were shifting, at the back, great towering pieces of ecenery. "What a change from the old back-cloths." Quite young girle walked about half naked. "They wouldn't have allowed that." Three dancers, in one corner of the vagt stage, stripped almost naked in full view of the scene-shiftere, who took no notice. It was one of those Looney Shows, in which the whole company took part. A rich band conductor was a comic that night with the reet. Hie orchestra were all made up, dressed in mixtures of costumes of all kinds, "actore" for once in their lives and enjoying it. What a change it seemed to the days when, but for a disconsolate coniic waiting for his turn, the stage was bare! There wae a mix-up of half the nationalities in Europe, American twang* sounded everywhere. A couple of great negroes, tap dancers in epite of their eize and weight, stood around with the rest. There was an Arab tumbling troupe, and a Chinese juggling crowd. A wire-walker had come from Spain, and a knife-thrower from Mexico, No one eeemed to know what he or she was going to do next'. But, somehow, everybody did it in turn. It eeemed all confusion and mix-up on the stage. And it eeemed a worse confusion in the wings. But no one seemed to mind. Dollie Paxton, need as she wae to the rich life in which all her daye were now spent, felt sadly old fashioned. Even her married life eeemed more a reality of herself than this. All this modern etage business which, since she laet showed, 20 yeare before, had speeded up, become electrical. She felt suddenly .old. But then, from the wings, ehe saw Gertie Watson dancing a bit. It wasn't , more than a bit. But, for old time's sake they applauded her. And watching Gertie on the stage «tood Dick Tompkine, waiting to eing: "I'm One of the Good Old Hae-Beens, But Still I'm One of the Boys." He had sung it for 50 years. He had really been a has-been for a generation. But still, in his great big heart, he -was one of th* boy*, and everybody knew it. That was why they cheered him. And, on the stage, too, she eaw T. P. Wallace, who tad eung coon eongs when ehe was but a girl, and who, when the Old-Timere got a week, sang one of them still. Soon it would be his turn, and then the old people In the house, sentimental again, and the young ones, wondering what it -was all about and what grave bad been opened, would hear: By the cornfield I'll be waiting: I'll be watting -by the corn, Where I've klased you in the evening And I've kissed you in the morn. Well, it wae all very well to laugh, but that song, anyway,* had gone round the world, and come back again. And, when she saw Gertie Wateon dancing, if that was what it could be called, Dollie Paxton really wished that •he were Dollie Darling again.

This was the world she wea born in. This we* the world that she had made her own. Who wanted to be Lady Paxton, anyway?

"I , pray silenop for Sir Manning Paxton." The toaetuiaster, with a ecarlet jacket over his evening dress, rolled out the name as though he were announcing the birth of a new world.

The great dining hall was crowded. At the top tables, the men, all wearing white ties and the women ablaze with diamonds, applauded or rattled spoons on wine glasses, as the man for whom the toastmaster had prayed silence stood up and beamed.

It was the proudest night of hie life.

... He and his dear wife were among their friends. He was glad to know that Business Success had been recognised.

There were a few smirke from the tables far away, at which clerks and workpeople of all kinds were among the guests, guests who, like the rest, had paid for their seats. But, not seeing them, Sir Manning and hie dear wife were delighted to know that their joy was shared by theiT friende.

Then followed a lot about the sweet factory end how the sweete had gone all over the world.

A few rival traders rather sniffed at this, but hoped, while they listened, it would be their turn one day.

Success oozed out of Sir Manning's every pore. Success looked defiantly out of each of his eyee. He typified Success. His Success was proved by the diamonds his wife wore on her arms, and on her neck and on her breast. -Around her waist was a diamondbuckled belt. She seemed ablaze with diamonds. Always on show nights she had to put them on.

And then, of course, she was called on. And she said how proud she wae, and sat down again.

' "Let's go round to the factory now," said Sir Manning, when it wae all over. "They're working overtime over that bijr Australian contract. They couldn't all come. We must go and look* at them." So they went* But they did not know that following them in a- .taxicab were three work people who, having had rather too much to drink at the dinner, thought they would go round and tell their pals all about it.

Sir Manning, in evening dress, and Lady Paxton, in diamonds, walked through the assembling room. Girls sat by a long Belt that carried the sweets along to bottles, and then when they

were in the bottles, bore them on to the labcllers, and then on into the packingroom close by. All day long, the Belt went on. And all night, toy. When big contracts had to be satisfied, the Belt went on. The speed at which it travelled ordered the speed at which their ringers worked. The Belt was the boss. It went round and round. And so did the workers' lives, just one dreary round. Sir Manning, beaming with pride, walked with his wife along the Belt. The workers looked up timorously when hoarrived, and whispered when he had passed. But then, from the back, suddenly, there came a shout. "Come on, Dollie Darling!" yelled a voice. "Give one of the old 'uns!" Sir Manning looked round, defiantly. "Come on, Dollie!" insisted the voice. And near the voice stood two men, applauding and joining in. "Come'on, Dollie! Sing one of the old 'uns!" '"Let's get out of this, Dollie," said Sir Manning, horrified. "We must get away." But, in a second, Dollie Paxton became Dollie Darling again. She pushed away her husband's arm and she started to sing. She wasn't Lady Paxton now, but Dollie Darling, one of the OldTimers. The Belt went on. But the workers stopped and all turned round. For, in the middle of the factory, by the long eternal Belt, a woman ablaze with diamonds, sang:

I never had in view what he was going to do. I had no idea and no suggestion. Then, in among the wheat, he rushed me off my* feet. Yes, it was among the poppies he popped the question.

Sir Manning stood there glaring. But his wife went on singing. She sang the chorus again. Six times she sang it. And the workers joined in. The Belt went on, alone, empty.

Sir Manning purpled. He scowled. For the first time in his life he had been disobeyed.

"Good old Dollie!" shouted the three men at the back.

"Good old Dollie!" echoed the workers.

The Belt went on—silently. Then Dollie Darling rushed from the factory, and, looking on the floor, Sir Manning saw her diamonds. She had torn them all off, from her neck, her arms, and her waist, and left them there—the bracelets and the necklace and the belt.

One by one the workers began to work again. The Belt went on, halffilled soon, then full again.

Dollie Paxton stood in the wings at the Coronium again. She had dashed there, scarcely knowing where she was going. Once again, she saw the crowded stage, the dancers waiting, the syncopated band and the negroes and the tumblers and the jugglers. And, on the stage, the Old-Timers were on. Gertie Watson was dancing a bit. Dick Tompkins was waiting to sing. And T. P. Wallace waited, with the rest of them. One aiter the other they went through their turn, and the applause got louder. For always, when the OldTimers sing, the audience gets worked up as it goes along. Old memories come back and,crowd the brains of the older ones. The young ones get excited, too, because they know the tunes. They don't know the people who sang them, but the melodies have become part of their lives. And then, in the middle of it all, Dollie Paxton rushed on the stage. "I'm going to sing 'Poppies, ,, " she said. There was a long silence. It was Dick Tompkins who broke it. "It's Dollie Darling come back again," he said. "Play Toppiee,' Charlie." And he turned to the conductor. The bandsmen all knew the tune. And so, clad in her finery, everything except her diamonds, Dollie Darling sang: I never had In Tiew what he was going to do. I had no idea and no suggestion. Then, in among the wheat, he rushed me off my feet. Yes, it was among the poppies he popped the question. And then she flopped on the stage in a faint. "Come home, you fool!" she heard when she opened her eyes. It was her husband, who had followed her, guessed where she wa-s going. "I've done with you," she said, "you and your Success! You don't know what Success is! I knew it was on the halls, and then you robbed me of it. You fastened me' to your damned Belt that goes round and round. I became part of the Belt myself. But now I'm free, one of the Old-Timers!" "You fool!" he said. "They don't work every week. How are you going to live?" And, stamping, he left the dressingroom' and went out into the nighl. In his pocket was the diamond buckled belt, picked up from the floor. In the factory- the Belt went on ...