called an extraordinary assembly at once, held a special service, and declared an extra dividend in thanksgiving for the safety of El. The Brotherhood didn’t mind the special service, they liked singing together, and they took the extra share-out gladly enough. But looking down from his throne Percy noticed signs of a strange uninterest here and there, an air of forced swallowing. There came to him suddenly the memory that he had helped the woman in charge of the dinner-school once when he was a boy, and she had given him a double helping of ice- cream after the diners were all gone. He took it eagerly. It was three or four times as large as the largest ice he had ever had before. Then she gave him a second plateful, just to be nice to him, and he got through it only because it was impossible to refuse ice-cream. But he was sick afterwards, and it made him think less of ice-cream in the future.
‘It was only the cleaners, ye know,’ Savage explained wisely after the service. ‘The way you talk you’d think it was evil spirits had raided the place.’
‘Maybe you don’t believe it, but the world’s full of evil spirits,’ said Percy.
‘Oh aye, I believe that,’ said Savage with flippant solemnity.
‘I know it was the cleaners was in,’ Percy tried again. ‘I’m perfectly well aware of that, but the point is what made them come down here. Nobody’s ever been down here before. If that wasn’t the promptings of evil spirits, what was it? Go on, you tell me! And what’s more it’s a miracle they didn’t find anything. That shows we’re being looked after. You’ve got to believe in destiny, ye know. Kismet. Kay Sarah, Sarah.’
‘It was wee Noddy was telling me his maw was in here Saturday afternoon,’ Savage answered conversationally, refusing to ask who Sarah was. He knew Percy was just dying to explain it to him. ‘He knew by the Saturday night everything was okay. His old girl never mentioned a thing. Your maw was down as well. Did she no’ tell ye? Jees, that would have had ye worried stiff if she’d said to ye, I’m going down the cellar to clean it out!’
Percy snubbed him silently. He hadn’t known his mother was in the cellar on Saturday. He had missed her in the afternoon, but he hadn’t asked where she had been and she didn’t tell him. It made his head ache to think of the danger they had been in. His headaches were becoming a daily plague, and he blamed them on the strain he was under, being responsible for the safety of thousands of pounds and the welfare of a horde of ungrateful boys. And so it would go on till something happened. Something was bound to happen. But he couldn’t imagine what it was. He lived in fear of a knock at the door. Every time he passed a policeman he felt nervous. He dreamt nearly every night of the stranger who had accosted him in Tulip Place, and waited patiently for his bad dreams to come true. The stranger must reappear. He knew there was no escape from him. He felt all alone and powerless. It came back to him that he had wanted to have a lot of money so that he could get peace. And now he had less peace than ever. He had the money, but his mind wasn’t free to write poetry. But would Shelley have written any poetry if he had to look after a street-gang? He made up his mind to start tomorrow and organize his life better, so as to find time and peace to begin writing a poem. But it was always a case of starting tomorrow. He groaned, sitting on Miss Elginbrod’s chair, and put his head between his hands, his elbows on his knees.
‘Headache?’ piped Savage brightly in a commercial TV voice. ‘Be good to yourself! Take a Scrunchy-Lunchy. Six good points for sixpence. Makes you one shade lighter. Scrunchy-Lunchy’s good for weans, puts an end to aches and pains. Take a Scrunchy-Lunchy tonight and tomorrow you’ll—’
‘Oh, shut up, you!’ Percy snarled at him, turning on his Chief Claviger, taking his hands away to reveal a frustrated face with big bewildered eyes. He hated vulgarity. It added to his distress that he was coming to hate Savage, yet once he had liked him. He had meant to polish a rough diamond, and now he hated the look of it.
Savage was delighted. He had got Percy really annoyed.
‘Aw, keep the heid,’ he said amiably, and went away.
Drunk with power at having got the better of Percy he caught up on the other members of the Brotherhood at the corner of Tulip Place and entertained them with an imitation of Frank Garson. He couldn’t stand Frank Garson, and he couldn’t leave him alone. He had always to be making a fool of him because he kept his face clean and spoke politely. His star turn was to put on a West-end voice and repeat something Garson had said. The incon- gruity of chaste correct speech coming from Savage’s loose mouth gave the Brotherhood an uneasy amusement and they laughed guiltily when he imitated a girlish walk to go with his imitation of Garson’s girlish voice.
‘It was Ai who found the money, but Ai don’t want any share, ow now, thenk you.’ Sa metter of fect, Ai think Ai ought to inform the polis.’
He picked up a phone from mid-air, dialled a number in the same place, and squeaked, writhing like a striptease dancer, ‘Ello, ello, Sat Whitehall 1212? Ken Ai hev a wurrd with the Chief Constable, pulease? Ello, ello, ello! Satchoo, Chief Ai jist want to report there’s an awful lot of boys here has an awful lot of money. Kin Ai claim a reward for telling you?’
‘Ach, wheesht,’ said Specky, past being amused. ‘You’ll make jokes about money once too often. Somebody’ll hear you.’
‘You know Percy’s rule,’ Skinny accused him. ‘And it’s a wise rule too. We promised never to mention money outside.’
‘I’m fed up wi’ him and his great god El,’ Savage retorted lightly. ‘Money’s money the world over, and ye might as well admit it. Kidding yerself it’s something mysterious and supernatural, the way Percy talks, it’s daft. Where’s wee Garson? I want to see him. Did ye notice he’s still no’ taking any money?’
They ambled on together, a little gang of them, till they caught up with Frank Garson crossing the waste land between the Steamie and the back of Bethel Street, a desolation of hard earth and dockens.
‘Oi, Garsie!’ shouted Savage, a domineering note in his voice.
Garson turned obediently and waited. He was always polite, even to people who were rude to him. Savage came close up and flipped his finger tips against the waiting boy’s nose.
‘When are you gaun tae start taking yer share o’ the lolly?’ he whispered, smiling maliciously.
It vexed him, it provoked him deeply and sharply, that Garson stuck to his position that they ought to report the finding of the money and wouldn’t take any part of it. Garson knew he would never go to the police on his own, especially when they had the money so long, but Savage didn’t know that. He was afraid Garson would turn informer and he wanted to incriminate him by forcing money on him. Being a reasonably intelligent youngster, Garson saw what Savage was up to and he had the wit to see that taking a little would make him just as guilty as taking a lot. He determined from the beginning to take nothing and he was nowhere near yielding now. He would keep his hands clean against the day of reckoning that would certainly come. But he went to the Friday Night Service every week because he enjoyed the strangeness of it in the candlelight. Percy’s sermons and the hymn singing satisfied a longing for communion with his mates. He was lonely, and he needed the Brotherhood, he was still so young.
‘Are ye feart somebody catches ye wi’ a pound note in yer pocket?’ Savage persisted against the silence facing him.
‘I just don’t want any money,’ Garson answered simply. ‘That’s all. I think you’re all making a terrible mistake. And you’ll be sorry one day. You’ll see.’
‘Then you shouldn’t be coming to the cellar at all,’ Savage argued, pushing him away. ‘You’ve no right to be
