He looked at her carefully through histhick glasses.
She was a clever, strong girl-good at her schoolwork, good at sports.
But she had never been skiing.
John hadn’thad enough money.
‘Are your friends going?’
he asked her.
‘Some of them, yes, Miranda, Jane, Nigel-the rich ones, you know.
But they often goskiing;
it’s easy for them.
I know I can’t go,Dad.
Throw the letter away.’
John looked at her, and felt his heartbeating quickly.
‘No, don’t do that,Christine,’ he said.
‘Perhaps you can go, ifyou want to.
Why not?’
Christine laughed.
What’s happened, Dad?
Have you robbed a bank or something?’
John stood up.
He went into the kitchenand got himself a drink.
‘No,’ he said, whenhe came back.
‘But something interestinghappened today.
Put your homeworkaway, Christine- and turn that TV off,Andrew.
I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘Oh, not now, Dad!’
said Andrew.
‘This is anexciting story.’
John smiled.
‘I’ve got an exciting story, too,Andrew.
Come and listen.’
John Duncan’s children lived in an olduntidy flat, they had no money, and theyoften ate awful food.
But they could stilltalk to their father.
So Andrew turned offthe TV, and sat down in a big armchairbeside his father and Christine.
The story didn’t sound very exciting at first.
‘I went to a factory today,’ John said.
‘Thatpaint factory by the river.
No, wait,Andrew.
Paint factories can be veryexciting.
They gave me a job there.
I’mgoing to have my own office, a big car, lotsof money-in fact, we’re going to be rich…!’
3
Rich man
John Duncan started work on Monday, andMary Carter showed him round thefactory.
The most important thing that thecompany produced was a new paint forcars.
It was a very strong, hard paint,which nothing could damage.
Mary andher chemists had developed it, and theyhad tested it all over the world.
Neitheracid nor salt water could damage it, andcars came back from both the Arctic andthe Sahara looking like new.
The company was beginning to make a lotof money from this paint, and it hadbrought four hundred new jobs to thetown.
One day, when he was working with thepaint, John spilt some of the waste producton his leg.
He cleaned it off quickly, but itleft a red, painful place on his skin, whichwould not go away.
It kept him awake atnight.
He told his doctor what he had spilton it, and the doctor looked at himstrangely.
‘So these chemicals had something to dowith the new paint, did they?’
the doctorasked carefully.
‘Yes, I told you.
It was a bottle of the wasteproducts.
I was looking at them in myoffice.’
‘I see.’
The doctor looked out of thewindow thoughtfully.
His fingers movedquietly on his desk.
‘And your company isproducing a lot of these waste productsnow, I suppose.’
‘Yes, of course.’
John was in a hurry.
Hehad to meet someone important in tenminutes.
?
Look, can you give something toput on it, or not?’
‘Oh, yes.’
The doctor began to writesomething on a piece of paper.
‘Put this onnight and morning, and the pain will go ina day or two.
But I’m afraid the skin therewill stay red for a year or two.
They’renasty chemicals, Mr Duncan, you know.’
‘Yes, I know.’
John smiled at him.
‘But don’tworry, Doctor, we’re very careful withthem in the factory.
No one can go nearthem without special safe clothing.
Youcan come and see if you like.’
‘I’m very pleased to hear it,’ said thedoctor.
John took them and walked quickly,nervously, along the windy road by thesea, towards the hospital.
It was raining out at sea.
Already the rainwas falling on the sandbanks where theseals used to live.
Soon it would be fallingon the town.
John Duncan shivered, andturned his coat collar up.
Then, with hisbright flowers in his hand, he walked on,into the winter wind.
