Juchster read through the green card to himself for a few seconds, and then looked up at Chris to say, “It says here that we sent you out after a job in a textile mill in Hyde Road last week.”

“That’s right,” agreed Chris, sitting to attention upon the small, three-legged stool.

Chris’s back ached for a backrest, however, he knew better than to complain.   Any show of weakness would give the enemy a lever to use against him.   The backless stool was a deliberate test of his stamina.

“How did it go?” asked Juchster.

“Not very well,” said Chris.   He sighed, knowing that the interrogation was not going very well either.   “I had to turn it down, because it was too far to walk.”

“Too far to walk?” echoed Juchster.

“That’s right, over eighty minutes’ walk each way.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s my kidneys,” explained Chris.   “As a kid I suffered from kidney trouble: nephrotic syndrome.”

“All right, all right,” said Juchster, “don’t baffle me with bull!   Just tell me why having had bad kidneys as a child stops you from taking a perfectly good job, now that you are grown-up?”

“Because I don’t have the stamina to walk eighty minutes twice a day, as well as doing an eight-hour shift.”

“Don’t have the inclination to work, more like it!”

“Look, I’ve brought in papers from the Royal Children’s Hospital a number of times, to prove that I’m not able to do anything too strenuous,” insisted Chris.   He sat back on the stool and had to quickly sit forward again as he almost went over backwards.

“Papers!   Huh!   I haven’t seen any papers from the Royal Children’s!”

Juchster scribbled upon the green card with a biro for a few seconds, and then said, “Look, you said yourself that it is only eighty minutes’ walk.   That, on top of a day’s work, is not going to kill you.   It would be one thing if it was heavy work, but it’s on a weaving machine.   Even if the walk to work in the morning knocked you out a bit, you would have all day to catch your breath before walking home again.”