Midnight is a Place Read Online Free Page B

unrolled.
    "Why can't the floor be swept by machinery?" Lucas asked.
    "Childer's cheaper," Scatcherd answered laconically, with another of his sidelong glances. "Machines has to be kept cleaned and oiled, but there's always a new supply o' kids."
    A question trembled in Lucas's mind; but Scatcherd, as if hearing the unspoken words, went on, "That bit's not
do
risky, but what does come up chancy is when there's a bit o' fluff or dirt discoovered on the carpet when it's spread out—ah! Like there, see?"
    A new carpet had been spread out, brown and gold; in the middle, clearly visible on a circle of gold, was a clot of black oily wool, seemingly left from one of the previous processes.
    "The chaps on the swiveler work too fast, you see; it often happens," Scatcherd said. "Now someone has to go get it off, o' course, before it's ground in by t'press. The quickest one on the shift has to do it—the one they call the snatcher. Watch now—"
    A barefoot girl dashed out onto the carpet, snatched up the bit of wool with a pair of metal tongs, and leapt back to safely on the steps just before the great press thudded down again. She slipped a little on the steps, but recovered by throwing herself forward onto hands and knees, while two mates grabbed her arms.
    Lucas took off his hat and rubbed his forehead with the back of his sleeve.
    "O' course, they gets paid a bit extry for snatching," Scatcherd said "Ha'penny an hour danger money. Most of us has bin snatchers at one time or another when we was yoonger, but not for long—you can't keep on long at it—you gets nervous. You begin to dream at night, then your legs begins to shake and you can't run so fast."
    Lucas could imagine it. Just having seen the snatcher at work made him sick with fear. Mr. Oakapple evidently shared this feeling.
    "We have to go back," he said abruptly. "We have seen enough for this evening. Thank you."
    Scatcherd nodded; with a shrug that showed he perceived how they felt, he began moving away toward a pile of unopened bales of wool.
    At that moment a man in a wheelchair spun past Oakapple and Lucas with almost uncanny speed. Veering his chair toward Scatcherd, he called, "Ey, Davey! Coom to t'singsong at t'Mason's Arms tonight?"
    Scatcherd turned. Without replying to the invitation, he said, "Two o' thy lazy, feckless, cack-handed swivel hands left clots on this afternoon. Has tha heard aboot t'Braithwaite kid?"
    The man in the wheelchair made no reply; the silence between him and Scatcherd seemed condensed, like the air before thunder. Then the wheelchair turned and shot away. Mr. Oakapple walked into the forecourt, and Lucas followed.
    "There will be no need to say good night to Mr. Smallside—he's busy," Mr. Oakapple said, and untied the mare. They climbed silently into the trap. The mare was eager to be off and broke into a trot, jolting the wheels over the cobbles and the tram tracks. They rattled briskly through the open gates and then slowed down for the long climb out of Blastburn.
    Halfway up, on the other side, stood the Blastburn Municipal Infirmary, which, Lucas knew, had been built at the expense of Sir Quincy Murgatroyd. As they passed the gates, he wondered if the Braithwaite child was in there.
    But near the top of the hill he was surprised to perceive ahead of them what seemed to be still the same sad little procession of men and woman, still slowly carrying the hurt child.
    "Where can they be going?" he demanded of Mr. Oakapple. "No one lives up here so far out of town—do they?" he added, as his tutor remained silent.
    "No—nobody lives up here," Mr. Oakapple said reluctantly, after another pause. "I suppose they are going to the cemetery."
    The cemetery gates, guarded by large granite pillars, each topped with a stone angel, stood to the right, just over the brow of the hill.
    By the time the governess cart had reached the gates, the group of mourners had passed through, but the shawled woman whom Mr. Smallside