Archibald Cronin - The Stars Look Down

Arthur was not a fool. He saw clearly that the pre-existing coal famine in Europe had produced an artificial inflation of the export price of British coal. He felt acutely the general illusion of prosperity, and his efforts were most sensibly directed towards making contact with local consumers and re-establishing himself by selling Neptune coal at home.

This return contract with Mawson Gowlans had been implied when the Neptune order for equipment was placed as far back in 1918. But Mawson Gowlan were keen customers and it was only now that Arthur had persuaded them to implement their word: even so he had been forced to shave his prices to the bone.

Nevertheless his mood that morning was one of natural elation as, with the draft contract in his hand, he rose from his desk and went into Armstrong’s office.

“Have a look,” he said. “Full time and double shift for the next four months.”

With a pleased expression, Armstrong pulled his glasses out of his breast pocket — his sight was not what it had been — and slowly surveyed the contract.

“Mawson Gowlan,” he exclaimed. “Well, well! Wouldn’t it beat the band, sir, when you think that this fellow Gowlan worked hand-putting under your father and me in this very pit!”

Pacing up and down the office Arthur laughed rather mirthlessly.

“Better not remind him of it, Armstrong. He’s coming down at ten. By the way, I shall want you to witness our signatures.”

“Ay, he’s a big noise in Tynecastle now, by all accounts.” Armstrong meditated. “Mawson and he have got their fingers in half a dozen pies. I heard they’ve taken over Youngs — you know, the brass-finishers in Tynecastle that went burst last month.”

“Yes,” Arthur said shortly, as if the reminder of yet another local bankruptcy annoyed him, “Gowlan is expanding. That’s why we get this contract.”

Armstrong gazed at Arthur over the gold rims of his spectacles, then he went back to the contract. He read the contract meticulously, his lips moving over the words. Then, not looking at Arthur, he said:

“I see there’s a penalty clause.”

“Naturally.”

“Your father never held with the penalty clause,” Armstrong murmured.

It always irritated Arthur to have his father cast reprovingly in his teeth. He paced up and down the room a little faster with his hands clasped behind his back, and declared with nervous vehemence:

“You can’t pick and choose these days. You’ve got to meet people half-way. If you don’t, then somebody else will. And besides, we can fulfil this contract all ends up. We’ll have no trouble with the men. We’re still under control and the Government have definitely promised no decontrol until August 31st. We have more than six months’ guaranteed control to complete a four months’ contract. What more do you want? And damn it all, Armstrong, we do need the work.”

“That’s true,” Armstrong agreed slowly, “I was only thinking. But you know what you’re doing, sir.”

The sound of a car in the yard cut off Arthur’s quick reply. He stopped his pacing and stood by the window. There was a silence.

“Here’s Gowlan,” he said, watching the yard, “and he doesn’t look like he was going hand-putting now.”

A minute later Joe walked into the office. He advanced impressively, in double-breasted blue, with his hand outstretched and an electric cordiality in his eye. He shook hands vigorously with Arthur and Armstrong, beaming round the office as though it rejoiced him:

“You know it does my heart good to walk into this pit again. You remember I worked here when I was a lad, Mr. Armstrong.” Despite Arthur’s fears there was no mock modesty about Joe, oh dear, no! his big-hearted frankness was human and edifying. “Yes, it was under you, Mr. Armstrong, I got my first groundings. And from your father, Mr. Barras, I drew the first money I ever earned in my life. Well, well! It’s not so long ago either when you come to think of it.” He sat down, pulled up his smartly creased trousers, genial and triumphant. “Yes, I will say,” he mused, “I was absolutely delighted to think of fixing up this contract. A bit of sentiment maybe, but who can help that? I like this pit and I like the way you do things, Mr. Barras. You’ve got a magnificent place here, magnificent. That’s my exact words to my partner, Jim Mawson. Some folks say there’s no feeling in business. Well, well, they’re a long way off beginning to understand the meaning of business, eh, Mr. Barras?”

Arthur smiled; it was impossible to resist Joe’s joyous charm.

“Naturally we’re very glad on our side to have this contract.”

Joe nodded graciously. “Business not so good as it might be, eh, Mr. Barras? Oh, I know, I know, you don’t have to bother to tell me. It’s a regular toss-up when you’ve got all your eggs in the one basket. That’s why Jim and myself keep spreadin’.” He paused, helped himself absently to a cigarette from the box on Arthur’s desk; then, rather solemnly: “Did you know we were floating ourselves next month?”

“You mean a company?”

“Certainly, I do. A public company. The time’s ripe for it. Things is absolutely boomin’ on the market.”

“But surely you’re not relinquishing your interests?”

Joe laughed heartily. “What do you take us for, Mr. Barras? We’ll take two hundred thousand for the goodwill, a packet of shares and a controlling interest on the board.”

“I see.” Arthur blenched slightly. For one second, thinking of his own discouragements at the Neptune, he hungered for an equal success, to lay his hands on such a staggering profit.

A silence; then Arthur moved towards the desk.

“What about the contract, then?”

“Certainly, Mr. Barras, sir. I’m ready when you are. Always ready to do business. Ah, ha! good clean honest business.”

“There’s just one point I’d like to raise. The question of this penalty clause.”

“Yes?”

“There isn’t the slightest doubt about our fulfilling the contract.”

Joe smiled blandly.

“Then why worry about the clause?”

“I’m not worrying, but as we’ve cut our price so close and included delivery at Yarrow, I thought we might agree to delete it?”

Joe’s smile persisted, bland and friendly still, yet tinged with a kind of virtuous regret.

“Ah, now, we’ve got to protect ourselves, Mr. Barras. If we give you the contract for coking coal we’ve got to make sure that we get the coal. It’s only fair play after all. We’re doing our bit and we’re only making sure that you do yours. If you don’t like it, of course, well, we must just—”

“No,” Arthur said quickly. “It’s quite all right, really. If you insist I agree.”

Arthur above everything did not want to lose the contract. And there was no doubt that the clause was perfectly just; it was simply a very tight piece of business which any firm might well demand at this troubled time. Joe produced a large gold-encased fountain pen to sign the contract. He signed with an enormous flourish and Armstrong, who had once cursed Joe over half a mile of ropeway for letting a tub run amain, witnessed Joe’s signature neatly and humbly. Then Joe beamed and pump-handled his way into his car, which whisked him away triumphantly to Tynecastle.

When Joe had gone Arthur sat at his desk worrying a little — as he always did after taking a decision — and wondering if he had not allowed Gowlan to get the better of him. And it struck him that he might insure against the remote contingency of his failure to complete the contract. On an impulse he took the telephone and rang up the Eagle Alliance Offices with whom he usually did business. But the rate quoted was too high, ridiculously high, it would swallow up his small margin of profit. He hung up the receiver and put the matter out of his head.