Chapter 2 SHARE AND SHARE ALIKE

Kenneth on his way home looked in at the doctor's. An attack of influenza after his return from Belgium had pulled him down, and he had put off joining the army until assured of his complete recovery. As he put it to the doctor: "A crock would be no use to K. of K."

"You'll do," said the doctor after thoroughly overhauling him. "All you want is a little hardening up. I'll give you a prescription. The open-air life of the army will do you good. And I wish you luck."

Thus fortified, as soon as he got home he posted an application for a commission in the Flying Corps.

Next day, soon after lunch, he received a telegram from Randall.

"No go. Slackers. Mules. Governor mad. Come and lend a hand."

He handed the telegram to his mother.

"What does it mean?" she asked. "Your friend must be rather a curious person."

"Oh, it's just Randy," said Kenneth, who had told his mother of his meeting with Randall on the previous day. "At school he always wanted to lug everybody with him. I don't see what I can do. I'll wire him."

He wrote on the reply-paid form:

"Sorry. Not my line."

Within a couple of hours came a second telegram.

"Rotter. Writing."

Next morning's post brought the letter.

"You simply must come. What do you mean, not your line? How do you know till you try? Here I've come 6000 miles--but I told you that before. This is the situation. The governor is raving: never saw him so biffy. He got a spouter down from London, who lectured the men in the dinner-hour, waved a flag and all that. The men only jeered. Governor says I'll only make them worse if I try; calls me a scatter-brain; I assure you he's in a deuce of a wax. Used to be as meek as Moses; wouldn't hear of compulsion; he's turned completely over, talks of sacking the men, closing the works, conscription, and so on and so forth. Something must be done. You were always a cool hand; come and let's talk things over, at any rate: smooth the governor down; he won't listen to a word from me, and in my opinion goes the wrong way to work. I told him I was inviting you; best pal at school, cock of the House, going to join with me: so on and so forth. He'll be glad to see you."

"A very strange person," remarked Mrs. Amory when she had read the letter.

"Perhaps I had better go," said Kenneth. "Of course I can't do any good with the men, but it will please Randy, and my being on the spot may prevent him and his father from coming to loggerheads. They're both peppery, evidently."

Accordingly, Kenneth travelled by the 10.30 from St. Pancras, and reached the small midland town in time for lunch. He saw at once that Mr. Randall himself was at any rate partly responsible for this trouble. A prosperous manufacturer, he was inclined to be dictatorial and was certainly no diplomatist. Full of patriotic zeal himself, deploring the fact that he was too old for active service, a special constable, an energetic member of the local home defence corps, he had expected all his able-bodied men to rush to the colours, promised to keep their places for them, and to make up their pay for the sake of their dependents. The paltry response filled him with fury. Without taking the trouble to discover the cause of the general reluctance he poured scorn upon the skulkers, talked of the white feather, tried to dragoon them into volunteering, threatened to sack them or close the works, with the result that the men stiffened their backs and defied him. Clearly he did not know how to handle men in an emergency like the present.

At lunch Kenneth tactfully listened to his host's outpourings, without offering any criticism or suggestion.

"Good man!" said Randall, when he and Kenneth were alone. "Let him blow off! That's the way."

"What have you done?" asked Kenneth.

"Not much. I wanted to make a speech to the men, but the governor wouldn't let me. Now, am I a scatter-brain? D'you think that's fair? Anyway, I'm his son! But I spoke to old Griggs, our foreman; asked him why the men won't enlist. ''Cos they're Englishmen,' says he. 'What's the meaning of that?' says I. 'Won't be druv,' says he. 'Rather be led by the nose,' says he."

"What did he mean?"

"Well, it appears that the fellows take their cue from two ringleaders. One of them's a man named Stoneway, only been here about six months: I don't know him. But I know the other chap--a carrot-headed fellow named Murgatroyd; Yorkshire, I suppose: the men call him Ginger. He's been with us years: came as a boy. A rough customer, I can tell you: a jolly good workman, but a regular demon for mischief. All the same, you can't help liking him. He's a sportsman, too: good at boxing, a first-class forward, just the fellow you'd expect to be the first to go. Griggs told me he didn't expect to see him back after his week's holiday in August: but he turned up a day or two late, and backed up Stoneway against the governor. He'll be sacked at the end of the week, sure as a gun."

"Those two are the men you must tackle, then," said Kenneth. "Bring them round, and the rest will follow like sheep--or donkeys, 'led by the nose,' as your Griggs says."

"By the way, he told me the men are having a meeting in the yard at tea-time to discuss the governor's threats. Shall we slip down and hear what they have to say?"

"Our appearance might shut them up."

"Not if I know our men--free and independent, don't care a rap for anyone: you know the sort. They'd take a huge delight in letting us hear a few things about ourselves--idle rich, bloated capitalists and so on: which reminds me that I've got about twopence halfpenny. We'll hear them spout, and tackle Stoneway and Ginger quietly afterwards."

Shortly after four o'clock the two friends strolled into the works yard. Several hundreds of hands were there assembled, from engine boys and apprentices to grey seasoned veterans. The most of them had tea cans, some were smoking. At one end of the yard, standing on a tub, a stoutly built man of about thirty, with close cropped hair and thick brown beard and moustache, was haranguing the mob.

Randall was recognised by some of the men, whose grins of greeting he acknowledged with nods. A whisper ran round: "The young governor!" It caught the ears of the man on the tub, who broke off his speech for a moment and glanced sharply at the two tall figures on the outskirts of the crowd. Then he resumed what was evidently a studied peroration.

"Is this a free country, or is it not, mates?" he cried, with a sweeping arm. "If a man wants to fight, let him; I won't say a word against it. But when it comes to forcing him, then I say he's a slave, and all the talk about Britons never will be slaves is blankety rot, and I say that when an employer threatens to sack us or close the works because we don't feel called on to turn ourselves into gun-fodder, I say he's a nigger-driver and a tyrant. And what's it for? Are we invaded? I'd defend my own home with any man. But what do we pay the navy for? That's their job. What I say is, let the French and the Russians do their own fighting. It's no business of ours."

"What about Belgium?" cried one of the boys.

"'What about Belgium?' says the nipper. What has Belgium done for us? Perhaps the nipper will tell us. Speak up.... Not a word, and why? Because Belgium has done nothing for us. Then I ask you in the name of common sense why on earth we should do anything for Belgium? Belgium has only herself to thank. The Germans have promised to leave Belgium as soon as they have settled with the French, and even if they don't----"

"Way there!" shouted Randall, elbowing his way through the crowd. Cries of "Way for the young governor!" drowned the speaker's voice. "Time's up, Stoneway!" sang out the boy who had questioned him. Kenneth followed his friend, hoping that he would be discreet.

Stoneway descended from the tub, Randall mounted in his place.

"Look here, men," he cried, "I came to listen, to get at your ideas, not to speak, but I can't keep quiet when I hear such stuff. We're free men: that's all right; but we're men of our word. An Englishman's word: you know what people say about that. We've given our word to Belgium: if we break it we're mean skunks, we're disgraced for ever. Besides, every decent chap loathes a bully, and Germany's just a great hulking bully. If you see a big chap hurting a little 'un, you want to knock him down. My father tells me that only about a dozen of you have enlisted. What's the reason of it? You'd feel jolly well insulted if I called you cowards. Are all you hundreds going to skulk at home while your mates do the fighting for you? What'll you feel like in ten years' time? You won't be able to look 'em in the face. Here I've come 6000 miles to do my bit; buck up and show what you're made of."

Randall's words tumbled out in a boiling flood. There was some cheering, mingled with cries of "Ginger!" which grew in volume until the din was deafening. Presently there edged his way through the crowd a thin lank fellow with lean clean-shaven cheeks, deeply furrowed, and a touzled mop of reddish hair. A red scarf was knotted about his neck. He slouched forward, hands in pockets, murmured "Afternoon, Mr. Harry," as he passed Randall, mounted the tub, hitched up his breeches, drew the back of his hand across his mouth, and looked round, with a grin, upon his shouting fellow-workmen. The noise subsided, and the crowd gazed expectantly up into their favourite's face.

"We're all glad to see the young governor, mates," he said, in the broad accents of a north-countryman. There was a volley of cheers. "But we don't hold with him--and no offence. I hold with Stoneway--every word of it." He thumped the air. "Who made this war? Not us: we wasn't consulted. No: it was the nobs done it. Are we going to let 'em force us into it?" (Shouts of "No!") "We won't be druv. It's all very well for the officers: they get a comfortable billet and good pay. Tommy gets the kicks and Percy gets the ha'pence." ("Go it, Ginger!") "Now, Mr. Harry, you've come 6000 miles--what for, sir? an officer's job, I take my oath."

"That's true," said Randall. "I've applied. But----"

"Hold on, sir. There you are! Just what I thought. Well, I ain't got no personal objection to having a smack at the Germans; never seen a German yet but what I'd give him one on the boko, and if Lord Kitchener'd make me a lootenant or a capting in the Coldstream Guards, with a sword and eppylets and ten bob a day--well, I don't say I wouldn't consider it." ("Bravo, Ginger!") "But as it is, to be a private on one bob a day, and dock threepence or more, they tell me, for the missus and kids--I'm not having any."

When the cheers that hailed his assertion had fallen away, Kenneth said quietly:

"You forget that thousands of men have thrown up good jobs and sacrificed big incomes to join the ranks."

"Not in these parts, governor. Down here they give their subscriptions to this, that, and the other, and reduce their men's wages, if they don't sack 'em. And if it comes to that, what have you done?"

A breathless silence settled upon the crowd. All eyes were fixed on the young governor's friend, awaiting his reply to this poser. Kenneth had an inspiration.

"It doesn't matter what I've done," he said, quietly, but in a tone that carried his words to the corners of the yard. "But I'll tell you what I'll do, and if I know my friend Mr. Randall, he'll do the same. If you men will enlist, we'll enlist with you, and share and share alike."

The man was taken aback. He looked from Kenneth to Randall: his mates watched him curiously. "One for you, Ginger!" cried the irrepressible boy.

"D'you mean that, sir?" asked the man.

"Certainly," said Kenneth.

"It's a firm offer, Ginger," added Randall.

"Privates--no kid?"

"A bob a day," said Kenneth.

For a half-minute or so Ginger had the air of one who is caught out. He looked round among his mates, grinning awkwardly, avoiding their eyes. They were silent, watching him. All at once he burst into a guffaw, wiped his mouth, and with frank good-humour cried:

"Well, hanged if you ain't good sports. Come on, mates. Who's for Kitchener's army and a smack at the Germans? I'm number one."

The crowd was captured by the sporting spirit. Striking while the iron was hot, Randall and Kenneth headed a procession to the recruiting office. Mr. Randall, called to his window by the tramp of many feet and the strains of "It's a long long way to Tipperary," was amazed to see hundreds of his young workmen marching with linked arms behind the two young fellows. He rang for Griggs.

"What does this mean, Griggs?" he asked.

"Gone to enlist, sir. We shall be very short-handed."