Mixed Grill/Reward for Courage

Committee gave Mr. Mayor the time to put on, with the aid of his man, the official garments. One member asked who was looking after Enderby, and the agitated young secretary ran into the largest room in the Town Hall, returned with the satisfactory assurance that the man was seated in the front row, well guarded by friends.

“These brave chaps,” remarked the member who had put the alarming inquiry, “often have a peculiar strain of—er—modesty in their disposition. You can never quite depend upon them as you would on ordinary people. Mr. Secretary, what's the programme for the afternoon? Have you drawn up an agenda? Don't call on me, if you can help it, but if it's absolutely necessary, of course”

Mr. Secretary exhibited the sheet of foolscap paper; members of the Committee whose names figured there expressed approval; the rest mentioned a fear that they might not be able to stay until the end.

“Mr. Mayor!”

His Worship came forward to be greeted by those acquainted with him, to be introduced to others. Everybody said it was good of the Mayor to give up so much of his time, and he declared it was good of them to do so.

“But some one,” he went on, with determination, “some one must give me a sort of a notion of an idea of what I'm supposed to talk about. I want a few facts pencilled down, just to go on with, as it were.” The secretary produced a type-written document, tendered a case containing a medal. “I see!” nodding as he glanced at the sheet. “Jumped in at risk of life. Brought child to bank. Persuaded with difficulty to give name and address. Very fine, indeed. Capital. First-rate. Now, how long shall I take? Thirty minutes?”

“Less than that, Mr. Mayor, if you like.”

“As you please,” said his Worship, rather nettled. “I'm never a believer in long speechifying. Time we made a start, isn't it? Look in, and tell them I'm coming, and they'll be ready to applaud. What's the chap's name again? Enderby. George Enderby. Right you are!”

A good audience had assembled, and several ladies, subscribers to the gift, were present. Two were talking deferentially to a puffed-faced man in the front row; they scuttled off to their seats as the platform people arrived. The man inspected his boots, shifting them uneasily. Mr. Mayor rapped the table with an ebony hammer, and said, in his most genial manner, that of all the duties imposed upon him during his year of office not one had given so much pleasure as this. They were probably acquainted with the facts and he would give them briefly. George Enderby, residing at 42, William Street, by occupation a house decorator, but at present out of work, was walking near the canal on the evening of Friday, the seventeenth of June. Some children were playing near the bank, and, in the endeavour to reach a piece of wood that was floating on the water, one little girl of six years of age suddenly slipped and. Mr. Mayor read the type-written sheet to the end, took off his pince-nez.

“Let George Enderby,” he ordered, “be kind enough to step up on the platform.”

The friends of the puffed-faced man took him by the elbows; he resisted their efforts and was heard to say that he would see everybody hanged before he made a public exhibition of himself. An awkward delay occurred; the Mayor repeated his directions. The secretary hurried down from the platform, and induced George Enderby to consider afresh his decision. He went up the steps with every sign of reluctance, and stood there, turning cap in hands.

“Enderby,” said the Mayor, with an air of heavy benevolence, “kindly answer one or two questions. In what condition of mind were you when you performed this gallant act?”

“I wasn't boozed,” replied the man defensively, “if that's what you're driving at. I'd had a glass or two, but I wasn't abs'lutely oiled!”

“That is not quite what I mean. What I want to find out is, were you thinking at the time of the value of human life, and how necessary it is that it should be preserved at all costs?”

“If you must know, I waddent thinking nothing of the kind. Don't worry myself about such matters.”

“I see!” said the Mayor, slightly taken aback. “And—forgive my curiosity—but what were your sensations when you brought the child ashore? What was uppermost, so to speak, in your thoughts?”

“I was wondering whether I sh'd catch a nasty cold!”

“No, no!” said the Mayor, reproving the audience. “This worthy fellow is answering my questions to the best of his ability. Tell me, now,” turning again to the man on the platform, “have you performed many gallant actions of this kind in your life before?”

“I ain't.”

“Never, perhaps, had the opportunity?”

“Plenty of opportunities,” retorted Enderby, “but not fool enough to take advantage of 'em!”

It was so clear he was becoming nettled that the secretary whispered to Mr. Mayor; his Worship proceeded to speak, at some length, on the subject of bravery, making allusions to the boy who stood on the burning deck, to Grace Darling, and to others. Eventually, and to the obvious relief of Enderby, he presented the purse, handed over the medal, and allowed the man to return to the front row. There Enderby and his friends made no attempt to conceal restiveness during the remainder of the speeches. The occupants of seats at the reporters' table sent a note to the young secretary, reminding him that the recipient had not acknowledged the rewards.

“No,” replied Enderby, with resolution, “I jolly well won't. Made myself quite conspicuous enough as it is, and if I tried to talk from the platform I sh'd only make myself more conspicuouser than before. I may also add it's dry work listening to all this cackle.”

“Don't lose the medal.”

“You take charge of it for me,” he requested. “May overlook it somewhere if I take it with me now!”

It was the secretary's first essay in management of public affairs and he congratulated himself, in leaving the Town Hall, on the fact that everything had gone well; the Mayor had said at the end, “Very smooth and satisfactory!” The case with the medal bulged the inside pocket of his coat, and this would not have mattered only that he was going, later, to see a young woman whom he loved, and give to her a full report. Wherefore he stepped on a tram-car and was conveyed to William Street.

“May be back at any moment,” said the neighbours. “What's to-day? Tuesday? Well, she has to be at Willesden by seven in the morning, and she usually gets home, comparatively speaking, early. Other days its quite late before she Here she is!”

Mrs. Enderby was grateful to the secretary for bringing the medal, and said so. She wished he had also brought the money that had been collected, but this, she knew, was an extravagant aspiration. Mrs. Enderby admitted it was difficult, at times, to make ends meet; thanks be, she had fair health and strength. Six children, all living, and no one could say they ever wanted for food. Yes, it did seem a pity Enderby was out of a job, but, after all (cheerfully), it made very little difference at home, because if he earnt money he spent it all himself. How long? Oh, a matter of eleven years or so. Good afternoon, sir, and thank you.

“Now, I wonder,” remarked the young secretary to himself, “I wonder if they were right in putting his name on that medal!”