William's regular snoring sounded loudly and Nellie reached out with her foot and touched the toe of his boot. He grunted and then moved his head to one side and the snoring ceased. Nellie felt a sudden tenderness as she looked at him sleeping. His fair hair was dishevelled and a tuft lay over his forehead. Maybe he won't have to run those horses after all, she thought with a wry smile, although he wouldn't thank her for giving their neighbours the information she had just coaxed out of him. She would have to be careful. If George Galloway found out it was she who had given the news to the women he would make things very difficult for her husband. William was a quiet, easy-going man but he could be pushed only so far, and as for Galloway - he would not allow his childhood friendship with William to influence a business decision, of that she was sure. It had nearly come to that eight years ago, she recalled with a shudder. Thankfully, William had never found out what had taken place. It had been a bad time for everyone then, a time which Nellie tried not to think about, but although she had managed to be a good wife and mother to the children over the years, she knew she would never be allowed to forget what had happened.

Chapter Three.

George Galloway lived in Tyburn Square, a tidy place where the large Victorian houses looked out on to tall plane trees enclosed in a small garden area in the centre of the square. The garden was surrounded with iron railings and had an arched entrance. Inside there were wooden benches set out under the trees and around the circ.u.mference of the garden, and flowers grew from square beds set amongst the paving-stones. The houses were fronted by ornamental iron railings and the place was quiet, although it stood just behind the noisy Jamaica Road.

Tyburn Square had originally been built to accommodate the shippers and businessmen who owned the Bermondsey wharves and warehouses, men who had earned their fortunes trading along from Greenwich Reach to the Pool of London. As industry moved into the area, many of the original occupants of the houses moved away to escape the ever-increasing danger of contracting illnesses spread by the yellow, sulphurous fogs or the fevers which were constantly breaking out in the riverside hovels. Now Tyburn Square had a second wave of prosperous tenants, like George Galloway who had built his business up from trading with one horse and cart. The square now boasted solicitors and ship-chandlers, cordwainers and wheelwrights among its community, as well as a few retired businessmen who were loath to leave Bermondsey despite the growing dangers and the constant noise and bustle.

George Galloway lived at number 22. His two-storeyed house was tastefully furnished. Thick draperies covered the windows, and the furniture was of rosewood and oak. Heavy carpets covered the floors, and the downstairs and first-floor rooms were kept warm with open fires.

Galloway employed a housekeeper who lived in a room on the top floor of the house. Mrs Flynn had come to work for the cartage contractor soon after his wife Martha died. She was herself a widow who had lost her two children while they were still babies. Mrs Flynn's husband had been the first carman to work for Galloway. He had died under the hooves of a team of horses which had bolted when they were frightened by the exploding boiler of a steam tram in the Old Kent Road. Nora Flynn was still only thirty-five, although her thin frame and gaunt face made her seem much older. She looked stern with her tightly swept-up black hair and her piercing dark eyes, but beneath the surface she was a kindhearted woman who had borne the tragedy in her life with fort.i.tude. She had taken care of George Galloway's young daughter Josephine from birth, and had been a restraining and calming influence on her employer's two lively sons who had taken their mother's death very badly. The Galloway children all loved her, although the boys were very careful not to anger her. As far as Josephine was concerned, Nora was her mother, although she had always been taught to call her by name. It was something George Galloway had insisted upon.

Most of the top floor of the house was used for storage. Nora occupied only the front room which looked down on to the square. It was simply furnished, containing a wardrobe and dressing table, a bed in one corner and a table beneath the wide window. The floor was carpeted, and the small open fire provided enough warmth for Nora's needs. The housekeeper lived a spartan life, rising early and washing in cold water from the washstand bowl. She prepared the food in the large ground-floor kitchen at the back of the house and spent a considerable time each day keeping the whole house in spotless condition. Her only relaxation was to take long, leisurely walks in the early evening after her day's work was done. Sometimes she called on old friends and often visited nearby St James's Church to hear the evening services, but when it was very cold or when she was feeling too tired to take her walk, she would sit in her room and take up her embroidery, although the poor light afforded by the flickering gas-mantle made it rather difficult for her. Nora lived her life the way she wanted to and had grown used to her employer's ways and increasingly black moods. She could understand and sympathise with him over the sad loss of his wife but would confront and remonstrate with him when he came down too heavily on his children, for which they were grateful.

George Galloway owned a pony-and-trap which he entrusted to a livery stable just behind the square, where the ostler kept both animal and contraption in good condition and ready for use. Often Galloway would knock the stable-owner up late in the evening or early in the morning as the mood took him and ride out in his gig. It was a source of great pleasure to him to sit in the upholstered seat and flick on the reins to send the animal at a fast trot through the streets of Bermondsey. He sometimes took the conveyance down to his yard in Page Street although more often than not he walked the short distance. On occasions when the loss of Martha weighed heavily upon him and a black mood descended, Galloway would sit in his large front room with the curtains drawn and consume a bottle of Scotch whisky. Mrs Flynn recognised the signs of an approaching drinking bout and left him alone in his grief, making sure that the boys and Josephine were kept out of the way.

One night in late autumn as Nora stood in the kitchen cleaning a pan with a scouring pad, she knew that the confrontation she had been expecting for some time now was about to happen. Geoffrey was sixteen and beginning to find his feet. He no longer seemed to have any fear of his father. He was due to leave school soon, and had recently spoken to her of his desire to go into engineering. When the boy had come in earlier that evening and said he wanted to speak with his father, Nora had tried to put him off. She had warned him that his father had shut himself in his room with a bottle of whisky but Geoffrey would not heed her.

'I've decided on engineering, Nora. It's what I want to do,' he had said forcefully. 'I don't want to follow Father into the business. He runs it the way he wants to, and there'd be no changing things. Maybe if he was older it'd be different. Maybe then I'd be allowed a free rein. As it is now, I'd be little more than his clerk.'

Nora shrugged her shoulders and gave a resigned sigh. There would have been no use in saying any more. The boy was like his father in his determination, and a trial of wills was inevitable.

In the darkened room George and his son faced each other. The gaslamp had been turned down and its pale yellow light played on the iron figures along the high mantelshelf. The fire had been left to burn low although there was a filled coal-scuttle beside the grate, and the room smelled of stale tobacco smoke. The older man sat a little slumped in his wide leather chair with an open bottle standing on the companion table at his elbow. Geoffrey could see two patches of hectic colour on his father's broad face, standing out against the dark stubble around his chin. He felt very conscious of the heavy-lidded eyes as they stared out at him.

George held a tumbler of undiluted spirit in his thick, calloused hand and his legs were splayed out against the bra.s.s fender. 'I can't understand yer sudden change o' plans,' he said in a husky voice. 'Only last week yer told me yer was gonna give it a chance. Yer promised me yer was gonna try. It's a good respectable business, not one ter be ashamed of.'

Geoffrey sighed in frustration. 'Look, Dad, I'm not ashamed of working in the business, it's just that I'm set on taking up engineering. It's what I want to do.'

'I was countin' on yer comin' in wiv me,' George said, a note of bitterness in his voice. 'I 'ad ter struggle an' go wivout ter get where I am now. It took a lot of 'ard work an' deviousness ter build up the firm. I ran the streets, slept under arches, an' went 'ungry most o' the time. I've felt the pain in me guts when there was no food ter be 'ad. Yer've never known the pain of an empty belly, of livin' on turnips, bacon-bone soup an' crusts o' mouldy bread. I don't want yer ter know. That's what I sent yer ter that school for. I want yer ter come in wiv me an' use yer education. There's a lot of opportunity in the cartage business. Firms are springin' up all over Bermondsey an' there's a lot o' tonnage that's gotta be moved.'

Geoffrey met his father's hard stare. 'I know I told you I'd give it a try, and I've been all through the books like you suggested. I've studied the contracts, invoices and order forms. I spent all last Monday afternoon with Mr Gallagher going over the accounts. I spent the whole of the weekend thinking about the business, Dad, and I know I wouldn't be happy managing that side of it. I know I wouldn't.'

George swallowed the contents of the tumbler he held in his hand and winced as the spirit burned his throat. He filled the gla.s.s with an unsteady hand and placed it on the table beside him.

'So yer don't wanna manage that side of it?' he said, a note of sarcasm in his hoa.r.s.e voice. 'Tell me, what do yer wanna do? D'yer wanna go out an' get the contracts? D'yer wanna tout fer business? Well, I'll tell yer what yer gotta do - yer gotta learn the business from the bottom. Yer gotta learn ter balance the books an' order the supplies. Yer gotta know 'ow ter give the work out an' sort out the problems wiv the carmen. And that's jus' ter begin wiv. Then yer gotta know 'ow ter size up a good 'orse an' buy well. If I'd 'ave made too many bad buys, there'd be no business now. When yer know all there is ter know o' that side of it, yer'll need a spell wiv Will Tanner. 'E knows almost as much as I do about 'orses. 'E's got respect, an' the carmen know they can't take 'im on. After a go in the office an' then six months wiv Tanner, maybe yer'll be ready ter go out an' tout fer work. As it stands, I get the contracts 'cos I can trade on me name. Yer've gotta earn a name, earn a reputation. It don't come easy, boy.'

Geoffrey ran his fingers through his thick dark hair and leaned back in his chair. 'I know what you're saying, Father,' he said slowly. 'I'd be quite willing to start the way you said. I wouldn't want it any other way if I wanted to come into the business, but I don't. I want to learn engineering, and that's the way it is.'

George shook his head sadly. The boy was so like his mother. She had had the same look when she was angry. She had always been dogged and determined when she made her mind up about anything. Geoff had inherited his tenacity from both of them. He was going to be hard to sway. George decided that he should play along for a while. Let the boy see that his father was recognising and understanding his position. After all, he was not seventeen yet. He might change his mind in six months, thought George, without believing it.

'All right, Geoff,' he said quietly. 'I can see yer not 'appy about comin' in wiv me. There's no rush ter go inter this engineerin', is there? The problem is, I'm desperate fer a bit of 'elp wiv the business at the moment so I'd appreciate it if yer could give me a bit o' yer time ter straighten fings up down at the office. Give it six months, eh? Then, if yer still feel yer should make engineerin' yer career, I won't stand in yer way. 'Ow's that sound?'

Geoff swallowed a sharp reply. As much as he wanted to tell his father there and then that he would not change his mind, he held back. He had gained some measure of acceptance for his plans, and his father had ended up being less hard and aggressive than he might have expected. He seemed a little sad, thought the boy. He was going through one of his bad periods, as Nora had noticed. There would be other times for Geoffrey to a.s.sert his will. In the meantime he would try to settle into the business for six months but at the end of that time would make a final decision, he resolved, even if it meant breaking with his father.

Geoffrey looked up from the flickering coals and met his father's questioning gaze. 'All right, Dad, I'll try for six months,' he said with a deep sigh.

Jack Oxford was employed to do the dirty jobs around Galloway's stables. He'd been a simpleton since a run-in with a horse in his previous job and was considered harmless by the other workers. He was tall and thin, with stopping shoulders and jet-black hair which hung down to his collar, and his large dark eyes stared out from an angular white face. He seemed to bend from the knees as he walked, and had large hands and feet that looked enormous in the pair of heavy, studded boots he always wore.

Today Jack had swept the yard clean and refilled the sacks of chaff; he had been in amongst the newly arrived horses and mucked out the stalls; he had topped up the drinking trough at the end of the yard with fresh water, and now he felt he had done just about enough for one day. It was time to relax.

Jack idled up to the office and looked in at the window. He had noticed that Galloway's trap was not in the yard but he knew that the boss often walked to the stables. He could not see Galloway, only Mr Gallagher the accountant, bending over the desk in the far corner. Jack growled to himself. He had taken a dislike to Gallagher ever since he had accidentally sprayed the elderly man with water while hosing down the yard. Gallagher had walked in unexpectedly and been soaked. It was an accident and no lasting harm had been done, but the accountant had tattled to George Galloway who came out of the office and yelled at Jack in front of the carmen. The yard man's sluggish brain had caught most of the tirade of abuse and he took umbrage at being called a lazy, incompetent b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He wasn't sure what incompetent meant, it was the other word that Jack objected to. There was no need for the boss to fly off the handle. Jack had always done what he was told. It was only when he was chaff-cutting that he took a nap, and then only when the bale was finished.

It made no difference how hard he worked, the boss always shouted at him and made him look silly in front of the men. He was doing it more lately, and usually for no reason. Well, not for much of a reason anyway. Jack decided it was about time he started looking after himself for a change. A little nap was nothing to be ashamed of. Not when all the work was finished. He could do with one right now, in fact.

Jack sauntered away from the office window. The mid-afternoon sun was shining down from a clear sky and felt hot on his head. Too much sun gave Jack a nasty headache, and that was another good reason for him to take a nap. Will Tanner was at the farrier's, and the carmen would not be back for a good two hours he reasoned as he rubbed his hands together and grinned to himself. He crossed the yard and walked up the long steep ramp to the upper stable. The door to his left led into the chaff-cutting room and Jack strolled through, relishing the thought of settling down in the hay.

Carrie left school in Dockhead late in the afternoon. She was walking home with her friend Sara when she spotted the two Galloway wagons. Soapy Symonds was in the leading cart, his head slumped down on to his chest as he nodded off. Soapy knew that he could rely on the horse to take him home without prompting and had let the reins hang loose. Sharkey's cart was following behind, his horse nuzzling the tailboard in front as they plodded home to Page Street. Carrie shouted out to Soapy but he did not hear her. Sharkey spotted her as she ran to the kerbside.

'I s'pose yer wanna lift, do yer?' he grinned as he jumped down from his seat and lowered the tailboard on its chains.

'I didn't 'spect ter see yer,' Carrie said as Sharkey hoisted the two girls up on to the tailboard.

'Me an' Soapy got finished early. There's a stoppage at the docks,' he said with a chuckle as he climbed back into the driving seat.

Carrie and Sara sat giggling on the back of the cart as Sharkey slapped the reins and sent the horse into a slow trot in an effort to catch up with Soapy.

'I wish my dad worked in the stables or was on the 'orsean'-carts, ' Sara said, grinning happily at Carrie.

The Tanner girl looked at the pale drawn face of her friend and smiled kindly. 'Next time my dad takes me ter get the bales of 'ay, I'm gonna ask 'im if yer can come wiv us,' she said.

'Would 'e really take me as well?' Sara asked, her dark-circled eyes lighting up.

'I 'spect 'e will,' Carrie said confidently. 'We can 'ave a lemonade an' ride up on top o' the load. It's really luvverly.'

Sara squeezed her friend's arm. 'You're my bestest friend, Carrie,' she said, her face beaming.

Carrie suddenly felt a sadness which seemed to clutch at her insides and tighten her throat as she looked into her friend's pallid face. Sara lived in Bacon Street Buildings and her father, who had been crippled in an accident at the docks, was reduced to selling bits and pieces from a suitcase at the markets. Her mother took in washing and scrubbed floors in an effort to provide for her five children, and as Sara was the eldest she had unavoidably become the household drudge. Life was not very nice for her, Carrie thought, squeezing her friend's arm in a spontaneous show of sympathy. Well, she was going to make sure Sara accompanied her on the next trip to Wanstead. She would speak to her father about it as soon as she got home.

The carts swung into Page Street and as they slowed at the firm's gates Carrie and Sara jumped down. The Tanner girl stood beside her front door until her friend reached the end of the turning, then after exchanging waves she went into the house.

Once inside the yard the two carmen unhitched their horses and led them to the watering trough to let them drink their fill before settling them into the stalls. When the empty carts had been manhandled out of the way back up against the end wall, and the harness hung in the shed, Soapy and Sharkey walked up to the office and peered in.

'Seen Will Tanner?' Soapy asked, scratching the back of his head.

Horace Gallagher looked up from the ledger and peered over his thick-lensed spectacles at Soapy. 'He's at the farrier's. I don't know when he'll be back,' he said irritably.

Soapy looked at Sharkey and pulled a face. 'Let's sort dopey Jack out, Sharkey. 'E might 'ave some tea brewin',' he said, grinning.

The two sauntered from the office over to the rickety shed at the end of the yard and looked in. The place was a mess, with brooms and buckets scattered around everywhere. On the bench beneath the dust-covered window was an a.s.sortment of well-worn harness straps that the yard man was in the process of repairing. Of Jack Oxford there was no sign.

'P'raps the lazy ole sod's takin' a nap, Soapy,' Sharkey said, aiming a kick at the nearest bucket.

'Let's go up the loft. That's where 'e'll be, it's a dead cert,' Soapy replied.

The two carmen walked up the ramp and entered the chaff store. The belt-driven chaff-cutting contraption had been installed by George Galloway after he had seen a month's bills for feedstuffs. It was driven by a leather belt which ran from the flywheel of a steam engine housed in the shed below. The cutter was a large, square contraption with revolving blades. From its funnel chopped hay was spewed out into sacks. Around the machine there were a few bales of uncut hay and in one corner loose stalks had been piled into a heap. Bedded down in them was Jack Oxford. He was lying on his back, snoring loudly, his cap pulled over his face and his hands clasped together on his chest.

'Look at the lazy, dopey ole git,' Soapy said, picking up a piece of wood that was resting against the cutter.

Sharkey grabbed Soapy's arm and put a finger to his lips. ''Ere, let's 'ave a lark. C'mon.'

Soapy followed his friend back down the ramp, puzzlement showing on his hawklike features. 'Where we goin'?' he asked.

Sharkey hunched up his broad shoulders and grinned evilly as he pushed his cap on to the back of his head. 'We're gonna give Oxford a spruce-up.'

The scheming carman led the way back to the shed and rummaged around Jack Oxford's bits and pieces until he found what he was looking for. Then, with the giggling Soapy hard on his heels, he marched back to the stable and walked quietly up the ramp.

Jack Oxford was still snoring loudly in the hay. When a coating of leather preservative was brushed across his forehead, he merely grunted. The second stroke was applied along his stubbled cheek. He waved an imagined insect away with a sweep of his hand. A few more strokes were deemed enough to finish the job on the by now uncomfortable yard man, who turned over on to his side and began scratching his painted ear.

The sound of horses being led into the yard sent the two carmen hurrying from the loft. As they came down the ramp, they saw William Tanner.

'What are you two doin' 'ere?' he asked, frowning.

'We couldn't get in the docks fer the second load. There's a stoppage or somefink,' Soapy replied, standing in front of Sharkey who had the tin of preservative hidden behind his back.

'Well, take these two an' bed 'em down, then yer can go,' William said, walking away to the office. As he reached the door, he turned towards the two grinning carmen. ''Ave yer seen Jack Oxford?' he called out.

The two shook their heads and walked off with the newly shod horses, grinning at each other like a couple of children.

Nellie Tanner was in the scullery doing the washing up while Carrie stood beside her drying the plates, a miserable expression on her pretty face.

'But Sara's my best friend, an' she's never even bin on an 'orse-an'-cart,' she said plaintively.

Nellie sighed irritably. 'Look, Carrie, yer farvver shouldn't really take you wiv 'im, let alone 'alf the street. S'posin' somefing 'appened? I mean, there could be an accident or somefink.'

'But it's not 'alf the street, Mum,' Carrie persisted. 'It's only Sara, an' nuffink bad would 'appen. She'd be no trouble. She's so poor, an' she stays away from school lots o' times ter look after 'er bruvvers an' sisters. I'm only askin' fer Sara, n.o.body else.'

Nellie put down the last of the plates and undid her ap.r.o.n-strings, leaning back against the copper. 'Yer say Sara's poor? We're all poor. All right, yer farvver's got a regular job, but there's no spare money comin' in this 'ouse, let me tell yer. It's a job ter manage, what wiv food an' clothes, an' we still 'ave ter pay rent, even though Mr Galloway owns this 'ouse. Everybody round 'ere's poor. It's 'and ter mouth fer all of us, luv, so don't go gettin' the idea that we're better off than everybody else. Some's jus' poorer than ovvers.'

'Well, I fink Sara's family are poorest of all,' Carrie said, gathering up the dried plates and placing them in the cupboard. 'She 'ad no coat on yesterday when it was chilly an' she 'ardly brings anyfink ter school. I don't fink she's ever tasted lemonade, an' when she come 'ome wiv me on the back o' Mr Morris's van she was so excited. She's nice.'

Nellie bit back an angry reply and said quietly, 'Yer know yer shouldn't go ridin' on the back o' those carts, Carrie. I've told yer before, yer could fall off. An' what would Sara's muvver say if she knew she was ridin' on them wiv yer?'

Carrie shrugged her shoulders. 'I don't fink she would say anything. She don't treat Sara very nice, what wiv makin' 'er do all that work indoors.'

Nellie sighed deeply, not really knowing how to reply to her young daughter. Carrie was a caring, thoughtful girl who was saddened and upset by the poverty around her, and Nellie knew there was nothing she could do to protect her from it. She was going to learn a lot more about heartache and sadness as she grew up.

'Yer gotta understand, Carrie, Mrs Knight 'as ter work 'ard, what wiv Mr Knight being the way 'e is,' she said slowly. 'Sara's gotta 'elp out in the 'ome. After all, she is the eldest, an' don't ferget the youngest is only a few months old.'

Carrie sighed. 'Well, I'm still gonna ask Dad if she can come wiv us next time,' she said firmly.

Nellie shook her head in resignation as Carrie walked out of the scullery. Just like her father, she told herself with a smile. Once she made up her mind, there was no shifting her.

As Nellie started to fill the copper with fresh water, she suddenly began to wonder what sort of a reception the army would get the following day.

Chapter Four.

The Kings Arms stood on the corner of Page Street and was managed by Alec Crossley and his wife Grace. Alec was a tubby character with a bald head, a ruddy face, and a liking for brandy which made his face flush up like a beacon. Grace, on the other hand, remained sober and took charge of the pub on the frequent occasions when Alec had had too much of his favourite beverage. She was a large, jolly woman with an infectious laugh. Her blonde hair was worn piled up on top of her head. The Crossleys kept a happy pub and had installed a snug bar where the local women congregated for a drink and a chat in comfort, safe in the knowledge that they were not seen as tarts because they dared enter a man's domain. The snug bar was the women's own little haven where men did not intrude. It was Grace's idea and she served the women herself. There was a saloon bar too at the Kings Arms which was carpeted and tastefully furnished, but almost all of the local folk used the public where a piano and round iron tables stood on well-scrubbed floorboards.

Soapy and Sharkey sat together in the public bar chuckling at the little joke they had played on the unfortunate yard man. 'Wait till 'e looks in a mirrer,' Sharkey laughed. ''E'll fink 'e's got yeller fever.'

Soapy almost choked on his beer at the thought. 'Jack Oxford wouldn't look in a mirrer,' he spluttered. ''E couldn't stand the sight of 'imself. Anyway, I don't fink they 'ave mirrers in the doss-'ouse where Jack stays. If they did 'e wouldn't cut 'imself so much when 'e shaves. Ain't yer ever noticed 'ow many bits o' f.a.g paper the silly bleeder 'as stuck round 'is clock in the mornin's?'

Sharkey grinned as he picked up his pint of ale. 'Jack Oxford gets those cuts from the blunt carvin' knife 'e uses,' he replied. 'One o' these days 'e's gonna cut 'is froat, that's fer certain.'

Soapy wiped the froth away from his mouth with the back of his hand. ''Ere, Sharkey, d'yer reckon we should've used that dye stuff?' he wondered aloud. 'The poor sod might be stained fer life.'

Sharkey shook his head emphatically. 'Nah. It'll wear orf in a few weeks. Anyway, it won't 'urt 'im. That stuff don't do the 'arness any 'arm, an' it'll certainly be an improvement on ole Jack. b.l.o.o.d.y 'ell, Soapy, 'e's enough ter frighten the daylights out o' the kids when 'e's normal. Yer should 'ave 'eard ole f.a.n.n.y Johnson go orf at 'im. 'E made 'er baby cry when she come by the yard the ovver day, an' she told 'im ter p.i.s.s orf out of it. Mind yer, 'e was only tryin' ter make the little mite laugh. Trouble was Jack was dribblin' all over the pram.'

Soapy finished his beer and pushed the empty gla.s.s away from him. 'Well I'm orf 'ome,' he announced.

As the two made to leave Alec Crossley leaned across the counter. 'You lads look pleased wiv yerselves,' he remarked.

'Yeah, we bin doin' a bit o' sprucin' up in the yard,' Sharkey told him straight-faced. 'Turned out a treat it did.'

Alec pointed to the leather dye on Soapy's hands. 'Yer wanna be careful o' that stuff,' he said. 'I knew a bloke who got dye splashed all over 'is face once. Terrible face 'e 'ad.'

'Did 'e?' Sharkey replied, giving Soapy a worried glance as they left the pub.

When Jack Oxford roused himself he felt a tightness in his face and he scratched at his chin. 'b.l.o.o.d.y gnats,' he grumbled aloud as he stood up and brushed himself down. He could hear his name being called and peered out of the window down into the yard.

'Jus' tidyin' up,' he called down, looking to make sure there were no telltale pieces of straw stuck to his clothes.

'Get orf 'ome, Jack, I wanna lock up,' the voice called out.

Jack Oxford hurried down the ramp, still scratching at his irritated face. As he walked past the office, the accountant came out.

'Good Lord!' Gallagher gasped, adjusting his spectacles in disbelief.

Jack shrugged his shoulders and walked out into Page Street, intending to go straight to the fish shop in Jamaica Road. Florrie Axford was standing at her front door pondering over just where she would place the women for the demonstration when the yard man walked by.

'Oh my Gawd!' she gasped, following the retreating man with her bulging eyes.

Jack frowned in puzzlement. 'What's the matter wiv everybody?' he said aloud as he hurried across the busy main thoroughfare.