Read A Modern Tragedy for Free Online Page A

chance. Ah! If only Richard were alive, mused Henry Clay Crosland sadly; then he would have somebody to take counsel with over the whole perplexing business. One missed a son at every turn. He thought wistfully of the lad he had met in Tasker’s hall—what a place, by the way, for all the world like an hotel lavatory! What did you want with marbled rubber and oak panels in a decent West Riding mill, good heavens? Henry Clay Crosland, remembering the decent dark passage, tiled and dadoed, dating from the 1850’s, which formed the entrance to Clay Mills, winced again to find himself doing business with such a man as Tasker. A nobody, a man who had come up with a rush from nowhere during the War, and made money while others of his borderline age were getting killed; a man with no ancestors and no relations. A clever fellow, of course; evasive, plausible—goodness knew even now what the outcome of their interview that afternoon had been, whether his remonstrances had been effective; Crosland had grown a little deaf of late, and Tasker knew it, and played on it. He always knew people’s infirmities, and had no scruples in using his knowledge. It was to be hoped that agreeable young fellow in the hall had not got mixed up with him. Now if he had had an opportunity to speak to him—chanced to meet him when the Crosland car was lost, or something of that kind—he could have dropped a word about Tasker into his ear. Oh, nothing definite, nothing libellous, of course; just a look, a movement of the head. A good-looking lad he was, thought Henry Clay Crosland, remembering the crisp dark hair, the serious brown eyes, the wide ingenuous forehead and fresh bright cheek; an honest, good-looking, decent lad. Don’t knowhim, but he’s a nice boy, a likely lad. Somebody’s got a good son in him, thought Henry Crosland. A son! Ah, if only Richard were alive, if only Richard were still there.
    â€œDo we agree, then, ladies and gentlemen, that we provide a pound a week as stand-by for this case?” demanded Mr. Crosland.
    There was a show of hands.
    â€œUnanimous, I think,” he said.
    â€œSubject to review next month, of course,” mumbled the secretary.
    Henry Clay Crosland curved his thin hand round his ear. The secretary, shouting, repeated the remark.
    â€œOf course, of course,” said Mr. Crosland rather testily. “That’s understood. Of course. Who shall we approach to act as stand-by in the case, gentlemen?” he continued, searching the faces round the table.
    They all looked bleak; the secretary shuffled his papers and drew out a list despairingly. Henry Clay Crosland sighed a little. The case was certainly very sad. He bent to the secretary at his side: “Have I been stand-by lately?” he murmured. The secretary, brightening, announced that a month or two had elapsed since Mr. Crosland’s last appearance in that capacity.
    â€œWell, that’s settled then,” said Henry Clay Crosland, nodding. “Put me down for three months, at any rate.” And suddenly he decided that he would stand by Tasker, too; give him, too, three months at any rate, and then review the matter again. He felt an immense relief at this postponement of his difficulties, and of the disagreeable task of threatening to bankrupt a fellow-man; and asked for the details of the next case, briskly.

Scene 4. Outdoor Meeting
    IN THE square below, Milner Schofield was haranguing a small crowd from the top of a lorry drawn up against the plinth of a statue of one of the early Croslands. At the back of the lorry the organizer sent down from head-quarters moved circumspectly, handing out leaflets; and a red banner, urging that unity is strength, and that everyone ought therefore to support the T.U.C., was posted against the statue, supplying a vivid background for the speaker’s tall restless figure.
    Milner’s sallow features quivered with emotion, his round dark eyes