Striking Hard, Page 2

always--" began the eldest boy.

  Mr. Porter took his scorched fingers out of his mouth and smacked thecritic's head.

  The dinner was not a success. Portions of half-cooked sausages returnedto the pan, and coming back in the guise of cinders failed to find theirrightful owners.

  "Last time we had sausages," said the eight-year-old Muriel, "they meltedin your mouth." Mr. Porter glowered at her.

  "Instead of in the fire," said the eldest boy, with a mournful snigger.

  "If I get up to you, my lad," said the harassed Mr. Porter, "you'll knowit! Pity you don't keep your sharpness for your lessons! Wot country isAfrica in?"

  "Why, Africa's a continent!" said the startled youth.

  "Jes so," said his father; "but wot I'm asking you is: wot country is itin?"

  "Asia," said the reckless one, with a side-glance at Muriel.

  "And why couldn't you say so before?" demanded Mr. Porter, sternly."Now, you go to the sink and give yourself a thorough good wash. Andmind you come straight home from school. There's work to be done."

  He did some of it himself after the children had gone, and finished upthe afternoon with a little shopping, in the course of which he twicechanged his grocer and was threatened with an action for slander by hisfishmonger. He returned home with his clothes bulging, although a coupleof eggs in the left-hand coat-pocket had done their best to accommodatethemselves to his figure.

  He went to bed at eleven o'clock, and at a quarter past, clad all toolightly for the job, sped rapidly downstairs to admit his wife.

  "Some 'usbands would 'ave let you sleep on the doorstep all night," hesaid, crisply.

  "I know they would," returned his wife, cheerfully. "That's why Imarried you. I remember the first time I let you come 'ome with me,mother ses: 'There ain't much of 'im, Susan,' she ses; 'still, arf a loafis better than--'"

  The bedroom-door slammed behind the indignant Mr. Porter, and the threelumps and a depression which had once been a bed received his quiveringframe again. With the sheet obstinately drawn over his head he turned adeaf ear to his wife's panegyrics on striking and her heartfelt tributeto the end of a perfect day. Even when standing on the cold floor whileshe remade the bed he maintained an attitude of unbending dignity, onlyrelaxing when she smote him light-heartedly with the bolster. In a fewill-chosen words he expressed his opinion of her mother and herdeplorable methods of bringing up her daughters.

  He rose early next morning, and, after getting his own breakfast, put onhis cap and went out, closing the street-door with a bang that awoke theentire family and caused the somnolent Mrs. Porter to open one eye forthe purpose of winking with it. Slowly, as became a man of leisure, hestrolled down to the works, and, moving from knot to knot of hiscolleagues, discussed the prospects of victory. Later on, with a littlenatural diffidence, he drew Mr. Bert Robinson apart and asked his adviceupon a situation which was growing more and more difficult.

  "I've got my hands pretty full as it is, you know," said Mr. Robinson,hastily.

  "I know you 'ave, Bert," murmured the other. "But, you see, she told melast night she's going to try and get some of the other chaps' wives tojoin 'er, so I thought I ought to tell you."

  Mr. Robinson started. "Have you tried giving her a hiding?" he inquired.

  Mr. Porter shook his head. "I daren't trust myself," he replied. "Imight go too far, once I started."

  "What about appealing to her better nature?" inquired the other.

  "She ain't got one," said the unfortunate. "Well, I'm sorry for you,"said Mr. Robinson, "but I'm busy. I've got to see a Labour-leader thisafternoon, and two reporters, and this evening there's the meeting. Trykindness first, and if that don't do, lock her up in her bedroom and keepher on bread and water."

  He moved off to confer with his supporters, and Mr. Porter, afterwandering aimlessly about for an hour or two, returned home at mid-daywith a faint hope that his wife might have seen the error of her ways andprovided dinner for him. He found the house empty and the beds unmade.The remains of breakfast stood on the kitchen-table, and a puddle of coldtea decorated the floor. The arrival of the children from school, hungryand eager, completed his discomfiture.

  For several days he wrestled grimly with the situation, while Mrs.Porter, who had planned out her week into four days of charing, two ofamusement, and Sunday in bed, looked on with smiling approval. She evenoffered to give him a little instruction--verbal--in scrubbing thekitchen-floor.

  Mr. Porter, who was on his knees at the time, rose slowly to his fullheight, and, with a superb gesture, emptied the bucket, which alsocontained a scrubbing-brush and lump of soap, into the back-yard. Thenhe set off down the street in quest of a staff.

  He found it in the person of Maudie Stevens, aged fourteen, who lived afew doors lower down. Fresh from school the week before, she cheerfullyundertook to do the housework and cooking, and to act as nursemaid in herspare time. Her father, on his part, cheerfully under-took to take careof her wages for her, the first week's, payable in advance, being bankedthe same evening at the Lord Nelson.

  It was another mouth to feed, but the strike-pay was coming in very well,and Mr. Porter, relieved from his unmanly tasks, walked the streets afree man. Beds were made without his interference, meals were ready(roughly) at the appointed hour, and for the first time since the strikehe experienced satisfaction in finding fault with the cook. Thechildren's content was not so great, Maudie possessing a faith in thevirtues of soap and water that they made no attempt to share. They weregreatly relieved when their mother returned home after spending a coupleof days with Aunt Jane.

  "What's all this?" she demanded, as she entered the kitchen, followed bya lady-friend.

  "What's all what?" inquired Mr. Porter, who was sitting at dinner withthe family.

  "That," said his wife, pointing at the cook-general.

  Mr. Porter put down his knife and fork. "Got 'er in to help," hereplied, uneasily.

  "Do you hear that?" demanded his wife, turning to her friend, Mrs.Gorman. "Oh, these masters!"

  "Ah!" said her friend, vaguely.

  "A strike-breaker!" said Mrs. Porter, rolling her eyes.

  "Shame!" said Mrs. Gorman, beginning to understand.

  "Coming after my job, and taking the bread out of my mouth," continuedMrs. Porter, fluently. "Underselling me too, I'll be bound. That's whatcomes of not having pickets."

  "Unskilled labour," said Mrs. Gorman, tightening her lips and shaking herhead.

  "A scab!" cried Mrs. Porter, wildly. "A scab!"

  "Put her out," counselled her friend.

  "Put her out!" repeated Mrs. Porter, in a terrible voice. "Put her out!I'll tear her limb from limb! I'll put her in the copper and boil her!"

  Her voice was so loud and her appearance so alarming that the unfortunateMaudie, emitting three piercing shrieks, rose hastily from the table andlooked around for a way of escape. The road to the front-door wasbarred, and with a final yelp that set her employer's teeth on edge shedashed into the yard and went home via the back-fences. Housewives busyin their kitchens looked up in amazement at the spectacle of a pair ofthin black legs descending one fence, scudding across the yard to theaccompaniment of a terrified moaning, and scrambling madly over theother. At her own back-door Maudie collapsed on the step, and, to theintense discomfort and annoyance of her father, had her first fit ofhysterics.

  "And the next scab that comes into my house won't get off so easy," saidMrs. Porter to her husband. "D'you understand?"

  "If you 'ad some husbands--" began Mr. Porter, trembling with rage.

  "Yes, I know," said his wife, nodding. "Don't cry, Jemmy," she added,taking the youngest on her knee. "Mother's only having a little game.She and dad are both on strike for more pay and less work."

  Mr. Porter got up, and without going through the formality of sayinggood-bye to the hard-featured Mrs. Gorman, put on his cap and went out.Over a couple of half-pints taken as a sedative, he realized the growingseriousness
of his position.

  In a dull resigned fashion he took up his household duties again, madeharder now than before by the scandalous gossip of the aggrieved Mr.Stevens. The anonymous present of a much-worn apron put the finishingtouch to his discomfiture; and the well-meant offer of a fair neighbourto teach him how to shake a mat without choking himself met with areception that took her breath away.

  It was a surprise to him one afternoon to find that his wife had so farunbent as to tidy up the parlour. Ornaments had been dusted