Success
between friends? We can settle that any time to the satisfaction of
all parties. I see your fellers have already put me up a tidy little
bit o’ wall.” (They had, a wall eighteen inches thick of the best blue
acid-proof bricks, at the town’s expense, Milligen saw to that.) “It’s
‘the gentleman from the neighbouring factory’ I’ve come to talk about.
What about compensating him?”
“Did he lose anything?” inquired Mr. Heath.
“Did you, Willy?” Milligen asked. “What, not the toe o’ your boot when
you tripped over the hydrant?”
The council laughed here, and afterwards called themselves to order
and suggested that Mr. Milligen should state his business. Accordingly
he did: it was to give the name and address of the gentleman from the
neighbouring factory, so that the council should be able to forward him
some suitable reward and recognition of his invaluable services on the
disastrous night. So Milligen said in quite a fine speech, obviously
prepared beforehand, though concluded with a sentence which was not.
“He saved the whole blamed thing from going to kingdom come, and you
from being hauled up before the Local Government Board, if not the
beaks—and you know it. Now, what’re you going to do?”
“Are you acting for him?” inquired Mr. Heath.
“No, I ain’t,” the other retorted; “he was acting for me that night,
looking at my winding gear. And he did it to rights too! I’ve got
something now that’ll wipe the eye of some folks before we’re much
older. Lord! But it was a treat to see him touch a machine or handle a
tool! He touched ’em as if he loved ’em, his fingers, the very skin of
his fingers, was all alive to ’em! My old engines knew him for all the
world like horses, they behaved sweetly!”
Mr. Heath cleared his throat and said it was interesting. He personally
had seen this magician at work, and though he knew nothing of
machinery, could have certified him capable—also disrespectful, and
entirely unwilling to take orders. He did not say so, however; he
glanced from the subject rather quickly, and brought forward another
for consideration. He said, since Mr. Milligen was now here, it was a
good opportunity to discuss with him, in a friendly way, a complaint
which had been recently brought against him, or rather against the
drainage of his dyeing works.
“Our men, when putting up the wall,” he said, “complained a good deal
of smells; it might perhaps be in the interest of public health if our
inspector were to come——”
“And put his head in one o’ my dye-vats?” Milligen interrupted. “Now,
look you here, Willy, my drains are as right as yours any day. If
there’s a stink up at my place, there’s a stink. Who’s having dye
without it? It’s none of the council’s business. You aren’t the father
and mother of every evil in this town, and I’ve told you so before. You
let them alone that don’t concern you. I don’t know as I should be in a
hurry to adopt every orphan ill about, if I was you, seeing the hefty
little family of your own you have, with a factory chimney for a fine
upstanding eldest daughter—at least, she didn’t stand up, she sat down
on a man or so.”
“Come, come, Mr. Milligen,” the chairman said pacifically, “don’t let’s
be unneighbourly, on your first coming down town again too. Let’s come
to business in a friendly spirit.”
They came, for they really understood one another on the whole, and the
chairman and a few members of the council already shared Milligen’s
opinion, in a more moderate form, that there should be some recognition
of the man who had rendered them such great service. These were in
the minority certainly, and they were not very strong in their views,
and since the man had not come forward or in any way obtruded himself
upon public notice, they had not troubled in the matter. The financial
condition of the council in the face of the costly disaster was not
such as to induce them to spend money unnecessarily. Also, since all
were concerned in minimising the seriousness of the affair, none were
concerned in emphasising the magnitude of the service rendered. But
Milligen’s coming put rather a different complexion on things; he
stood out for a reward, and he stood obstinately, showing every sign
of making a considerable talk not only to the council itself. In the
end most of the councillors came to be of his way of thinking; at all
events, the discussion, which had begun rather acrimoniously, ended in
a friendly talk as to what form the recognition should take. It was
finally agreed, after much debate then and later, that a medal and
a cheque for fifty pounds should be forwarded. Milligen wanted an
illuminated address of thanks as well, but there was no support for
that idea, so he expressed himself content without.
However, it befell that Michael did not after all receive quite what
was decided upon. It happened one day that Mr. Heath mentioned the
proposed reward to his nephew, the present head engineer at the power
station; he also by chance mentioned the name of the man who was to
receive it, and which the head engineer had not heard before.
He looked up now quickly. “Michael Annarly?” he said. “Is that who it
is?”
“Why, do you know him?” the uncle inquired.
“I know of him.”
“What? What do you know? Old Milligen talked a deal of his doings; he’s
worked him out something or other that’s going to put the old man on
his legs again he believes.”
“Very likely,” the words were spoken dryly, “he’s said—by some—to be
about the first engineer in England at the present time, and one of the
best all round ones.”
Mr. Heath stared; his nephew was not habitually lavish in his praise of
other men’s abilities or achievements, and though his tone was peculiar
now it did not suggest sarcasm. “What was he doing at old Milligen’s
shanty?” he asked.
“That’s just it,” the other answered; “what was he?” A large stretch
of land and a complicated railway journey lay between the town and
the great Galhardy foundries, which were not even in the same county:
the head engineer’s home, which was situated between the two, was not
either. But it was near enough for him to know some of the talk of
Galhardy’s: every engineering centre in the country knew some of the
talk of it, for all sent students and apprentices there, and most men
of any standing in the profession, and many of none, knew of the talk
that clung about the name of Michael Annarly, his striking ability,
his early brilliant success, and his sudden dropping out. Mr. Heath’s
nephew did not know much; but he knew some, and he readily undertook to
find out more. He would have done so, apart from obliging his uncle,
for he was not unnaturally curious himself.
The consequence of what he found and passed on to the council was that
that respectable body came to the conclusion fifty pounds and a medal
were an unsuitable reward, much beyond the requirements of the case.
It is true the man had served them well, but he had done it on his
own initiative and to please himself; he expected nothing, for he had
not even left his name with the engineer. He had good reason not to
do so, and not to be proud of it, or anxious for it to get into the
papers, even in a creditable connection. They felt it was not for
them, as honest traders and works owners or managers, to countenance
in any way one who had transgressed the first principle of the code of
such institutions. They argued the matter a good deal, wrangled over
it considerably, for there were some who still felt he ought to have
something, and there was Milligen who thought he ought to have a good
deal, and who, as he said, did not care a damn for Galhardy’s or any
of the other aristocrats of commerce. The subject of the reward was a
standing dish at the council meetings all the summer, and a favourite
topic of discussion when members of the council and intimates came
together at Masonic meetings and other friendly occasions. At last,
in September, the matter was settled, probably a little for the same
reason that the Unjust Judge settled the matter of the widow who cried
continually before him—old Milligen playing the part of the widow.
In full meeting it was voted that a cheque for twenty-five pounds
should be sent to Mr. Michael Annarly in recognition of useful service
rendered to the council on the 26th May last. And in due course the
clerk of the council forwarded the cheque, requesting a receipt in the
course of post.
The letter, addressed to Michael in London, was sent on by Nan to him,
at work now for the steamship company on the Clyde. With it there came
another letter, enclosing in a large envelope a printed card. The card
had, at the first glance, some resemblance to a memorial card of the
old-fashioned type; indeed, it was of the sort which are designed for
that purpose, and which can be ordered blank through the undertaker
and filled in with name, date, and text to suit the case. It is the
cheapest way of getting an effective commemorative card, the reason,
no doubt, why old Milligen selected it, though he probably considered
it suitable too; the mourning figures embossed upon the surface might
be regarded as lamenting the meanness of the town council, and the urn
upon which they leaned as containing the ashes of the portion of the
power station and employees destroyed. Upon the card was printed:
_To Michael Annarly, Esq., Engineer_
~In Memoriam~
(these were the Gothic letters of the original lithography)
_of May 26th and an act of signal courage and
Common Sense_
“_Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might._”
Michael did not laugh when he read it through, his lips twitched, and
the corners of his eyes crinkled a little; there was another feeling
mixed with the amusement, and one stronger than it, the card touched
him curiously. After all, it was recognition of sorts, the best sort
that the old man could compass; a rather fine sort in his estimation,
no doubt; he would be quite proud of it and very serious about it—one
reckons motives in estimating values—at least, one does when one is no
longer very young. Michael was not young; he had travelled a long way
from the man who thought a handsome income and a seat on the advisory
board of Galhardy’s small recognition to ask for unique work done. He
looked long at the card now, and put it away carefully, rather glad to
have it. When he wrote to acknowledge it to Milligen he pleased him by
asking him to send another. Nan might like one, she would understand as
he did, and the old man evidently hoped he would ask for another.
_I have had two or three taken off_, he wrote in the letter which
accompanied the card, _so, besides one which I am keeping myself, I
can let you have another or so for any lady friend you might fancy
to forward it to. My own is framed and hung up, so that any of
those Scrogs of the Council who happen to look in for a pipe and a
glass can’t fail to see it. If it don’t make them feel ashamed, it
ought._
_I am pleased to say the work you did for me is better than you
promised; I can now deal with endless yarns, as no other man in the
trade can. I am proud to have met you, and now conclude by saying
that if there is anything in the small way I can do for you at any
time, please command_
_Yours obediently,_
JAMES MILLIGEN.
“At least, I have satisfied one man,” Michael thought as he put the
letter down, and he was glad of it. The more glad, perhaps, because
the piece of work, unimportant though it was, was a good piece of
work—a neat and complicated adjustment, very perfectly conceived, which
satisfied his own critical faculty too.
He turned to the other letter and was astonished to find, after