A Short Story

Maoriland Worker, Volume 13, Issue 30, 25 July 1923, Page 16

A Short Story

The Spark

. Bob had looked forward to going 10 work with a light heart. It was true, lie had to go to work. He could no longer stay at school because his people couldn't afford to keep him up. But. then, he was sick of school anyway and- sick of having to beg for what h e wanted. At work, he would earn his own money. He would be independent. Ho could then buy what he pleased and what lie wanted.

The job wasn't as easy to get as it seemed. It was pretty tough- sledding. Wherever he went he found a mob before him, a mob that surged back and fourth about th e place of employment, a mob of fifty, a hundred or two often trying to break through doors and windows in its cage-mess. ' Often. Bob would start out before it grew, light, but of no avail. Finally, by going from' place o place, from door to door, asking if ihere was any help wanted, he got his long sought-after job in a can factory 1 .

The whirling machines crashed and banged. Their movement filled the air of the vast shop with deafening no'Mte. But to Bob it was music. Out of it all he caught a rhythm that called for response in his being. He sat ■ai his punch press and pushed his 1 lever in harmony with this rhythm. Nothing but machinery within the immediate vicinity of him, his voice drowned by tbe din, he sang away the livelong day. He sang whatever came to his mind, all sorts of snatches and ditties—often ha would compose mixtures of all kinds to suit h's fancy. . He« was now on piece work. Though he liked to make more money, he was not exactly money mad. At first he did not take his piece work too ser- i iously. He rather played at it for amusement's sake. He would race against, himself and see how he could beat one hour by the other. In this way time passed quickly and pleasantly.