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was between the two men, collecting empty glasses from the table.
    'Everything all right, gents?' he said pleasantly.
    'Nowt we can't take care of ourselves, Peter,' said Satterthwaite, staring with cold dislike at Colin Farr. He was Pedley's brother-in-law and shared with his sister the distinction of using the steward's real name.
    'Not in here, you can't,' said Pedley. 'Down the hole or in the street, you do what you like. In here you do what I like. Arthur, you've got some sense . . .'
    He jerked his head towards the door. Downey gently took Farr's elbow.
    'Come on, Col,' he said coaxingly. 'Let's go and sit and have a chat. It'd be like old times for me. Your dad and me had some good nights in here . . .'
    'Not that many, Arthur,' sneered Satterthwaite. 'He didn't dare show his face in here much at the end. I'll give you that, Farr. You've got real nerve. I'd not have thought even you would have had the brass balls to come in here tonight of all nights.'
    Farr swung towards him. His glass fell from his hand and crashed to the floor, scattering beer and splinters.
    Downey flung his arms round the youth to restrain him. Pedley said, 'Belt up, Harold! Col, you get yourself out of here else you're banned. Now!'
    Farr was trying to struggle free from Downey's restraint, then suddenly he relaxed.
    'You know what, Harold?' he said. 'You're full of shit. It's time somebody took you apart but who wants to get covered in shit?'
    Tommy Dickinson arrived from the bar, his face wreathed with concern.
    'What's going off, Col?' he asked. 'I've got you a beer.'
    'I think mebbe Col's had enough,' said Pedley.
    'You're right there, Pedro,' said Farr. 'More than bloody enough!'
    He pulled free from Downey, seized the glass from Dickinson's hand, drained it in a single draught and banged it down in front of Satterthwaite with a crash that almost shattered it.
    'Take it easy, Col,' said Downey.
    'You can fuck off too,' snarled Farr. 'Call yourself a friend? What did you ever do for my dad? What did any of you ever do?'
    He pushed his way past Dickinson and headed for the exit door.
    Dickinson slurped hastily at his pint and said, 'I'd best go after him.'
    'He'll be better left,' advised Downey.
    'What the fuck do you know?' said Dickinson rudely. But when Pedley said, 'Arthur's right, Tommy. Best leave him, for a bit anyway,' the chubby miner allowed himself to be led back to the bar where he was soon retailing a lurid version of the incident to eager ears.
    Downey resumed his seat, looking anxiously towards the door.
    'For Christ's sake, Arthur, why do you get so het up over a loonie like yon bugger?' demanded Satterthwaite.
    'His dad were my best friend,' said Downey, defensively.
    'So you keep telling us when most'd keep quiet about something like that. Or is it just that you think mebbe May Farr'll become your best friend too if you wet-nurse her daft bloody son?'
    Downey's long face went pale but Stella Mycroft said slyly, 'Arthur just likes helping people, don't you, Arthur? Then mebbe they'll help him.'
    'Oh, you can talk, then?' said Mycroft. 'I didn't hear you say much when that bastard were talking to you.'
    'No need, was there?' said Stella. 'A lady doesn't need to open her mouth, or anything, when she's got three old- fashioned gentlemen around to defend her honour, does she?'
    Satterthwaite snorted a laugh. Downey looked embarrassed. And Gavin Mycroft regarded his wife in baffled fury.
    Outside the Welfare, Colin Farr had paused as the night air hit him, taking strength from his legs but doing little to cool the great rage in his head. He looked around as if he needed to get his bearings. The Club was the last building at the western end of the village. After this the road wound off up the valley to a horizon dimly limned against the misty stars. But there were other brighter lights up there, the lights of Burrthorpe Main.
    Farr thrust a defiant finger into the air at them then turned towards the town and began to stagger