“Not at all. Men who drink much don’t stop long at the forge. I expect you think us an extravagant, drunken lot. It’s your folks’ point of view.”
Ledward looked up rather haughtily. Marsden was a clever works manager, but he was not cultivated and was sometimes aggressive.
“Our disputing about things like that will not help. I inquired——”
“Oh, well, I’m anxious, and perhaps I was nasty. Then I’m a steelworker and I know the men; some went with me to a council school. Anyhow our blowers, head-rollers, and hammer-men are aristocrats in a highly skilled trade, and Black is a grim teetotaller. If he got his way, back-street beerhouses and your fashionable clubs would be shut. I imagine the man was ill, but I’m going to find out.”
“You’re a queer lot,” said Ledward, and stopped, for the house surgeon came in.
“Mr. Carson’s obvious injuries are a broken arm and a broken rib,” he said. “In themselves they are not dangerous, but for an old man the shock is severe. I must not be technical, and perhaps if I state we suspect some complications——In a day or two I may give you better news, but Mr. Carson must stay with us.”
“I suppose we mustn’t recommend him to your particular care?” said Ledward. “However, if to modify your ordinary arrangements would help, the company would be glad——”
The doctor smiled. “Mr. Carson is our benefactor, but all our patients are entitled to the best service we can give. So far as your seeing him when he is able to see you and so forth goes, we will not stick to the usual rules.”
He let them go, and when they were in the street Marsden said: “I’m wanted at the forge. Will you come back with me?”
Ledward went, and for some time waited at the office. Then Marsden came in and gave him a cigarette. The works manager was short and lightly built, but his mouth was firm and his glance keen. Ledward knew him sternly efficient.