 8 The cap on the stairs. After breakfast, when they were working together in the drawing-room, Easton, desiring to do Owen a good turn, thought he would put him on his guard, and repeat it to him in a whisper the substance of the conversation he had held with Crass concerning him. Of course, you needn't mention that I told you, Frank, he said, but I thought I ought to let you know. You can take it from me. Crass ain't no friend of yours." I've known that for a long time, mate, replied Owen, thanks for telling me all the same. The bloody robber's no friend of mine, either, or anyone else's, for that matter. Easton continued. But, of course, it doesn't do to fall out with him, because you never know what he'd go and say to O'Lunder. Yes, one has to remember that. Of course we all know what's the matter with him, as far as you're concerned. Easton went on. He don't like having anyone on the farm what knows more about the work than he does himself. Thinks he might get worked out of his job. Owen laughed bitterly. He'd needn't be afraid of me on that account. I wouldn't have his job if it were offered to me. Ah, but he don't think so, replied Easton, and that's the way he's got his knife into you. I believe that what he said about O'Lunder is true enough, said Owen. Every time he comes here he tries to gold me into doing or saying something that'd give him an excuse to tell me to clear out. I might have done it before now had I not guessed what he was after, and been on my guard. Meantime Crass in the kitchen had resumed his seat by the fire with the purpose of finishing his pipe of tobacco. He took out his pocket-book and began to write in it with a piece of black-lead pencil. When the pipe was smoked he knocked the bowl against the grate to get rid of the ash, and placed the pipe in his waistcoat pocket. Then having torn out the leaf on which he had been writing, he got up and went into the pantry, where Bert was still struggling with the old white-wash. Ain't you nearly finished? I don't want you to stop in here all day, you know. I ain't got much more to do now, said the boy, just this bit under the bottom shelf, and then I'm done. Yeah, and a bloody fine mesh I've made, what I can see of it, growl, Crass. Look at all this water on the floor. Bert looked guiltily at the floor and turned very red. I cleaned it all up, he stammered, as soon as I got this bit of wall done. I'll wipe all the mess up with a swab. Crass now took a pot of paint and some brushes, and having put more fuel on the fire began in a leisurely way to paint some of the woodwork in the kitchen. Presently Bert came in. I'm finished there, he said. About time, too. You'll have to look a bit livelier than you do, you know, or me and you will fall out. Bert did not answer. Now, I've got another job for you. You'll find a drawer in, ain't you? Continued Crass in an endearing tone. Yes, a little, replied the boy, shame-facedly. Well, said Crass, giving him the leaf he had torn out of the pocket-book. You can go up the yard and get them things and put them on a truck and draw it up here, and get back as soon as you can. Just look at the paper and see if you can understand it before you go. I don't want you to make no mistakes. Bert took the paper, and with some difficulty, red as follows. One pear, steps, eight-foot, half-gallon plaster off perish, one pail of whitewash, twelve pounds white lead, half-gallon linseed-hoyle, dodo-torps. I can make it out all right. You better bring the big truck, said Crass, because I want you to take the Venetian blinds with you on it when you take it back to-night. They've got to be painted at the shop. All right. When the boy had departed, Crass took a stroll through the house to see how the others were getting on. Then he returned to the kitchen and proceeded with his work. Crass was about thirty-eight years of age, rather above middle-height and rather stout. He had a considerable quantity of curly black hair and wore a short beard of the same colour. His head was rather large but low and flat on top. When among his cronies he was in the habit of referring to his obesity as the result of good nature and a contented mind, behind his back other people attributed it to beer, some even going so far as to nickname him the tank. There was no work of a noisy kind being done this morning. Both the carpenters and the bricklayers haven't been taken away temporarily to another job. At the same time there was not absolute silence. Occasionally Crass could hear the voices of the other workmen as they spoke to each other, sometimes shouting from one room to another. Now and then Harlow's voice rang through the house as he sank snatches of musical songs, or a verse of a moody and sanky hymn, and occasionally some of the others joined in the chorus or interrupted the singer with squeals and cat-calls. Once or twice Crass was on the point of telling them to make less row. There would be a fine to do if Nimrod came and heard them. Just as he had made up his mind to tell them to stop the noise, it ceased of itself, and he heard loud whispers. Look out, someone's coming. The house became very quiet. Crass put out his pipe and opened the window on the back door to get rid of the smell of the tobacco smoke. Then he shifted a pair of steps noisily and proceeded to work more quickly than before. Most likely it was old misery. He worked on for some time in silence, but no one came to the kitchen. Whoever it was must have gone upstairs. Crass listened attentively. Who could it be? He would have liked to go and see whom it was, but at the same time if it were Nimrod, Crass wished to be discovered at work. He therefore waited a little longer, and presently he heard the sound of voices upstairs, but was unable to recognize them. He was just about to go out into the passage to listen, when whoever it was began coming downstairs. Crass at once resumed his work. The footsteps came along the passage leading to the kitchen. Slow, heavy, ponderous footsteps. But yet the sound was not such as would be made by a man heavily shod. It was not misery, evidently. As the footsteps entered the kitchen, Crass looked round, and beheld a very tall obese figure, with a large fleshy, coarse-featured, clean-shaven face, a great double chin, the complexion being of the colour and appearance of the fat of uncooked bacon, a very large fleshy nose, and weak-looking pale blue eyes, the slightly inflamed lids being almost destitute of eyelashes. He had large fat feet encased in soft calfskin boots with drab-coloured spats. His overcoat, heavily trimmed with sealed skin, reached just below the knees, and although the trousers were very wide, they were filled by the fat legs within, the shape of the calves being distinctly perceptible. Even as the feet seemed about to burst the uppers of the boots, so the legs appeared to threaten the trousers with disruption. This man was so large that his figure completely filled up the doorway, and as he came in he stooped slightly to avoid damaging the glittering silk hat on his head. One gloved hand was thrust into the pocket of the overcoat, and in the other he carried a small, glad-stone bag. When Crass beheld this being, he touched his cap respectfully. Good-morning, sir. Good-morning. They told me upstairs that I should find the foreman here. The youth of foreman? Yes, sir. I see you're getting on with the work here. Oh, yes, sir. We're beginning to make a bit of a show now, sir," replied Crass, speaking as if he had a hot potato in his mouth. Mr. Rushton isn't here yet, I suppose. No, sir. He don't often come on the job in the morning, sir. He generally comes out on noon, sir. But Mr. Hunter's almost sure to be here presently, sir. It's Mr. Rushton I want to see. I arranged to meet him here at ten o'clock, but, looking at his watch, I'm rather before my time. He'll be here presently, I suppose," added Mr. Sweater. I'll just take a look around till he comes. Yes, sir," responded Crass, walking behind him obsequiously as he went out of the room. Hoping that the gentleman might give him a shilling, Crass followed him into the front hall and began explaining what progress had so far been made at the work. But as Mr. Sweater answered, only by monosyllables and grunts, Crass presently concluded that his conversation was not appreciated and returned to the kitchen. Meantime, upstairs, Philpott had gone into Newman's room and was discussing with him the possibility of extracting from Mr. Sweater the price of a little light refreshment. I think," he remarked, that we ought to seize this air-tornor opera-ty to touch him for an allowance. We won't get dutton out of him, mate," returned Newman. He's a red-ot-tea-totler. That don't matter. I was here to know that we boys bear with it. We would have tea or ginger ale, or lime juice and glycerin for all he knows. Mr. Sweater now began ponderously re-ascending the stairs and presently came into the room where Philpott was. The latter greeted him with respectful cordiality. Good-morning, sir. Good-morning. You've begun painting up here, then? Yes, sir. We've made a start on it," replied Philpott affably. Is this door wet?" asked Sweater, glancing apprehensively at the sleeve of his coat. Yes, sir," answered Philpott, and added as he looked meaningly at the great man. The paint is wet, sir, but the painter's is dry. Confound it! exclaimed Sweater, ignoring or not hearing the latter part of Philpott's reply. I've got some of the beastly stuff on my coat-sleeve." Oh! That's nothing, sir," cried Philpott, secretly delighted. I'll get that off for you no time. Just wait half a mile." He had a nice piece of clean rag in his tool-bag, and there was a can of turps in the room. Moistening the rag slightly with turps, he carefully removed the paint from Sweater's sleeve. That's all off now, sir," he remarked as he rubbed the place with the dry part of the rag. The smell of turps will go away in about an hour's time. "'Thanks,' said Sweater. Philpott looked at him wistfully, but Sweater evidently did not understand, and began looking about the room. I see they've put a new piece of skirting here," he observed. "'Yes, sir,' said Newman, who came into the room just then to get the turps. The old piece was all to bits with dry rot." "'I feel as if I've a touch of that dry rot myself, don't you?' Said Philpott to Newman, who smiled feebly and cast a side-long glance at Sweater, who did not appear to notice the significance of the remark, but walked out of the room and began climbing up to the next floor where Harlow and Salkins were working. "'Well, there's a bleeder for you,' said Philpott with indignation. "'After all the trouble I took to clean his coat, not a bloody stiver. Well, it takes the cake, don't it?' "'I told you how it would be, didn't I?' replied Newman. "'And perhaps I didn't make a plain enough,' said Philpott thoughtfully. "'We must try to get some of our own back some how, you know.' Going out on the landing he called softly upstairs. "'I say, Harlow.' "'Below?' said that individual, looking over the banisters. "'How are we getting on up there?' "'Oh, all right, you know.' "'Pretty dry job, ain't it?' Philpott continued, raising his voice a little and winking at Harlow. "'Yes, it is rather,' replied Harlow, with a grin. "'I think this'll be a very good time to take up the collection, don't you?' "'Yes. There wouldn't be a battle, dear.' "'Well, I'll put my cap on the stairs,' said Philpott, suiting the action to the word. "'You never know your luck. Things is getting a bit serious on this floor, you know. My mate's fainted away once already.' Philpott now went back to his room to await developments, but as Sweater made no sign, he returned to the landing and again hailed Harlow. "'I always reckon a man can work all the better, after he's had a drink. You could seem to get over much more of it like.' "'Oh, that's true enough,' responded Harlow. "'I've often noticed it myself.' Sweater came out of the front bedroom and passed into one of the back-rooms, without any notice of either of the men. "'I'm afraid it's a frost, mate,' whispered Harlow, and Philpott, shaking his head sadly, returned to work, but in a little while he came out again, and once more accosted at Harlow. "'I know the case once,' he said in a melancholy tone, where a chap died at Torst on a job just like this, and in the inquest the doctor said as half a point would have saved him. "'There must have been an horrible death,' remarked Harlow. "'Orebel ain't a word for a mate,' replied Philpott mournfully. "'There was something chronic.' After his final heart-rending appeal to Sweater's humanity they returned to their work, satisfied that whatever the result of their efforts they had done their best. They had placed the matter fully and fairly before him. Nothing more could be said. The issue now rested entirely with him. But it was all in vain. Sweater either did not or would not understand, and when he came downstairs he took no notice, whatever, of the cap which Philpott had placed so conspicuously in the centre of the landing-floor. CHAPTER 9 Who is to pay? Sweater reached the hall almost at the same moment that Rushden entered by the front door. They greeted each other in a friendly way, and after a few remarks concerning the work that was being done, they went into the drawing-room where Owen and Easton were, and Rushden said, "'What about this room? Have you made up your mind what you're going to have done to it?' "'Yes,' replied Sweater, "'but I'll tell you about that afterwards. What I'm anxious about is the drains. Have you brought the plans?' "'Yes. What's it going to cost?' "'Just a minute,' said Rushden, with a slight gesture calling Sweater's attention to the presence of the two workmen, Sweater understood. "'You might leave that for a few minutes, will you?' Rushden continued, addressing Owen and Easton, going to get on with something else for a little while. When they were alone Rushden closed the door and remarked, "'It's always as well not to let those fellows know more than is necessary.' Sweater agreed. "'Now this here drain-work is really two separate jobs,' said Rushden. "'First the drains of the house, that is the part of the work that's actually on your ground. When that's done there'll have to be a pipe carried right along under this private road, to the main road, to connect the drains of the house with the town main. Do you follow me?' "'Perfectly. What's it going to cost for the lot?' "'For the drains of the house, twenty-five pounds, and for the connecting pipe, thirty pounds, fifty-five pounds for the lot.' "'Hmm, that's the lowest you can do it for, eh?' "'Now that's the lowest. I've figured it out most carefully, the time and materials, that's practically all I'm charging you.' The truth of the matter was that Rushden had had nothing whatever to do with estimating the cost of his work. He had not the necessary knowledge to do so. Rushden had drawn up the plans, calculated the cost, and prepared the estimate. "'I've been thinking over this business lately,' said Sweater, looking at Rushden with a cunning leer. "'I don't see why I should have to pay for the connecting pipe. The corporation ought to pay for that. What do you say?' Rushden laughed. "'I don't see why not?' he replied. "'I think we could arrange it all right, don't you?' Sweater went on. "'Anyhow, the work will have to be done. So you'd better let them get on with it. Fifty-five pounds covers both jobs, you say.' "'Yes.' "'Oh, all right, you get on with it, and we'll see what can be done with the corporation later on.' "'I don't suppose we find them very difficult to deal with,' said Rushden with a grin, and Sweater smiled, agreement. As they were passing through the hall they met Hunter, who had just arrived. He was rather surprised to see them, as he knew nothing of their appointment. He wished them good morning in an awkward, hesitating undertone, as if he were doubtful how his greeting would be received. Sweater nodded slightly. But Rushden ignored them altogether, and Nimrod passed on, looking and feeling like a disreputable cur that had just been kicked. As Sweater and Rushden walked together about the house, Hunter hovered about them at a respectable distance, hoping that presently some notice might be taken of him. His dismal countenance became even longer than usual when he observed that they were about to leave the house without appearing even to know that he was there. However, just as they were going out, Rushden paused on the threshold and called him. "'Mr. Hunter?' "'Yes, sir.' Nimrod ran to him like a dog, taken notice of by his master. If he had possessed a tale, it is probable that he would have wagged it. Rushden gave him the plans, with an intimation that the work was to be proceeded with. For some time after they were gone, Hunter crawled silently about the house, in and out of the rooms, up and down the corridors and the staircases. After a while he went into the room where a new man was and stood quietly watching him for about ten minutes as he worked. The man was painting the skirting, and just then he came to a part that was split in several places, so he took his knife and began to fill the cracks with putty. He was so nervous under Hunter's scrutiny, that his hand trembled to such an extent that it took him about twice as long as it should have done, and Hunter told him so with brutal directness. "'Never mind about putting up such little cracks as them,' he shouted. "'Fill him up with a paint. We can't afford to pay for messing about like that.' Newman made no reply. Misery found no excuse for bullying any one else, because they were all tearing into it for all they were worth. As he wandered up and down the house like an evil spirit he was followed by the furtively unfriendly glances of the men who cursed them in their hearts as he passed. He sneaked into the drawing-room, and after standing with a malignant expression, silently watching Owen and Easton, he came out again without having uttered a word. Although he frequently acted in this manner, yet somehow today the circumstance worried on considerably. He wondered uneasily what it meant, and began to feel vaguely apprehensive. Hunter's silence seemed more menacing than his speech. CHAPTER 10 THE LONG HILL Bert arrived at the shop with his little delay as possible, loaded up the hand-cart with all the things he had been sent for, and started on the return journey. He got on all right in the town, because the roads were level and smooth, being paved with wood blocks. If it had only been like that all the way, it would have been easy enough, although he was a small boy for such a large truck, and such a heavy load. Until the wood-road lasted, the principal trouble he experienced was the difficulty of seeing where he was going, the hand-cart being so high and himself so short. The pair of steps on the cart, of course, made it all the worse in that respect. However, by taking great care, he managed to get through the town all right, although he narrowly escaped colliding with several vehicles, including two or three motor-cars and an electric tram, besides nearly knocking over an old woman who was carrying a large bundle of washing. From time to time he saw other small boys of his acquaintance, some of them former schoolmates. Some of these he passed by, carrying heavy loads of groceries and baskets, and others with wooden trays full of joints of meat. Unfortunately, the wood-paving ceased at the very place where the ground began to rise. Bert now found himself at the beginning of a long stretch of the macadamized road, which rode slightly and persistently throughout its whole length. Bert had pushed the cart up this road many times before, and consequently knew the best method of tackling it. Experience had taught him that a full frontal attack on this hill was liable to failure, so on this occasion he followed his usual plan of making diagonal movements, crossing the road repeatedly from right to left, and left to right, after the fashion of a sailing ship attacking against the wind, and halting about every twenty yards to rest and take breath. The distance he was to go was regulated, not so much by his powers of endurance, as by the various objects by the wayside, the lampposts, for instance. During each rest he used to look ahead and select a certain lamppost or street-corner as the next stopping-place, and when he started again he used to make the most strenuous and desperate efforts to reach it. Generally the goal he selected was too distant, for he usually overestimated his strength, and whenever he was forced to give in, he ran the truck against the curb and stood there panting for breath and feeling profoundly disappointed at his failure. On the present occasion, during one of these rests, it flashed upon him that he was being a very long time. He would have to book up or he would get into a row. He was not even half way up the road yet. Using a distant lamppost he determined to reach it before resting again. The cart had a single shot with a cross-piece at the end forming the handle. He gripped this fiercely with both hands, and, placing his chest against it, with a mighty effort he pushed the cart before him. It seemed to get heavier and heavier with every foot of the way. His whole body, but especially the thighs and calves of his legs, seemed terribly, but still he strained and struggled and said to himself that he would not give in until he reached the lamppost. Finding that the handle hurt his chest, he lowered it to his waist, but that being even more painful, he raised it again to his chest and struggled savagely on, panting for breath, and with his heart beating wildly. The cart became heavier and heavier. After a while it seemed to the boy as if there were someone in front of it trying to push him back down the hill. This was such a funny idea that for a moment he felt inclined to laugh, but the inclination went almost as soon as it came, and was replaced by the dread that he would not be able to hold out long enough to reach the lamppost after all. Clenching his teeth, he made a tremendous effort and staggered forward two or three more steps, and then the cart stopped. He struggled with it despairingly for a few seconds, but all the strength had suddenly gone out of him. His legs felt so weak that he nearly collapsed onto the ground, and the cart began to move backwards down the hill. He was just able to stick to it and guide it so that it ran into and rested against the curb, and then he stood holding it in a half dazed way, very pale, saturated with perspiration and trembling. His legs in particular shook so much that he felt that unless he could sit down for a while he would fall down. He lowered the handle very carefully so as not to spill the white wash out of the pail which was hanging from a hook under the cart. Then sitting down on the curb stone he leaned wearily against the wheel. A little way down the road was a church with a clock in the tower. It was five minutes to ten by this clock. Bert said to himself that when it was ten he would make another start. While he was resting he thought of many things. Just behind that church was a field with several ponds in it where he used to go with other boys to catch efforts. If it were not for the cart he would go across now to see whether there were any there still. He remembered that he had been very eager to leave school and go to work, but there used to be fine old times after all. Then he thought of the day when his mother took him to Mr. Rushton's office to bind him. He remembered that day very vividly. It was almost a year ago. How nervous he had been. His hand had trembled so that he was scarcely able to hold the pen, and even when it was all over they had both felt very miserable somehow. His mother had been very nervous in the office also, and when they got home she cried a lot and called him her poor little fatherless boy, and said she hoped he would be good and try to learn. And then he cried as well and promised her that he would do his best. He reflected with pride that he was keeping his promise about being a good boy and trying to learn. In fact he knew a great deal about the trade already. He could paint backdoors as well as anybody, and railings as well. Owen had thought of a lot of things, and had promised to do some patterns of graining for him, so that he might practice copying them at home in the evenings. Owen was a fine chap. Better resolved that he would tell him what Crass had been saying to Easton. Just fancy the cheek of a rudder like Crass trying to get Owen to sack. It would be more like it if Crass was to be sacked himself, so that Owen could be made the foreman. One minute to ten. With a heavy heart Bert watched the clock. His legs were still aching very badly. He could not see the hands of the clock moving, but they were creeping on all the same. Now the minute hand was over the edge of the number, and he began to deliberate whether he might not rest for another five minutes. But he had been such a long time already on this errand that he dismissed the thought. The minute hand was now upright, and it was time to go on. Just as he was about to get up, a harsh voice behind him said, �How much longer are you going to sit there?� Bert started up guilty, and found himself confronted by Mr. Rushton, who was regarding him with an angry frown, whilst close by towered the colossal figure of the obese sweater, the expression on his greasy countenance betokening the pain he experienced on beholding such an appalling example of juvenile depravity. �What do you mean by such conduct?� demanded Rushton indignantly, the idea of sitting there like that when most likely the men are waiting for those things. Crimson with shame and confusion the boy made no reply. �I have been watching you a long time� continued Rushton. �I have been watching you all the time I have been coming down the road�. Bert tried to speak to explain why he had been resting, but his mouth and his tongue had become quite parts from terror, and he was unable to articulate a single word. You know, that's not the way to get on in life, my boy, observed sweater lifting his forefinger and shaking his fat head reproachfully. �Get along with you at once� Rushton said, roughly. �I am surprised at you, the idea sitting down on my time�. This was quite true. Rushton was not merely angry, but astonished at the audacity of the boy, that anyone in his employment should dare to have the impertence to sit down on his time was incredible. The boy lifted a handle of the cart, and once more began to push it up the hill. It seemed heavier now than ever, but he managed to get on somehow. He kept glancing back after Rushton had sweater, who presently turned the corner and were now lost to view. Then he ran the cart to the curb again to have a breathe. He couldn't have kept up much further without a spell, even if they had still been watching him, but he didn't rest for more than about half a minute this time, because he was afraid there might be peeping round the corner at him. After this he gave up the lamppost system, and hauled it for a minute or so at regular short intervals. In this way he had length reached the top of the hill, and with the sigh of relief congratulated himself that the journey was practically over. Just before he arrived at the gate of the house he saw Hunter sneak out and mount his bicycle and ride away. Bert wheeled his cart up to the front door and began carrying in the things. While still engaged he noticed Philpott peeping cautiously over the banisters of the staircase, and called out to him, "'Give us a hand with this bucket of whitewash, will you, Joe?' "'Certainly, my son, with the greatest of agony,' replied Philpott, as he hurried down the stairs. As they were carrying it in Philpott winked at Bert and whispered, "'Did you see Pont just pile it anywhere outside?' He went away on his bike, just as it came in at the gate. "'Thank God for that. I don't wish him no harm,' said Philpott fervently, "'but I hope she gets runned over with a motor.'" In this wish Bert entirely concurred, and similar charitable sentiments were expressed by all the others as soon as they heard that misery was gone. Just before four o'clock that afternoon Bert began to load up the truck with the Venetian blinds which had been taken down some days previously. "'I wonder who'll have the job of painting them?' replied Philpott, the newman. "'And perhaps they'll take a couple of us away from here.' "'I shouldn't think so. We're shorthanded here already. Most likely they'll put on a couple of fresh hands. There's a hell of a lot of work in them, blind, you know. I reckon they'll have to have three or four coats to state they're in.' "'Yes, no doubt that's what'll be done,' replied newman, and added with a mirthless laugh. "'I don't suppose they'll have much difficulty in getting a couple of chaps.' "'Nah, you're right, mate. There's plenty of them walking about as a week's work will be a god-centre.' "'Come to think of it,' continued newman after a pause. I believe the firm used to give all their blind work to all lay them, the Venetian blind-maker. Perhaps they'll give them this lot, too.' "'Very likely,' replied Philpott. "'I should think he can do them even cheaper than us chaps, and that's all the firm cares about.' How far their conjectures were fulfilled will appear later. After Bert was gone it became so dark that it was necessary to light the candles, and Philpott remarked that although he hated working under such conditions, yet he was always glad when lighting up time came, because then knocking off time was not very far behind. About five minutes to five, just as they were putting their things away for the night, Nimrod suddenly appeared in the house. He had come hoping to find some of them already dressed to go home before the proper time. Having failed in this laudable enterprise he stood silently by himself for some seconds in the drawing-room. This was a spacious and lofty apartment with a large semi-circular bay window. Around the ceiling was a deep cornice. In the semi-darkness the room appeared to be of even greater proportions than it really was. After standing, thinking in this room for a little while, Hunter turned and strode out to the kitchen, where the men were preparing to go home. One was taking off his blouse and apron as the other entered. Hunter addressed them with a malevolent snarl. "'You can call at the office tonight as you go home.'" Owen's heart seemed to stop beating. All the petty annoyances he had endured from Hunter rushed into his memory, together with what Easton had told him that morning. He stood still and speechless, holding his apron in his hand and staring at the manager. "'What for?' he ejaculated at length. "'What's the matter?' "'You'll find out what you wanted for when you get there.'" Returned Hunter as he went out of the room and away from the house. When he was gone a dead silence prevailed. The hands seized their preparations for the parter and looked at each other and at Owen in astonishment, to stand off a man like that when the job was not half finished, and for no apparent reason, and of a Monday too. It was unheard of. There was a general cause of indignation. Harlow and Philpot especially were very wroth. "'Niver comes to that,' shouted Harlow, "'they've got no bloody right to do it. We're entitled to an hour's notice.' "'Of course we are,' cried Philpot, his goggle eyes rolling wildly with wroth. "'And I should have it too, if it was me. You take my tip, Frank. Charge up till six o'clock in your timesheet, and get some of your own back.' Everyone joined in the outburst of indignant protest. Even that is, except crass and slime. But then they were not exactly in the kitchen. They were out in the scullery, putting their things away, and so it happened that they said nothing, although they exchanged significant looks. Owen had by this time recovered his self-possession. He collected all his tools, and put them with zapern and blouse into his tool-bag, with the purpose of taking them with him that night. But on reflection he resolved not to do so. After all it was not absolutely certain that he was going to be stood off. Possibly they were going to send them on some other job. They kept all together, some walking on the pavement, and some in the road, until they got downtown, and then separated. Crass, Sorkins, Bundy, and Philpot adjourned to the cricketers for a drink. Newman went on by himself, slime accompanied Easton, who would arrange with them to come that night to see the bedroom. And Owen went in the direction of the office. CHAPTER X Russian and Co's premises were situated in one of the principal streets of Mugsborough, and consisted of a double-fronted shop with plate-glass windows. The shop extended right through to the narrow back-street which ran behind it. The front part of the shop was stocked with wall hangings, mouldings, stands showing patterns of embossed wall and ceiling decorations, cases of brushes, tins of varnish and enamel, and similar things. The office was at the rear, and was separated from the rest of the shop by a partition, glazed with murenese-obscured glass. This office had two doors, one in the partition, giving access to the front shop, and the other by the side of the window opening onto the back-street. The glass of the lower sash of the back window consisted of one large pane on which was painted Russian and Co, in black letters on a white ground. Owen stood outside this window for two or three seconds before knocking. There was a bright light in the office. Then he knocked at the door, which was at once opened from the inside by Hunter, and Owen went in. Russian was seated in an armchair at his desk, smoking a cigar, and reading one of several letters that were lying before him. At the back was a large, unframed photograph of the size known as half-plate of the interior of some building. At another desk, or rather table, at the other side of the office, a young woman was sitting, writing in a large ledger. There was a typewriting machine on the table at her side. Russian glanced up carelessly as Owen came in, but took no further notice of him. "'Just wait a minute,' Hunter said to Owen, and then after conversing in a low tone with Rushton for a few minutes, the foreman put on his hat and went out of the office through the petition door which led into the front shop. Owen stood waiting for Rushton to speak. He wondered why Hunter had sneaked off and felt inclined to open the door and call him back. One thing he was determined about. He meant to have some explanation. He would not submit timely to be dismissed without any just reason. When he had finished reading the letter, Rushton looked up, and leaning comfortably back in his chair, he blew a cloud of smoke from his cigar, and said in an atheable, indulgent tone, such as one might use to a child. "'You're a bit of a heartless, ain't you?' Owen was so surprised at this reception that he was for the moment unable to reply. "'You know what I mean,' continued Rushton, decorating work, something like them samples of yours what's hanging up there.' He noticed the embarrassment of Owen's manner, and was gratified. He thought the man was confused at being spoken to by such a superior person as himself. Mr. Rushton was about thirty-five years of age, with light gray eyes, fair hair, and mustache. His complexion was a whitey drab. He was tall, about five feet ten inches, and rather clumsily built—not corpulent, but fat, in good condition. He appeared to be very well fed and well cared for, generally. His clothes were well made, of good quality, and fitted him perfectly. He was dressed in a grey Norfolk suit, dark brown boots, and midded woolen stockings, reaching to the knee. He was a man who took himself very seriously. There was an air of pomposity and arrogant importance about him, which, considering who and what he was, would have been entertaining to any observer gifted with a sense of humour. "'Yes,' replied Owen at last. "'I can do a little of that sort of work. Although, of course, I don't profess to be able to do it as well, or as quickly as a man who does nothing else.' "'Oh, no, of course not. But I think you can manage this all right.' It's that drawing-room at the cave. Mr. Sweater's been speaking to me about it. It seems that when he was over in Paris some time since, he saw a room that took his fancy. The walls and ceiling was not papered but painted. You know what I mean. Sort of paneled out and decorated with stencils and hand-painted. This here's a photo of it. It's done in a sort of Japanese fashion.' He handed the photograph to Owen as he spoke. It represented a room, the walls and ceilings of which were decorated in a moorish style. At first Mr. Sweater thought of getting a firm from London to do it. But he gave up the idea on account of the expense. But if you can do it so as it doesn't cost too much, I think I can persuade him to go in for it. But if it's going to cost a lot, it won't come off at all. He'll just have a freeze put up, and have the room papered in the ordinary way. This was not true. Rushden said it in case Owen might want to be paid extra wages while doing the work. The truth was that Sweater was going to have the room decorated in any case, and intended to get a London firm to do it. He had consented, rather unwillingly, to let Rushden and Coe submit him an estimate, because he thought they would not be able to do the work satisfactorily. Owen examined the photograph closely. Could you do anything like that, in that room? Yes, I think so, replied Owen. Well, you know, I don't want you to start a job and not be able to finish it. Can you do it or not?" Rushden felt sure that Owen could do it, and was very desirous that he should undertake it, but he did not want him to know that. He wished to convey the impression that he was almost indifferent whether Owen did the work or not. In fact, he wished to seem to be conferring a favour upon him by procuring him such a nice job as this. I'll tell you I can do, replied Owen. I can make you a water-colour sketch, a design, and, if you think it good enough, of course, I can reproduce it on the ceiling and walls, and I can let you know within a little how long it'll take. Owen appeared to reflect. Owen stood examining the photograph and began to feel an intense desire to do the work. Rushden shook his head dubiously. If I let you spend a lot of time over the sketches, and then Mr. Sweater does not approve of your design, where do I come in? Well, suppose we put it like this. I'll draw the design at home in the evenings in my own time. If it's accepted, I'll charge you for the time I've spent upon it. If it's not suitable, I won't charge you the time at all. Rushden brightened up considerably. All right. You can do so, he said, with an affectation of good nature, which I mustn't pile it on too thick in any case, you know, because, as I said before, he don't want to spend too much money on it. In fact, if it's going to cost a great deal, he simply won't have it done at all. Rushden knew Owen well enough to be sure that no consideration of time or pains would prevent him from putting the very best that was in him into his work. He knew that if the man did the room at all, there was no likelihood of escamping it for the sake of getting it done quickly, and for that matter Rushden did not wish him to hurry over it. All he wanted to do was to impress upon Owen from the very first that he must not charge too much time, and he profit that it was possible to make out of the work Rushden meant to secure for himself. He was a smart man this Rushden. He possessed the ideal character, the kind of character that is necessary for any man who wishes to succeed in business, to get on in life. In other words, his disposition was very similar to that of a pig. He was intensely selfish. No one had any right to condemn him for this, because all who live under the present system practice selfishness more or less. We must be selfish. The system demands it. We must be selfish, or we shall be hungry and ragged and finally die in the gutter. The more selfish we are, the better off we shall be. In the battle of life, only the selfish and cunning are able to survive. All others are beaten down and trampled underfoot. No one can justly be blamed for acting selfishly. It is a matter of self-preservation. We must either injure or be injured. It is the system that deserves to be blamed. All those who wish to perpetuate the system deserve is another question. When do you think you'll have the drawings ready, inquired Rushden? Can you get them done to-night? I'm afraid not, replied Owen, feeling inclined to laugh at the absurdity of the question. It will need a little thinking about. When can you have them ready, then? This is Monday, Wednesday morning. Owen hesitated. We don't want to keep him waiting too long, you know, or he may give up the idea altogether. Well? Say Friday morning, then, said Owen, resolving that he would stay up all night if necessary to get it done. Rushden shook his head. Can't you have it done before that? I'm afraid that if we keep him waiting all that time we may lose the job altogether. I can't get them done any quicker in my spare time, returned Owen, flushing. If you'd like to let me stay at home to-morrow and charge the time the same as if I had gone to work at the house, I could go to my ordinary work on Wednesday and let you have the drawings on Thursday morning." Oh, all right, then, said Rushden as he returned to the perusal of his letters. That night, long after his wife and Frankie were asleep, Owen worked in the sitting-room, searching through old numbers of the decorator's journals and through the illustrations in other books of designs for examples of Moorish work, and making rough sketches in pencil. He did not attempt to finish anything yet. It was necessary to think first, but he roughed out the general plan, and when at last he did go to bed he could not sleep for a long time. He almost fancied he was in the drawing-room at the cave. First of all it would be necessary to take down the ugly plaster-center flower with its crevices all filled up with old whitewash. The cornice was all right. It was fortunately a very simple one, with a deep cove and without many enrichments. Again when the walls and the ceiling had been properly prepared, the ornamentation would be proceeded with. The walls divided into panels and arches containing painted designs and latticework, the panels of the door decorated in a similar manner. The mouldings of the door and window frames picked out with colours and gold, so as to be in character with the other work. The cove of the cornice, a dull yellow with a bold ornament and colour. Gold was not advisable in the hollow because of the unequal distribution of the light, but some of the smaller mouldings of the cornice should be gold. On the ceiling there would be one large panel covered with an appropriate design in gold and colours and surrounded by a wide margin or border. To separate this margin from the centre panel there would be a narrow border and another border but wider round the outer edge of the margin where the ceiling met the cornice. Both these borders and the margin would be covered with ornamentation in colour and gold. Great care would be necessary when deciding what parts were to be gilded because whilst large masses of gilding are apt to look garish and in bad taste, a lot of fine gold lines are ineffective especially on a flat surface where they do not always catch the light. Process by process he traced the work and saw it advancing stage by stage until finally the large apartment was transformed and glorified, and then in the midst of the pleasure he experienced in the planning of the work there came the fear that perhaps they would not have it done at all. The question what personal advantage would he gain never once occurred to Owen. He simply wanted to do the work, and he was so fully occupied with thinking and planning how it was to be done that the question of profit was crowded out. But although this question of what profit could be made out of the work never occurred to Owen, it would in due course be fully considered by Rushton. In fact it is the only thing about the work that Mr. Rushton would think of at all, how much money could be made out of it. This is what was meant by the oft-quoted saying, the men work with their hands, the master works with his brains. CHAPTER XII The letting of the room. It will be remembered that when the men separated, Owen going to the office to see Rushton and the others on their several ways, Eson and Slime went together. During the day Eson had found an opportunity of speaking to him about the bedroom. Slime was about to leave the place where he was at present lodging, and he told Eson that although he had almost decided on another place, he would take a look at the room. At Eson's suggestion, they arranged that Slime was to accompany him home that night. As the former remarked, Slime could come to see the place, and if he didn't like it as well as the other he was thinking of taking, there was no harm done. Rushton had contrived to furnish the room. Some of the things she had obtained on credit from a second-hand furniture-dealer, and exactly how she had managed Eson did not know, but it was done. "'This is the house,' said Eson, as they passed through the gate-creek loudly on its hinges, and then clothes of itself rather noisily. Rushton had just been putting the child to sleep, and she stood up as they came in, hastily fastening the bodice of her dress as she did so. "'I've brought a gentleman to see him,' said Eson. Although she knew that he was looking out for someone, for the room, Rushton had not expected him to bring anyone home in this sudden manner, and she could not help wishing that he had told her beforehand of his intention. It being Monday, she had been very busy all day, and she was conscious that she was rather untidy in her appearance. Her long brown hair was twisted loosely into a coil behind her head. She blushed in an embarrassed way as the young man stared at her. Eson introduced Slime by name, and they shook hands, and then at Rushton's suggestion Eson took a light to show him the room, and while they were gone Rushton hurriedly tidied her hair and dress. When they came down against Slime said he thought the room would suit him very well. What were the terms? Did he wish to take the room only, or just to lodge, inquired Rushton, or would he prefer to board as well? Slime intimated that he desired the latter arrangement. In that case she thought twelve shillings a week would be fair. She believed that was about the usual amount. Of course that would include washing, and if his clothes needed a little mending she would do it for him. Slime expressed himself satisfied with these terms, which were, as Ruth had said, about the usual ones. He would take the room, but he was not leaving his present lodgings until Saturday. It was therefore agreed that he was to bring his box on Saturday evening. When he had gone, Eson and Ruth stood looking at each other in silence. Ever since this plan of letting the room first occur to them, they had been very anxious to accomplish it, and yet, now that it was done, they felt dissatisfied and unhappy, as if they had suddenly experienced some irreparable misfortune. In that moment they remembered nothing of the darker side of their life together. The hard times and the privations were far off, and seemed insignificant beside the fact that this stranger was for the future to share their home. To Ruth especially it seemed that the happiness of the past twelve months had suddenly come to an end. She shrank with involuntary aversion, and apprehension from the picture that rose before her of the future, in which this intruder appeared the most prominent figure, dominating everything, and interfering with every detail of their home life. Of course they had known all this before, but somehow it had never seemed so objectionable as it did now, and as Eson thought of it, he was filled with an unreasonable resentment against Slime, as if the latter had forced himself upon them against their will. Damn him, he thought, I wish I had never brought him here at all. Ruth did not appear to him to be very happy about it, either. Well, he said at last, what do you think of him? Oh, he'd be all right, I suppose. For my part I wish he wasn't coming. Eson continued. That's just what I was thinking, replied Ruth dejectedly. I don't like him at all. I seemed to turn against him directly he came in the door. I have a good mind to back out of it somehow, to-morrow, exclaimed Eson after another silence. I could tell him we've unexpectedly got some friends coming to stay with us. Yes, said Ruth eagerly, it would be easy enough to make some excuse or other. As this way of escape presented itself, she felt as if a weight had been lifted from her mind, but almost in the same instant. She remembered the reasons which had first led them to think of letting the room, and she added, disconsolately, it's foolish for us to go on like this, dear. We must let the room, and it might just as well be him as anyone else. We must make the best of it, that's all. Then stood with his back to the fire, staring gloomily at her. Yes, I suppose that's the right way to look at it, he replied at length. If we can't stand it, we'll give up the house and take a couple of rooms, or a small flat if we can get one. Ruth agreed, although neither alternative was very inviting. They unwelcome alteration in their circumstances, whilst, after all, not altogether without its compensations, because from the moment of arriving at this decision their love for each other seemed to be renewed and intensified. They remembered with acute regret that hitherto they had not always fully appreciated the happiness of that exclusive companionship, of which there now remain to them but one week more. For once the present was esteemed at its proper value, being invested with some of the glamour which almost always envelops the past. CHAPTER XIII On Tuesday, the day after his interview with Rushton, Owen remained at home working at the drawings. He did not get them finished, but they were so far advanced that he thought he would be able to complete them after tea on Wednesday evening. He did not go to work until after breakfast on Wednesday, and as continued absence served to confirm the opinion of the other workmen that he had been discharged. This belief was further strengthened by the fact that a new hand had been sent to the house by Hunter, who came himself also about a quarter-past seven, and very nearly caught Philpott in the act of smoking. During breakfast Philpott addressing crass and referring to Hunter inquired anxiously, "'Ew's a stember this mornin' Bob.' "'Milder's milk,' replied crass. "'You think but I wouldn't melt in his mouth.' "'Seen quite pleased with itself, didn't he?' said Harlow. "'Yes,' remarked Newman. "'You say good mornin' to me.' "'You so eat it to me,' said Easton. He came into the drawing room, and he says, "'Oh, you're in here, Easton.' He says, just like that, quite affable like. "'So he says, yes, sir?' "'Well,' he says, "'get it slobbin' over as quick as you can,' he says, "'cause we ain't got much for this job. Don't spend a lot of time puttin' up. Just smear it over, and let it go.' "'He certainly seemed very pleased about something,' said Harlow. "'I thought perhaps there was an undertakin' job in. One of them generally puts him in a good humour. "'I believe that nothin' to please him so much is to see an epidemic break out,' remarked Philpott. "'Smallpox, influenza, cholerimorbis, or anything like that.' "'Yes, don't you remember how good temper he was last summer, when there was such a lot of scarlet favour about?' observed Harlow. "'Yes,' said Crass with the chuckle. "'I recollect we had six children's funerals to do in one week. All misery was as pleased as punch, because, of course, as a ruler ain't as many bucks and up jobs in the summer. It's in the winter as undertakers reached their harvest.' "'We ain't had very many this winter, though, so far,' said Harlow. "'Lots of many as usual,' admitted Crass. "'But still, we can't grumble. We've had one nearly every week since the beginning of October. That's not so bad, you know.' Crass took a lively interest in the undertakin' department of rusted-on-coe's business. He always had the job of polishing or varnishing the coffin, and assisting to take it home, and to lift in the corpse, and besides acting as one of the bearers at the funeral. This work was more highly paid for than painting.' "'I don't think there's no funeral job in,' added Crass after the pause. "'I think it's because he's glad to see the end of Owen, if you ask me.' "'Perhaps that's got something to do with it,' said Harlow. "'But all the same, I don't call that a proper way to treat anyone, even a man that pushin' that way, just because he happened to have a spite against him.' "'It's what I call a bloody shame,' cried Philpott. "'Own's a chap what's always ready to do a good taunt to anybody. And he knows his work, although he is a bit of a nuisance, sometimes, I must admit, when he gets on about socialism.' "'I suppose misery didn't say nothin' about him this mornin',' inquired Easton. "'No,' replied Crass, and added, "'we only hope Owen don't think as I'd ever said aintin' against him. He looked at me very funny that night after Nimrod went away. Owen needn't think nothin' like that about me, because I'm a chap like this, if I couldn't do nobody no good, oh, now I do them no harm.' At this some of the others furtively exchanged significant glances, and Harlow began to smile, but no one said anything. Philpott, noticing that the newcomer had not helped himself to any tea, called Bert's attention to the fact, and the boy filled Owen's cup and passed it over to the new hand. Their conjectures regarding the cause of Hunter's good humour were all wrong. As the reader knows, Owen had not been discharged at all, and there was nobody dead. The real reason was that, having decided to take on another man, Hunter had experienced no difficulty in getting one at the same reduced rate as that which Newman was working for. There being such numbers of men out of employment. Hitherto the usual rate of pay in Mugsborough had been seven pence an hour for skilled painters. The reader will remember that Newman consented to accept a job at Sixpence-Hapony. So far none of the other workmen knew that Newman was working under price. He had told Owen, not feeling sure whether he was the only one or not. The man whom Hunter had taken on that morning also decided in his mind that he would keep his own counsel concerning what pay he was to receive until he found out what the others were getting. Just before half-past eight, Owen arrived, and was immediately assailed with questions as to what had transpired at the office. Crass listened with ill-concealed, chagrin to Owen's account, but most of the others were genuinely pleased. "'But what a way to speak to anybody,' observed Harlow, referring to Hunter's manner on the previous Monday night. "'I know. I reckon if Owen misery had four legs he'd make a very good pig,' said Philpott solemnly. "'And you can't expect nothing from a pig but a grunt.'" During the morning, as Easton and Owen were working together in the drawing-room, the former remarked, "'Did I tell you I had a room to let, Frank?' "'Yes, I think you did.' "'Well, I've let it to slime. I think he seems a very decent sort of chap, don't you?' "'Yes, I suppose he is,' replied Owen, hesitatingly, and they know nothing against him. "'Of course, we'd rather have the house to ourselves if we could afford it, but work is so scarce lately. I've been figuring out exactly what my money is average for the last twelve months, and how much a week do you think it comes to?' "'God only knows,' said Owen, "'how much?' "'About eighty in bob.' "'So you say we had to do something,' continued Easton, and I reckon we're lucky to get a respectable sort of chap like Slime, religious and T-Total and all that, you know. Don't you think so?' "'Yes, I suppose you are,' said Owen, who, although he intensely dislikes Slime, knew nothing definite against him. They worked on in silence for some time, and then Owen said, "'At the present time there are thousands of people so badly off that, compared with them, we are rich. Their sufferings are so great that, compared with them, we may be said to be living in luxury. We know that, don't you?' "'Yes, that's true enough, mate. We really ought to be very thankful. We ought to consider ourselves lucky to have inside jobs like this, when there's such a lot of chaps walking about doing nothing.' "'Yes,' said Owen, "'we're lucky. Although we're in a condition of abject, miserable poverty, we must consider ourselves lucky that we're not actually starving.' Owen was painting the door, Easton was doing the skirting. This work caused no noise, so they were able to converse without difficulty. "'Do you think it's right for us to timely make up our minds to live for the rest of our lives under such conditions as that?' "'No, certainly not,' replied Easton, but things are sure to get better presently. Trade hasn't always been as bad as it is now. Well, you can remember as well as I can. A few years ago there was so much work that we was putting in fourteen and sixteen hours a day. I used to be so done up by the end of the week that I used to stay in bed nearly all day on Sunday. "'But don't you think it's worthwhile trying to find out whether it's possible to arrange things that we may be able to live like civilized human beings without being alternately worked to death or starved?' "'But don't see how we're going to alter things,' answered Easton. "'At the present time, from what I hear, work is scarce everywhere. "'We can't make work, can we?' "'Do you think then that he affairs of the world or something like the wind and the weather, altogether beyond their control? "'And that if they're bad, we can do nothing but just sit down and wait for them to get better?' "'Well, I don't see how we can odds it. If the people what's got them when he won't spend it, they're like some me and you can't make them, can we?' Owen looked curiously at Easton. "'I suppose you're about twenty-six now,' he said. "'That means that you have about another thirty years to live. Of course, if you had proper food and clothes and hadn't worked more than the reasonable number of hours every day, there's no natural reason why you should not live another fifty or sixty years, but we'll say thirty. "'Do you mean to say that you be able to contemplate with indifference the prospect of living another thirty years under such conditions as those we endure at present?' Easton made no reply. "'If you were to commit some serious breach of the law, and were sentenced next week to ten years' penal servitude, you'd probably think your fate a very pitiable one, yet you appear to submit quite cheerfully to this other sentence, which is, that you shall die a premature death after you've done another thirty years' hard labour.' Easton continued painting the skirting. "'When there's no work,' Owen went on, taking another dip of paint as he spoke, and starting on one of the other lower panels of the door, "'When there's no work, you will either starve or get into death, when, as at present there is a little work, you will live in a state of semi-starvation. When times are what you call good, you will work for twelve or fourteen hours a day, and, if you're very lucky, occasionally all night. The extra money you will then earn will go to pay your debts so that you'll be able to get credit again, when there's no work.' Easton put some putty in a crack in the skirting. "'In consequence of living in this manner, you will die at least twenty years sooner than is natural, nor should you have an unusually strong constitution, and live after you cease to be able to work. You'll be put into a kind of jail, and treated like a criminal for the remainder of your life.' Having faced up the cracks, Easton resumed the painting of the skirting. "'If it were proposed to make a new law that all working men and women were to be put to death, smothered, or hung or poisoned, or put into a lethal chamber, as soon as they reach the age of fifty years, there's not the slightest doubt that you would join in the uproar of protests that would ensue. Let you submit tamingly to have your life shortened by slow starvation, overwork, lack of proper boots and clothing, and through having often to turn out and go to work when you're so ill that you ought to be in bed receiving medical care.' Easton made no reply. He knew that all this was true, but he was not without a large share of the false pride which prompts us to hide our poverty, and to pretend that we are much better off than we really are. He was at that moment wearing the pair of second-hand boots that Root had bought for him, but he had told Harlow, who had passed some remark about them, that he had had them for years, wearing them only for best. He felt very resentful as he listened to the other's talk and no one perceived it, but nevertheless he continued, "'Unless the present system is altered, that is all we have to look forward, and yet you're one of the upholders of the present system. You help to perpetuate it.' "'How do I help to perpetuate it?' demanded Easton. By not trying to find out how to end it, by not helping those who are trying to bring a better state of things into existence. Even if you are indifferent to your own fate, as you seem to be, you have no right to be indifferent to that of your child, for whose existence in this world you are responsible. Every man who is not helping to bring about a better state of affairs for the future is helping to perpetuate the present misery, and is therefore the enemy of his own children. There is no such thing as being neutral. You must either help or hinder. As Owen opened the door to paint its edge, Bert came along the passage. "'Look out,' he cried, "'miseries coming up the road. He'll be here in a minute.' It was not often that Easton was glad to hear of the approach of Nimrod, but on this occasion he heard Bert's message with a sigh of relief. "'I say,' added a boy in a whisper to Owen, "'if it comes off, I mean, if you get the job doing this room, will you ask him to have me along of you?' "'Yes, all right, sonny,' replied Owen, and Bert went off to warn the others. Unaware that he had been observed, Nimrod sneaked stealthily into the house, and began softly crawling about from room to room, peeping around corners and squinting through the cracks of doors, and looking through key-holes. He was almost pleased to see that everybody was hard at work, but on going into Newman's room misery was not satisfied with the progress made since his last visit. The fact was that Newman had been forgetting himself again this morning. He had been taking a little pains with the work, doing it something like properly, instead of scamping and rushing it in the usual way. The result was that he had not done enough. "'You know, Newman, this kind of thing won't do,' Nimrod howled. "'You must get over a bit more than this or you won't suit me. If you can't move yourself a bit quicker, I shall have to get someone else. You've been in this room since seven o'clock this morning, and it's damn near time you was out of it.' Newman muttered something about being nearly finished now, and Hunter ascended to the next landing, the Attics, where the cheap man Sarkin's the labourer was at work. Harlow had been taken away from the Attics to go on with some of the better work, so Sarkin's was now working alone. He had been slugging into it like a Trojan, and had done quite a lot. He had painted not only the sashes of the window, but also a large part of the glass, and when doing the skirting he had included part of the floor, sometimes an inch, sometimes half an inch. The painters of a dark drab colour and the surface of the newly painted doors bore a strong resemblance to corduroy cloth, and from the bottom corners of nearly every panel there was trickling down a large tier as if the doors were weeping for the degenerate condition of the decorative arts. But these tiers caused no throb of pity in the bosom of old misery. Neither did the corduroy-like surface of the work grate upon his feelings. He perceived them not. He saw only that there was a lot of work done, and his soul was filled with rapture as he reflected, that the man who had accomplished all this was paid only fivepence an hour. At the same time it would never do to let Sarkin's know that he was satisfied with the progress made. So he said, "'I don't want you to stand too much over this up here, you know, Sarkin's. Just mop it over anyhow, and get away from it as quick as you can.' "'All right, sir,' replied Sarkin's, wiping the sweat from his brow as misery began crawling downstairs again. "'Where's Harlow gone to, then?' he demanded of Philpot. "'It wasn't here just now when I came up.' "'He's gone downstairs, sir, out of back,' replied Joe, jerking his thumb over his shoulder and winking at Hunter. "'He'll be back in half a mile.' And indeed at that moment Harlow was just coming upstairs again. "'Here, we can't allow that sort of thing in work an hour, you know,' Hunter bellowed. "'There's plenty of time for that in the dinner hour.'" Nimrod now went down to the drawing-room which Easton and Owen had been painting. He stood here deep in thought for some time, mentally comparing the quantity of work done by the two men in this room with that done by Sarkin's in the attic. Misery was not a painter himself, he was a carpenter, and he thought but little of the difference in the quality of the work. To him it was all about the same, just plain painting. "'I believe it would pay us a great deal better,' he thought to himself. "'If we could get hold of a few more light-weights like Sarkin's,' and with his mind filled with his reflection he shortly afterward sneaked stealthily away from the house. CHAPTER XIV Owen spent a greater part of the dinner-hour by himself in the drawing-room, making pencil sketches in his pocket-book and taking measurements. In the evening after leaving off, instead of going straight home as usual, he went round to the free library to see if he could find anything concerning moreish decorative art in the books there. Although it was only a small and ill-equipped institution, he was rewarded by the discovery of illustrations of several examples of which he made sketches. After about an hour spent this way, as he was proceeding homewards, he observed two children, a boy and a girl, whose appearance seemed familiar. They were standing at the window of a sweet-stuff shop, examining the words exposed therein. As Owen came up, the children turned round, and they recognized each other simultaneously. They were Charlie and Elsie Lyndon. Owen spoke to them as he drew near, and the boy appealed to him for his opinion concerning a dispute they had been having. I say, Mr. Which do you think is best? A fardensworth of everlasting stick-jawed toffee or a prized packet? I'd rather have a prized packet," replied Owen, unhesitatingly. There, I told you so. cried Elsie triumphantly. Well, I don't care. I'd sooner have toffee, said Charlie, doggedly. Why, can't you agree which of the two to buy? Oh, no, it's not that, replied Elsie. We would only just suppose on what we'd buy if we had a farden, but we're not really going to buy nothing, because we ain't got no money. Oh, I see," said Owen, but I think I have some money. And putting his hand into his pocket, he produced two hapenies, and gave one to each of the children, who immediately went in to buy the toffee and the prized packet, and when they came out he walked along with them as they were going in the same direction as he was. Indeed, they would have to pass by his house. How's your grandfather got anything to do yet? He inquired as they went along. No, he's still walking about, mister," replied Charlie. When they reached Owen's door, he invited them to come up to see the kitten, which they had been inquiring about on the way. Frankie was delighted to see his two visitors, and whilst they were eating some homemade cakes that Nora gave them, he entertained them by displaying the contents of his toy-box and the antics of the kitten, which was the best toy of all, for it invented new games all the time, acrobatic performances on the rails of chairs, curtain climbing, running slides up and down the oil-cloth, hiding and peeping round corners and under the sofa. The kitten cut so many comical capers, and in a little while the children began to create such an uproar that Nora had to interfere lest the people in the flat underneath should be annoyed. However, Elsie and Charlie were not able to stay very long, because their mother would be anxious about them, but they promised to come again some other day to play with Frankie. "'I'm going to have a prize next Sunday at our Sunday school,' said Elsie, as they were leaving. "'What are you going to get it for?' asked Nora. "'Cause I learned my text properly. I had to learn the whole of the first chapter of Matjew by Hart, and I never made one single mistake. So the teacher said she'd give me a nice book next Sunday. "'I had one, too, the other week, about six months ago. Didn't I, Elsie?' said Charlie. "'Yes,' replied Elsie, and added. "'Do they give prizes at your Sunday school, Frankie?' "'I don't go to Sunday school.' "'Ain't you never been?' said Charlie, in a tone of surprise. "'No,' replied Frankie. "'Dad says they have quite enough of school all the week.' "'You ought to come to our's, man,' urged Charlie. "'It's not like being in school at all. And we has a treat in the summer, and prizes, and sometimes a magic lantern entertainment. It ain't half all right, I can tell you.' Frankie looked inquiringly at his mother. "'It might have gone, Mum.' "'Yes, if you like, dear.' "'But I don't know the way.' "'Oh, it's not far from here,' cried Charlie. "'We has to pass by your house when we're going, so I call for you on Sunday, if you like. "'It's only just round on Duke Street, you know, to shine a night-chapel,' said Elsie. "'It commences at three o'clock.' "'All right,' said Nora. "'I'll have Frankie ready at a quarter to three. But now you must run home as fast as you can. Did you like those cakes?' "'Yes, thank you very much,' answered Elsie. "'Not half,' said Charlie. "'Does your mother make cakes for you sometimes?' "'Oh, she used to, but she's too busy now, making blouses and one thing and another,' answered Elsie. "'I suppose she hasn't much time for cooking,' said Nora. "'So I've wrapped up some more of those cakes in this parcel for you to take home for tomorrow. I think you can manage to carry it all right, can't you, Charlie?' "'I think I'd better carry it myself,' said Elsie. "'Charlie's so careless, he's sure to lose some of them.' "'I ain't no more careless than you are,' cried Charlie indignantly. "'What about the time you dropped the quarter of butter you was sent for, in the mud?' "'That wasn't carelessness. That was an accident, and it wasn't butter at all. It was margarine. So there.' Eventually it was arranged that they would carry the parcel and turns, Elsie, to have first innings. Frankie went downstairs to the front door with them to see them off, and as they went down the street he shouted after them. "'Mind you remember, next Sunday?' "'All right,' Charlie shouted back. "'We shan't forget.' On Thursday Owen stayed at home until after breakfast, to finish the designs he had promised to have ready that morning. When he took them to the office at nine o'clock, the hour at which he had arranged to meet Rushton, the latter had not yet arrived, and he did not put in an appearance until a half an hour later. Like the majority of people who do brain work, he needed a great deal more rest than those who do only mere physical labour. "'Oh, you've brought them sketches, I suppose,' he remarked in a surly tone as he came in. "'You know, there was no need for you to wait. You could have left them here and gone on to your job.' He sat down at his desk and looked carelessly at the drawing that Owen handed to him. It was on a sheet of paper, about twenty-four by eighteen inches. The design was drawn in pencil, and one half of it was coloured. "'That's for the ceiling,' said Owen. "'I hadn't time to colour all of it.' "'With an affectation of indifference, Rushton laid the drawing down and took the other one, which Owen had handed to him. This one's for the large wall. The same design would be adapted for the other walls, and this one shows the door and the panels under the window. Rushton expressed no opinion about the merits of the drawings. He examined them carelessly, one after the other, and then, laying them down, he inquired. "'Now, how long would it take you to do this work if we get the job?' "'About three weeks, say a hundred and fifty hours. That is, the decorative work only. Of course, the walls and ceilings would have to be painted first. They'll need three coats of white.' Rushton scribbled a note on a piece of paper. "'Well,' he said, after a pause, "'you can leave these here, and I'll see Mr. Sweater about it and tell him what it'll cost. If he decides to have it done, I'll let you know.' He put the drawings aside, with the air of a man who was other matters to attend to, and began to open one of the several letters that were on his desk. He meant this as an intimation that the audience was at an end, and that he desired the hand to retire from the presence. Owen understood this, but he did not retire because it was necessary to mention one or two things which Rushton would have to allow for when preparing the estimate. "'Of course, I should want some help,' he said. "'I should need a man, occasionally, and the boy most of the time. Then there's a gold leaf, say fifteen books.' "'Don't you think it would be possible to use gold paint?' "'I'm afraid not.' "'Is there anything else?' inquired Rushton, as he finished writing down these items. "'I think that's all, except a few sheets of cartridge paper for stencils and work-and-drawings. The quantity of paint necessary for the decorative work would be very small. As soon as Owen was gone, Rushton took up the drawings and examined them attentively. "'These are all right,' he muttered. "'I'm good enough for anywhere. If he can paint anything like as well as this on the walls and salons of the room, it'll stand all the looking at that anyone in this town is likely to give it.' "'Let's see,' he continued. He said three weeks, but he's so anxious to do the job that he's most likely underestimated the time. "'A better allow four weeks. That means about two hundred hours. We're two hundred hours at apence. How much is that?' Say he has a painter to help him half the time. A hundred hours at sixpence apeny. He consulted a ready requiner that was on the desk. Time nine pounds seven and six. Materials, fifteen books of gold, say a pound. Then there's the cartridge paper and the colours, say another pound, at the outside. The boy's time? Well, he gets no wages as yet. So we needn't mention that at all. Then there's the preparing of the room. Three coats of white paint. I wish Honda were here to give me an idea of what that'll cost. As if an answer to his wish, Nimrod entered the office at that moment, and in reply to Rushden's query he said that to give the walls and ceiling three coats of paint would cost about three pounds five for time and materials. Between them the two brain workers figured that fifteen pounds would cover the entire cost of the work, painting and decorating. Well, I reckon we can charge Sweater forty-five pounds for it, said Rushden. It isn't like an ordinary job, you know. If he gets a London firm to do it, it'll cost him double that, if not more. Having arrived at this decision, Rushden rung up Sweater's emporium on the telephone, and finding that Mr. Sweater was there, he rolled up the designs and set out for that gentleman's office. The men work with their hands, and the masters work with their brains. What a dreadful calamity it would be for the world and for the mind, if all these brain workers were to go on strike. End of Chapter 14 Chapter 15, Part 1 of the Ragged Trousard Philanthropists This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tye Hines The Ragged Trousard Philanthropists by Robert Tressel Chapter 15, Part 1 The Undeserving Persons and the Upper and Nether Millstones Hunter had taken on three more painters that morning. Bundy and two labourers had commenced the work of putting in the new drains. The carpenters were back again doing some extra work, and there was also a plumber working on the house, so there was quite a little crowd in the kitchen at dinner-time. Crass had been waiting for a suitable opportunity to produce the newspaper-cutting, which it will be remembered he showed to Easton on Monday morning. But he had waited in vain, for there had been scarcely any political talk at mealtimes all the week, and it was now Thursday. As far as Owen was concerned, his thoughts were too occupied with the designs for the drawing-room that he had no time for anything else, and most of the others were only too willing to avoid a subject which frequently led to unpleasantness. As a rule, Crass himself had no liking for such discussion, but he was so confident of being able to flatten out Owen with the cutting from the Obscura, that he had several times tried to lead the conversation into the desired channel but so far without success. During dinner, as they call it, various subjects were discussed. Harlow mentioned that he had found traces of bugs in one of the bedrooms upstairs, and this called forth the number of anecdotes of those vermin and of houses infested by them. Philpott remembered working in a house over at Windley. The people who lived in it were very dirty and had very little furniture, no bedsteads, the beds consisting of dilapidated mattresses and rags on the floor. He declared that these ragged mattresses used to wander about the rooms by themselves. The house was so full of fleas that if one placed a sheet of newspaper on the floor, one could hear and see them jumping on it. In fact, directly one went into that house, one was covered from head to foot with fleas. During the few days he worked at that place he lost several pounds in weight, and of evenings as he walked homewards. The children and people in the streets observing his ravaged countenance, thought he was suffering from some disease, and used to get out of his way when they saw him coming. There were several other of these narratives, four or five men talking at the top of their voices at the same time, each one telling a different story. At first each storyteller addressed himself to the company generally, but after a while finding it impossible to make himself heard, he would select some particular individual who seemed disposed to listen and tell him the story. It sometimes happened that in the middle of the tale the man to whom it was being told would remember a somewhat similar adventure of his own, which he would immediately proceed to relate without waiting for the other to finish, and each of them was generally so interested in the gruesome details of his own story that he was unconscious of the fact that the other was telling one at all. In a contest of this kind the victory usually went to the man with the loudest voice, but sometimes a man who had a weak voice scored by repeating the same tale several times until someone heard it. Barrington, who seldom spoke, and was an ideal listener, was appropriated by several men in succession, who each told him a different yarn. There was one man sitting on an upended pale in the far corner of the room, and it was evident from the movements of his lips that he also was relating a story, although nobody knew what it was about or heard a single word of it, for no one took the slightest notice of him. When the uproar had subsided Harlow remembered the case of a family whose house got into such a condition that the landlord had given him notice, and the father had committed suicide because the painters had come to turn them out of house and home. There were a man, his wife and daughter, a girl of about seventeen, living in the house, and all three of them used to drink like hell. As for the woman, she could shift it, and make no mistake. Several times a day she used to send the girl with a jug to the pub at the corner. When the old man was out, one could have anything one liked to ask for, from either of them, for half a pint of beer, but for his part said Harlow, he could never fancy it. They were both too ugly. The finale of this tale was a seed with a burst of incredulous laughter by those who heard it. You hear what Harlow says, Bob? Easton shouted to Crass. No, what was it? He says once he had a chance to have something, but he wouldn't take it because it was too ugly. If it had been me, I should have shut me bloody eyes, cried Sarkins. I wouldn't pass it for a trifle like that. No, said Crass in the laughter. You can bet your life he didn't lose it either, although he tries to make himself out to be so innocent. I always thought old Harlow was a bloody liar, remarked Bundy, but now we know he is. Although everyone pretended to disbelieve him, Harlow stuck to his version of the story. It's not that face you want, you know, added Bundy as he helped himself to some more tea. I know it wasn't my old woman's face I was after last night, observed Crass, and then he proceeded, amid roars of laughter, to give a minutely detailed account of what had taken place between himself and his wife after they had retired for the night. This story reminded a man on the pale of a very strange dream he had had a few weeks previously. I dreamt I was walking along the top of a high cliff or some such place, and all of a sudden the ground gave way under me feet, and I began to slip down and down, and to save myself from going over I made a grab out of a tuft of grass that was growing just within reach of me and. And then I thought that some fellow was hitting dead where a bloody great stick, and trying to make me let go of the tuft of grass. And then I woke up to find out my old woman was shouting out and punching me with her fists. She said I was pulling her hair. While the room was in an uproar with a merriment induced by these stories, Crass rose from his seat and crossed over to where his overcoat was hanging on a nail in the wall, and took from the pocket a piece of card, about eight inches by about four inches. One side of it was covered with printing, and as he returned to his seat, Crass called upon the others to listen while he read it aloud. He said it was one of the best things he had ever seen. It had been given to him by a bloke in the cricketers the other night. Crass was not a very good reader, but he was able to read this all right, because he had read it so often that he almost knew it by heart. It was entitled The Art of Flatchelance, and it consisted of a number of rules and definitions. Shouts of laughter greeted the reading of each paragraph, and when he had ended the piece of dirty card was handed round for the benefit of those who wished to read it for themselves. Several of the men, however, when it was offered to them, refused to take it, and with evident disgust, suggested that it should be put into the fire. This view did not commend itself to Crass, who, after the others had finished with it, put it back in the pocket of his coat. Meanwhile, Bundy stood up to help himself to some more tea. The cup he was drinking from had a large piece broken out of one side and did not hold much, so he usually had to have three or four helpings. Anyone else want any? He asked. Several cups and jars were passed to him. These vessels had been standing on the floor, and the floor was very dirty and covered with dust, so before dipping them into the pail, Bundy, who had been working at the drains all morning, wiped the bottoms of the jars upon his trousers. On the same place where he was in wiping his hands when he happened to get some dirt on them, he filled the jars so full that as he held them by the rims and passed them to their owners, part of the contents slopped over and trickled through his fingers. By the time he had finished, the floor was covered with little pools of tea. They say that God made everything for some useful purpose, remarked Harlow reverting to the original subject, but I should like to know what the hell's the use of such things as bugs and fleas and the like. To teach people to keep themselves clean, of course, said Slime. That's a funny subject, ain't it? continued Harlow, ignoring Slime's answer. They say as all disease is caused by little insects. If God hadn't made no cancer germs or consumption microbes, there wouldn't be no cancer nor consumption. That's one of the proofs that there isn't an individual God, said Owen. If we were to believe that the universe and everything that lives was deliberately designed and created by God, then we must also believe that he made his disease germs you are speaking of for the purpose of torture and his other creatures. You can't tell me a bloody yarn like that, interposed crass, roughly. There's a ruler over us made, and so you're likely to find out. If God didn't create the world, how did it come here? demanded Slime. I know no more about that than you do, replied Owen. That is, I know nothing. The only difference between us is that you think you know. You think you know that God made the universe, how long it took him to do it, why he made it, how long it's been in existence, and how it will finally pass away. You also imagine you know that we shall live after we're dead, where we shall go, and the kind of existence we shall have. In fact, in the excess of your humility, you think you know all about it. But you really know no more of these things than any other human being does. That is, you know nothing. That's only your opinion, said Slime. If we care to take the trouble to learn, Owen went on. We can know a little of how the universe has grown and changed, but at the beginning we know nothing. That's just my opinion, Madey, observed Philpot. It's just a bloody mystery, and that's all about it. I don't pretend to have no head-knowledge, said Slime, but head-knowledge won't save a man's soul. It's art-knowledge that does that. I nose in my heart, as my sins is all hundred of blood, and it's known that what gives happiness and the peace which passes all understanding to me, ever since I've been a Christian. Glory, glory, hallelujah! shouted Bundy, and nearly everyone laughed. Christian is right, sneered on. You've got some title to call yourself a Christian, haven't you? As for the happiness that passes all understanding, it certainly passes my understanding of how you can be happy when you believe that millions of people are being tortured in hell, and it also passes my understanding when you are not ashamed of yourself for being happy under such circumstances. Ah, well, you'll find it all out when you come to die, Madey, replied Slime in a threatening tone. You'll think and talk different then. That's just what gets over me, observed Harlow. It don't seem right that after living in misery and poverty all our bloody lives, working as slaves in all the hours of mighty sins, that were to be bloody well set fire on born and hell for all eternity. It don't seem feasible to me, you know. It's my belief, said Philpot profoundly, that when you're dead you're done for, and that's the end of you. That's what I say, remarked Easton. As for all this religious business, it's just a money-making dodge. It's the parson's trade, just the same as painting his hours. Only there's no work attached to it, and it pays a bloody sight better than ours is. It's their living, and a bloody good living too, if you ask me, said Bundy. Yes, said Harlow. They lives on the fat of the land and wears the best of everything, and they do nothing for it but talk a lot of twaddle two or three times a week. The rest of the time they spend cash and money off silly old women who thinks it's a sort of fire insurance. It's an old saying and a true one, chimed in the man on the upturned pale. Parsons and publicans is the worst enemies a worker man ever had. There may be some goodens, but their fear went far between. If I could only get a job like the Archbishop of Canterbury, said Philpot solemnly, I'd leave this firm. And so would I, said Harlow. If I was the Archbishop of Canterbury, I'd take my pot and brushes down the office, and show him through the bloody window and tell old misery to go to hell. Religion is a thing that don't trouble me much, remarking human. And as for what happens after death, it's a thing I believe and leave until there comes to it. There's no sense in meeting trouble half way. All the things they tell us may be true, or they may not. But it takes me all me time to look after this world. I don't believe I've been to church more than half a dozen times since I've been married, as over fifteen years now, and then it's been when the kids have been christened. The old woman goes sometimes, and of course the young one's goes. You've got to tell them something or other, and they might as well learn what they teach at Sunday school as anything else. A general murmur of approval greeted this. It seemed to be an almost unanimous opinion that whether it were true or not religion was a nice thing to teach children. I've not been even once since I was married, said Harlow, and I sometimes wished a crisis I hadn't gone then. I don't say as a matter as a damn what a man believes, said Philpott, as long as you don't do no harm to nobody. If you see a poor bug or what's down in his look, give him an help in hand. Even if you ain't got no money, you can say it a kind word. If a man does his work and looks after his home and his young ones, and does a good taunt to a fellow creature when he can, I reckon he stands as much a chance of getting into heaven if there is such a place, as some of these air-bible busters, whether he ever goes to church or chapel or not. These sentiments were echoed by everyone with the solitary exception of Slime, who said that Philpott would find out his mistake after he was dead, when he would have to stand before the great white throne for his son. When Philpott found out his mistake after he was dead, he would have to stand before the great white throne for judgment. And at the last day when you see the moon termed into blood, you'll be crying out for the mountains and the rocks to fall on you and hide you from the wrath of the lamb. The others laughed erisively. I'm a bush-baptist myself," remarked the man on the upturned pale. This individual, Dick Wantley, by name, was of what is usually termed a rugged cast of countenance. He reminded once strongly of an ancient gargoyle or a dragon. And at the last day when you see the moon termed into blood, you'll be crying out for the rest of the time. They were not a giant gargoyle or a dragon. Most of the hands had by now littered pipes, but there were a few who preferred chewing their tobacco. As they smoked or chewed, they expected rate it upon the floor or into the fire. Wantley was one of those who had preferred chewing, and he had been spitting upon the floor to such an extent that he was by this time partly surrounded by a kind This confession of faith caused a fresh outburst of hilarity, because, of course, everybody knew what a bush-baptist was. "'If Evan's going to be full of such buggers as Hunter,' observed Easton, I think I'd rather go to the other place.' "'If ever old misery does get into Evan,' said Philpott, "'he won't stop there very long. I reckon he be chucked over before he's been there a week, because he's sure to start pinching the jewels out with your saints' crowns.' "'Well, if they won't have him in Evan, I'm sure I don't know as what's to be come of him,' said Harlow, with pretended concern, "'because I don't believe he be allowed into hell now.' "'Why not?' demanded Bundy. I think it's just a bloody place for such a bugger as him. So it used to be at one time a day, but they've changed all that now. They've had a revolution down there. They posed the devil, elected a parson as president, and started putting the fire out. From what all ye hears of it,' continued Harlow, when the laughter had ceased, hell is a bloody fine place to live just now. There's underground railways and electric trams, and at the corner or nearly every street is a sort of pub, where you can buy ice-cream, lemon squash, forail, and American cold drinks, and you're allowed to sit in a refrigerator for two hours for a tanner.' Although they laughed and made fun of these things, the reader must not think that they really doubted the truth of the Christian religion, because although they had been all brought up by Christian parents and had been educated in Christian schools, none of them knew enough about Christianity to either really believe it or disbelieve it. The imposters, who obtain a comfortable living by pretending to be the ministers and disciples of the workman of Nazareth, are too cunning to encourage their dupes to acquire anything approaching an intelligent understanding of this object. They did not want people to know or understand anything. They wanted to have faith, to believe without knowledge, pretending or evidence. For years Harlow and his mates, when children, had been taught Christianity in day school, Sunday school, or in church or chapel, and now they knew practically nothing about it. They were Christians all the same. They believed that the Bible was the Word of God, but they did not know where it came from, how long it had been in existence, who wrote it, who translated it, or how many different versions they were. Most of them were almost totally unacquainted with the contents of the book itself, but all the same they believed it, after a fashion. "'But putting all jokes aside,' said Philpott, "'I can't believe there's such a place as hell. There may be some kind of punishment, but I don't believe it's a real fire.' "'Hmph! Not anybody else has got any sense,' replied Harlow contemptuously. "'I believe as this world as hell,' said Kras, looking around with a philosophic expression. This opinion was echoed by most of the others, although Slime remained silent, and Owen laughed. "'What a bloody hell are you laughing at?' Kras demanded in an indignant tone. "'I was laughing because you said you think this world is hell.' "'Well, I don't see nothing to laugh at in that,' said Kras. "'So it is a hell,' said Easton. "'There can't be anywheres much worse than this.' "'Ear, ere!' said the man behind the moat. "'What I was laughing at is this,' said Owen. "'The present system of managing the affairs of the world is so bad, "'and has produced such dreadful results, that you are of the opinion "'that the earth is a hell, and yet you are a conservative. "'You wish to preserve the present system, the system which has made "'the world into a hell.' "'I thought we shouldn't get rooted in there, or though politics "'of Owen was here,' growled Bundy, bloody-sickening I call it. "'Don't be hard on him,' said Philpott. "'It's been very quiet for the last few days.' "'We'll have to go through it to-day, though,' remarked Harlow, despairingly. "'I can see it coming.' "'I'm not going through it,' said Bundy. "'I'm off.' "'And he accordingly drank the remainder of his tea, "'closed his empty dinner-basket, and having placed it on the mantel-shelf, made for the door.' "'I'll leave you to it,' he said as he went out.' The others laughed.'