The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists [112]
those who had been taken on last and who would therefore be the first to be `stood still'. Easton, however, felt pretty confident that Crass would do his best to get him kept on till the end of the job, for they had become quite chummy lately, usually spending a few evenings together at the Cricketers every week.
`There'll be a bloody slaughter 'ere soon,' remarked Harlow to Philpot one day as they were painting the banisters of the staircase. `I reckon next week will about finish the inside.'
`And the outside ain't goin' to take very long, you know,' replied Philpot.
`They ain't got no other work in, have they?'
`Not that I knows of,' replied Philpot gloomily; 'and I don't think anyone else has either.'
`You know that little place they call the "Kiosk" down the Grand Parade, near the bandstand,' asked Harlow after a pause.
`Where they used to sell refreshments?'
`Yes; it belongs to the Corporation, you know.'
`It's been closed up lately, ain't it?'
`Yes; the people who 'ad it couldn't make it pay; but I 'eard last night that Grinder the fruit-merchant is goin' to open it again. If it's true, there'll be a bit of a job there for someone, because it'll 'ave to be done up.'
`Well, I hope it does come orf replied Philpot. `It'll be a job for some poor b--rs.'
`I wonder if they've started anyone yet on the venetian blinds for this 'ouse?' remarked Easton after a pause.
`I don't know,' replied Philpot.
They relapsed into silence for a while.
`I wonder what time it is?' said Philpot at length. `I don't know 'ow you feel, but I begin to want my dinner.'
`That's just what I was thinking; it can't be very far off it now. It's nearly 'arf an hour since Bert went down to make the tea. It seems a 'ell of a long morning to me.'
`So it does to me,' said Philpot; `slip upstairs and ask Slyme what time it is.'
Harlow laid his brush across the top of his paint-pot and went upstairs. He was wearing a pair of cloth slippers, and walked softly, not wishing that Crass should hear him leaving his work, so it happened that without any intention of spying on Slyme, Harlow reached the door of the room in which the former was working without being heard and, entering suddenly, surprised Slyme - who was standing near the fireplace - in the act of breaking a whole roll of wallpaper across his knee as one might break a stick. On the floor beside him was what had been another roll, now broken into two pieces. When Harlow came in, Slyme started, and his face became crimson with confusion. He hastily gathered the broken rolls together and, stooping down, thrust the pieces up the flue of the grate and closed the register.
`Wot's the bloody game?' inquired Harlow.
Slyme laughed with an affectation of carelessness, but his hands trembled and his face was now very pale.
`We must get our own back somehow, you know, Fred,' he said.
Harlow did not reply. He did not understand. After puzzling over it for a few minutes, he gave it up.
`What's the time?' he asked.
`Fifteen minutes to twelve,' said Slyme and added, as Harlow was going away: `Don't mention anything about that paper to Crass or any of the others.'
`I shan't say nothing,' replied Harlow.
Gradually, as he pondered over it, Harlow began to comprehend the meaning of the destruction of the two rolls of paper. Slyme was doing the paperhanging piecework - so much for each roll hung. Four of the rooms upstairs had been done with the same pattern, and Hunter - who was not over-skilful in such matters - had evidently sent more paper than was necessary. By getting rid of these two rolls, Slyme would be able to make it appear that he had hung two rolls more than was really the case. He had broken the rolls so as to be able to take them away from the house without being detected, and he had hidden them up the chimney until he got an opportunity of so doing. Harlow had just arrived at this solution of the problem when, hearing the lower flight of stairs creaking, he peeped over and observed Misery crawling up. He had come
`There'll be a bloody slaughter 'ere soon,' remarked Harlow to Philpot one day as they were painting the banisters of the staircase. `I reckon next week will about finish the inside.'
`And the outside ain't goin' to take very long, you know,' replied Philpot.
`They ain't got no other work in, have they?'
`Not that I knows of,' replied Philpot gloomily; 'and I don't think anyone else has either.'
`You know that little place they call the "Kiosk" down the Grand Parade, near the bandstand,' asked Harlow after a pause.
`Where they used to sell refreshments?'
`Yes; it belongs to the Corporation, you know.'
`It's been closed up lately, ain't it?'
`Yes; the people who 'ad it couldn't make it pay; but I 'eard last night that Grinder the fruit-merchant is goin' to open it again. If it's true, there'll be a bit of a job there for someone, because it'll 'ave to be done up.'
`Well, I hope it does come orf replied Philpot. `It'll be a job for some poor b--rs.'
`I wonder if they've started anyone yet on the venetian blinds for this 'ouse?' remarked Easton after a pause.
`I don't know,' replied Philpot.
They relapsed into silence for a while.
`I wonder what time it is?' said Philpot at length. `I don't know 'ow you feel, but I begin to want my dinner.'
`That's just what I was thinking; it can't be very far off it now. It's nearly 'arf an hour since Bert went down to make the tea. It seems a 'ell of a long morning to me.'
`So it does to me,' said Philpot; `slip upstairs and ask Slyme what time it is.'
Harlow laid his brush across the top of his paint-pot and went upstairs. He was wearing a pair of cloth slippers, and walked softly, not wishing that Crass should hear him leaving his work, so it happened that without any intention of spying on Slyme, Harlow reached the door of the room in which the former was working without being heard and, entering suddenly, surprised Slyme - who was standing near the fireplace - in the act of breaking a whole roll of wallpaper across his knee as one might break a stick. On the floor beside him was what had been another roll, now broken into two pieces. When Harlow came in, Slyme started, and his face became crimson with confusion. He hastily gathered the broken rolls together and, stooping down, thrust the pieces up the flue of the grate and closed the register.
`Wot's the bloody game?' inquired Harlow.
Slyme laughed with an affectation of carelessness, but his hands trembled and his face was now very pale.
`We must get our own back somehow, you know, Fred,' he said.
Harlow did not reply. He did not understand. After puzzling over it for a few minutes, he gave it up.
`What's the time?' he asked.
`Fifteen minutes to twelve,' said Slyme and added, as Harlow was going away: `Don't mention anything about that paper to Crass or any of the others.'
`I shan't say nothing,' replied Harlow.
Gradually, as he pondered over it, Harlow began to comprehend the meaning of the destruction of the two rolls of paper. Slyme was doing the paperhanging piecework - so much for each roll hung. Four of the rooms upstairs had been done with the same pattern, and Hunter - who was not over-skilful in such matters - had evidently sent more paper than was necessary. By getting rid of these two rolls, Slyme would be able to make it appear that he had hung two rolls more than was really the case. He had broken the rolls so as to be able to take them away from the house without being detected, and he had hidden them up the chimney until he got an opportunity of so doing. Harlow had just arrived at this solution of the problem when, hearing the lower flight of stairs creaking, he peeped over and observed Misery crawling up. He had come