Evening star., 1936-11-08
THIS WEEK
For VuIour" "
Confinued from pxareo;uu ncos
Continued from preceding poss

E ing place and let William hold it in
his weak. pudgy hands. And William
would turn it over as though he were
looking for something that wasn't
there.
You see what it says, Will For
Valour.' The King gave it to me him
self. Well done. Pusey,' he said. And
shook my hand"
1t was all right so long as the dark
ness lasted. William sat there, close
to Ruth, his shoulder pressed against
hers, and stared at the black and
silver screen on which incredibly hand
some men and lovely women loved
and suffered and finally triumphed.
And the girl was Ruth. Ruth all got
up to beat the band. The man and
the girl were kissing each other madly
but legitimately. They were going to
be married and live happy ever after
Ruth was imagining things too. He
knew by the way her hand frightened
on his. Then the lights went up and
they turned and looked at each other.
1t was the end of the show. They had
sat through it twice, in spite of the
lynx-eyed ushers, because it was the
only place where they could sit quietly
and hold hands. And now they had to
get out.
1t was raining - chill, unfriendly
rain. William walked with Ruth to
the bus stop. In a minute she'd be
gone. She worked in shop. and for
whole week he wouldn't see her. He
didn't think much - at least not
coherent thoughts, for he had been
underno,nished from birth and think
ing was like everything else - it took
too much effort. But he knew some
things instinctively. He knew that
something was going to happen -
something terrible.
He stood beside her, waiting for the
bus. People jostled him and the rain
soaked through his cheap clothes so
that he shivered. Usually Ruth let him
kiss her goodbye. But tonight she
pushed him away from her. roughly.
impatiently. not as though she wanted
to. but was being goaded to it by
force outside herself.
stop it, Will; I've got to tell you
I've been trying to get it out all
evening. But / hadn't the nerve. l
can't come next Saturday - or ever"
He'd known it all along. But he
asked duly, why not?"
ITS Dad. Dads wild about my
going with you. He says he won't
have me running round with a boy
whose fathers on the dole. He says
you haven't got job and never will
have one" She pressed his hand with
a fierce pity for him, for herself. for
everyone. I'm sorry. like you. Will.
But it's true. It's no use, is it?"
No use at all. He wanted to plead.
But he hadn't the strength. He simply
knew that everything was over. The
faint warm light on his horizon had
died out. There was nothing he could
do about it. The bus numbered up.
Suddenly Ruth stood on tip-toe and
kissed his cheek. But it meant moth
ing to him now. 1t was just because
she'd never see him again.
well = good luckr' she called to
him. And waved.
He touched his cap with an airy
nonchalance. He let her go as he let
everything 60. He had never really
had anything else He stood about on
street corners, not angry, not even
envious. But now something stirred
in him, like sleeping cur.
Because he had lost the one thing
that had given him the illusion of
being man, anger came to life in
him - a dark, blind anger and the
knowledge of his abject disinherit-
ance. Nothing was very clear to him.
He was cold and hungry and he would