If the world to me bowed I'd still be a slave to you. We waited under the canopy on the back of the truck till the boss came back from town. We were cold and shivering. When he did, he said, ‘You boys go on back to the camp now. There's nothing you can do by hanging around here. Just stay right out of it. If the police or anyone asks you anything, just say you weren't there when it happened. He looked off to the side, still facing us, but with his eyes looking out to the right. A way he had with him. ‘I don't want any of you boys to get mixed up in this. It's got nothing to do with you’. That night in the dining room having tea we were quite normal. We ate and talked and now and then we joked. But we did not mention Jack's name. Except now and then one of the men would shake his head and mutter to himself, ‘What a b––—. A real nice fella too.’ The reaction had not really set in yet though. The next day none of us would go to work. Saturday was our overtime and we got time-and-a-half in the morning and then double time in the afternoon. But none of us would go. The boss did not talk about his interview with the police and the insurance company men. He looked steady and calm enough. But beneath it we could see he was shaken. ‘A jolly good job too’, Joe Mason said. ‘I hope he gets in a proper stew over it’. Word soon got around about the trouble the boss had with the Insurance men. We were a private company. The only one in the country at the time and for a long time now the Government were trying to do away with us. Now they had their chance. And they were down on old Tom like wolves on the fold. ‘Did he have gloves? Was he wearing a safety belt? Was someone there with him when he went up the ladder?’ I can imagine the questions being popped at the boss. His tormentors waiting for the opening to pounce. Then they would not have to pay out the insurance, and the Company of L. G. Walker would be in existence no longer. But I had no sympathy then for the boss. A good job I thought, I hope they give him hell. He was away all Saturday and it wasn't until well after dinner that he arrived back. He went straight to his hut. The rest of us were in Arthur Maker's hut playing cards (five hundred), by the open fire, and listening to the late listeners' request on the radio. We heard the boss pass outside, then the door to his hut bang close. ‘I wonder how old Tom got on today’, Joe Mason said. ‘Six hearts’. ‘Seven spades’. ‘Seven hearts is higher than spades isn't it Rangi?’ ‘Yeah hearts then diamonds then clubs and spades in last’. ‘Old Tom can't be too good. He didn't look happy when I saw him’. Then the door opened and the devil himself came in. He had a writing pad in one hand and a pen between his teeth and he was wearing his cap. He did not wait for us but took the pen from his mouth. ‘I'm not very good at this sort of thing’, he said. Too quickly, I thought. ‘Does this sound all right to you boys?’ He shook the pad out and came across to the fire, holding the sheet down so that he could read it by the fire light. ‘It's a letter to Jack's wife’, he said. ‘Tell me if it's all right do you think?’ He began reading. ‘Dear Mrs Kahui—I am sorry to inform you that your husband Jack was killed yesterday afternoon in an accident. Death came instantly so I do not think there was any pain. All arrangements for his transportation home has been made. I will be accompanying the body down myself tomorrow. So there need be no worry on your part about that. ‘The men and I wish to send our deepest regrets and we are going to miss Jack very much as he was a very fine fellow. I remain, Yours sincerely, Thomas J. Wilky, Lines Foreman’. He looked up and around at us. ‘Do you think it's all right?’ he said. ‘Sure’, Joe Mason said. We were very awkward. ‘That's great Tom’. ‘Yeah, that's good Tom, honest’. The rest of us added our approval. Then we were quiet. Sitting still and awkward, waiting for the boss to speak. ‘I should have sent the letter early’, he said. ‘It might not get there in time.’ Then he added, ‘I sent a telegram away last night. Found her address in Jack's wallet. I only hope it's the right one. I bought a wreath this afternoon. I'm sending it down with the body. I said it was from the gang. Is that all right with you?’ ‘Gee, I wouldn't mind putting a few bob towards it’, Arthur Maker said. ‘How much did it cost?’ ‘Aw it was just a couple-a-quid’, the boss said. ‘It doesn't matter.’ ‘No I wouldn't mind putting a few bob towards it’, I said. ‘Hell that's not fair.’ I fumbled in my pocket for some money. ‘Here, here's a dollar. Is that enough?’ ‘Aw you boys shouldn't bother. It had nothing to do with you.’ But at our insistence he accepted a few bob from us each. ‘Just a couple-a-bob'll do’, he said. ‘How'd you get on today at the inquest?’ Peter Robertson asked. It was a question that had been burning on our minds all day. But it was asked in a different light now, without malice. ‘I believe every one was there trying to say that it was our fault.’ ‘Yeah’, Tom said. ‘The dashed insurance company didn't want to pay out. Tried to cook up all sorts of yarns about this and that and the other thing. Tried to say that it was a faulty ladder.