Morning's At Seven by Eric Malpass

Author:Eric Malpass [Malpass, Eric]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: House of Stratus

Chapter 13

Gaylord was a railway engine, all noise and steam and flashing piston rods. He was hurtling along at a steady sixty, chuffing loudly, slowing-down a little for the dangerous bend by the coke store, then faster, faster as he went down the straight past the covered playground.

There was a small knot of boys at the end of the straight. A station, obviously. Gaylord pulled levers, turned handles, peered anxiously at dials. He was slowing down now. The chuffing became slow and deliberate, died. He came smoothly to rest beside the knot of boys. A good run, he told himself. One minute ahead of schedule.

No one took any notice of him. The boys were all looking at something that one of them was holding. Gaylord stopped being a railway engine and became an inquisitive small boy.

‘Let’s see,’ he said.

Grudgingly they let him in. He looked. The thin, mid-morning sunlight seemed to have been caught in Sammy Breen’s hand and broken into splinters of blue and red and yellow. Gaylord’s mouth fell open. He was looking at Willie’s paperweight.

Gaylord trembled. He could feel his hand, of its own volition, coming up to snatch this one thing that stood between himself and being done. But he knew it was no use. Even so, he could not stop his voice crying out, ‘That isn’t yours. It’s Willie’s.’

‘It is mine, then.’ Sammy Breen covered it with his hand.

‘Where did you get it?’

‘Found it,’ said Sammy. He had cropped sandy hair, shifty eyes, and an ill-tempered expression. His parents, quite unnecessarily it seemed, had told him always to stand up for his rights.

Gaylord realized instinctively that there was only one argument that would appeal to Sammy. Money. And all he’d got was sixpence. He thought bitterly of his Christmas money, all squandered on sweets, pop, and even the RSPCA dog outside the Post Office. ‘I’ll give you sixpence for it,’ he said.

‘Sixpence!’ Sammy looked shocked. ‘You can have it for half a crown.’

Half a crown! It wasn’t a big sum. Given time to realize his assets Gaylord might have produced it fairly easily. ‘I’ll bring you half a crown tomorrow if you’ll let me have it,’ he said.

‘OK,’ Sammy said indifferently. ‘You bring the money tomorrow and you can have it tomorrow.’

But tomorrow was too late. He’d have been done by then. ‘Can’t I have it today?’ he said.

‘Not without the money,’ said Sammy. And now, under Gaylord’s very eyes, young David Snow produced two shillings and sixpence and was given the paperweight. The bell rang, they returned to their classroom. David sat looking at his new treasure. Then the teacher came in. David put it in his desk. The lesson began.

Gaylord was desperate. Tonight, in the winter’s dusk, Bert and Willie would be waiting for him. He felt, once more, the pain of his body being screwed to unbearable intensity. Only this time it would be worse. He saw the knife blade flashing close to his eyes. Only this time it would not stop an inch away.

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