The Country of the Blind | Page 9

as they looked, a truckful of fuel was shot into
one of the giants, and the red flames gleamed out, and a confusion of
smoke and black dust came boiling upwards towards the sky.
"Certainly you get some colour with your furnaces," said Raut,
breaking a silence that had become apprehensive.
Horrocks grunted. He stood with his hands in his pockets, frowning
down at the dim steaming railway and the busy ironworks beyond,
frowning as if he were thinking out some knotty problem.
Raut glanced at him and away again. "At present your moonlight effect
is hardly ripe," he continued, looking upward; "the moon is still
smothered by the vestiges of daylight."

Horrocks stared at him with the expression of a man who has suddenly
awakened. "Vestiges of daylight? ... Of course, of course." He too
looked up at the moon, pale still in the midsummer sky. "Come along,"
he said suddenly, and gripping Raut's arm in his hand, made a move
towards the path that dropped from them to the railway.
Raut hung back. Their eyes met and saw a thousand things in a moment
that their lips came near to say. Horrocks's hand tightened and then
relaxed. He let go, and before Raut was aware of it, they were arm in
arm, and walking, one unwillingly enough, down the path.
"You see the fine effect of the railway signals towards Burslem," said
Horrocks, suddenly breaking into loquacity, striding fast and tightening
the grip of his elbow the while--"little green lights and red and white
lights, all against the haze. You have an eye for effect, Raut. It's fine.
And look at those furnaces of mine, how they rise upon us as we come
down the hill. That to the right is my pet--seventy feet of him. I packed
him myself, and he's boiled away cheerfully with iron in his guts for
five long years. I've a particular fancy for him. That line of red there--a
lovely bit of warm orange you'd call it, Raut--that's the puddlers'
furnaces, and there, in the hot light, three black figures--did you see the
white splash of the steam-hammer then?--that's the rolling mills. Come
along! Clang, clatter, how it goes rattling across the floor! Sheet tin,
Raut,--amazing stuff. Glass mirrors are not in it when that stuff comes
from the mill. And, squelch! there goes the hammer again. Come
along!"
He had to stop talking to catch at his breath. His arm twisted into Raut's
with benumbing tightness. He had come striding down the black path
towards the railway as though he was possessed. Raut had not spoken a
word, had simply hung back against Horrocks's pull with all his
strength.
"I say," he said now, laughing nervously, but with an undertone of snarl
in his voice, "why on earth are you nipping my arm off, Horrocks, and
dragging me along like this?"
At length Horrocks released him. His manner changed again. "Nipping

your arm off?" he said. "Sorry. But it's you taught me the trick of
walking in that friendly way."
"You haven't learnt the refinements of it yet then," said Raut, laughing
artificially again. "By Jove! I'm black and blue." Horrocks offered no
apology. They stood now near the bottom of the hill, close to the fence
that bordered the railway. The ironworks had grown larger and spread
out with their approach. They looked up to the blast furnaces now
instead of down; the further view of Etruria and Hanley had dropped
out of sight with their descent. Before them, by the stile, rose a
notice-board, bearing, still dimly visible, the words, "BEWARE OF
THE TRAINS," half hidden by splashes of coaly mud.
"Fine effects," said Horrocks, waving his arm. "Here comes a train. The
puffs of smoke, the orange glare, the round eye of light in front of it,
the melodious rattle. Fine effects! But these furnaces of mine used to be
finer, before we shoved cones in their throats, and saved the gas."
"How?" said Raut. "Cones?"
"Cones, my man, cones. I'll show you one nearer. The flames used to
flare out of the open throats, great--what is it?--pillars of cloud by day,
red and black smoke, and pillars of fire by night. Now we run it off--in
pipes, and burn it to heat the blast, and the top is shut by a cone. You'll
be interested in that cone."
"But every now and then," said Raut, "you get a burst of fire and smoke
up there."
"The cone's not fixed, it's hung by a chain from a lever, and balanced
by an equipoise. You shall see it nearer. Else, of course, there'd be no
way of getting fuel into the thing. Every now and then the cone dips,
and out comes the flare."
"I see," said Raut. He looked over