Our Time Is Gone by James Hanley Page B

thick.
    â€˜Aye! Looks like more rain, and gosh, this nor’-easter. Why, it gets right through to me bones. Waiting on a ship are you, mate? May I ask?’ Then he blew his nose. The handkerchief was voluminous, it billowed and blew. They both laughed.
    â€˜No! I’m already in a ship,’ replied Mr. Fury. ‘Sailing in ten days, so I am.’
    â€˜Are you indeed? Well! Well! Indeed! H’m! Good. Lucky man. That’s what you are.’
    â€˜Aye! Suppose so. Trooping,’ Mr. Fury said, and looked away from the busy street.
    â€˜A dashed lucky man, sir,’ said the other.
    Mr. Fury never knew why, but he smiled suddenly at the old man.
    â€˜Aye! You’re not the only one who could tell me that, man. Not by a long chalk Mr.—er——’
    â€˜Bowles, mate! That’s me! Sam Bowles. Did my last trip in the old Caliope , sir. King’s Navy, you know! Finest ship ever sailed the seas.’
    Dennis Fury felt a warmth he had not experienced for a long time. He turned round now and looked into the old man’s purplish red face.
    â€˜Aye! I could tell you were a Navy man,’ he said. ‘Like a chew of baccy?’ His hand dived into his pocket at once.
    The other waved it away. ‘No, sir! Thank you . I’ve enough. But thanks, old timer. Sailing ten days, eh? Wish I was meself. When you think of the times—ah—and the Caliope ——’
    Mr. Fury smiled again. A nice man this. He was certain Fanny would like him. ‘Well, I don’t know,’ he said, ‘a chap can’t always be at sea. Now can he? Look at me! I’ve had just forty-six solid years of it, and I’m good yet.’
    â€˜Just one less than meself,’ put in the other. ‘Only one less than meself.’
    â€˜Forty-six years, and now all I want is the pension and a quiet life.’
    â€˜Then I hope it comes to you, mate,’ said the ex-member of the Caliope . ‘All the same I do consider you’re a lucky man. Yes, a dashed lucky man. These times, you know. Well—it’s hard on the women. The devil’s hardness, and a man hates looking at that sort of thing, mate. I do, anyhow. Still, we’ll beat those bloody Germans.’
    â€˜Perhaps. Perhaps we will. Well. I must be getting along,’ said Mr. Fury,
    â€˜Good day, sir, and the best of luck to you, if I may say so.’
    He watched Mr. Fury go. Then he looked right and left and crossed the road.
    The little conversation had quite cheered Mr. Fury. If he hadn’t stood on the kerb for a minute or two, he might never have spoken to a soul. His gait was still slow, still aimless. He didn’t quite know what to do with himself. Perhaps he had better go and see a priest. Should he go for Maureen? Maureen! Ah, where the hell was he going to find Maureen Kilkey? No. He stopped dead there. It was silly not to, but—but. No! It was too awkward, too——No! He’d go and see a priest. Right away. But supposing the hospital had done that already? They generally did when a patient was——He cut the thought off. It only made him feel more hopeless. He thought of Desmond. No! To the devil with everybody.
    Fanny had him ! ‘That’s enough!’ Just him. They had all cleared out. Let them. When he reached the road’s end his mind was full of the priest again. Yes, he’d better see one. Who should he see? Names passed through his mind. He knew several. But they were all at the other end of the town. Perhaps he’d better go to the local chapel. He was a total stranger there, as he was to Hey’s Alley. What a move! But what on earth had made Fanny come to such a place? He wished he knew! Why, to hide of course. That was it.
    Poor woman! If only he had been home at the time. He could have done things different. Hide! Well she was hidden now, well hidden. No! He couldn’t blame her for coming here, but it was a hole—a