The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists [118]
him to Parliament.
Chapter 22
The Phrenologist
The following morning - Saturday - the men went about their work in gloomy silence; there were but few attempts at conversation and no jests or singing. The tenor of the impending slaughter pervaded the house. Even those who were confident of being spared and kept on till the job was finished shared the general depression, not only out of sympathy for the doomed, but because they knew that a similar fate awaited themselves a little later on.
They all waited anxiously for Nimrod to come, but hour after hour dragged slowly by and he did not arrive. At half past eleven some of those who had made up their minds that they were to be `stood still' began to hope that the slaughter was to be deferred for a few days: after all, there was plenty of work still to be done: even if all hands were kept on, the job could scarcely be finished in another week. Anyhow, it would not be very long now before they would know one way or the other. If he did not come before twelve, it was all right: all the hands were paid by the hour and were therefore entitled to an hour's notice.
Easton and Harlow were working together on the staircase, finishing the doors and other woodwork with white enamel. The men had not been allowed to spend the time necessary to prepare this work in a proper manner, it had not been rubbed down smooth or properly filled up, and it had not had a sufficient number of coats of paint to make it solid white. Now that the glossy enamel was put on, the work looked rather rough and shady.
`It ain't 'arf all right, ain't it?' remarked Harlow, sarcastically, indicating the door he had just finished.
Easton laughed: 'I can't understand how people pass such work,' he said.
`Old Sweater did make some remark about it the other day,' replied Harlow, `and I heard Misery tell 'im it was impossible to make a perfect job of such old doors.'
`I believe that man's the biggest liar Gord ever made,' said Easton, an opinion in which Harlow entirely concurred.
`I wonder what the time is?' said the latter after a pause.
`I don't know exactly,' replied Easton, 'but it can't be far off twelve.'
`'E don't seem to be comin', does 'e?' Harlow continued.
`No: and I shouldn't be surprised if 'e didn't turn up at all, now. P'raps 'e don't mean to stop nobody today after all.'
They spoke in hushed tones and glanced cautiously about them fearful of being heard or observed.
`This is a bloody life, ain't it?' Harlow said, bitterly. `Workin' our guts out like a lot of slaves for the benefit of other people, and then as soon as they've done with you, you're chucked aside like a dirty rag.'
`Yes: and I begin to think that a great deal of what Owen says is true. But for my part I can't see 'Ow it's ever goin' to be altered, can you?'
Blowed if I know, mate. But whether it can be altered or not, there's one thing very certain; it won't be done in our time.'
Neither of them seemed to think that if the `alteration' they spoke of were to be accomplished at all they themselves would have to help to bring it about.
`I wonder what they're doin' about the venetian blinds?' said Easton. `Is there anyone doin' em yet?'
`I don't know; ain't 'eard nothing about 'em since the boy took 'em to the shop.'
There was quite a mystery about these blinds. About a month ago they were taken to the paint-shop down at the yard to be repainted and re-harnessed, and since then nothing had been heard of them by the men working at the `Cave'.
`P'hap's a couple of us will be sent there to do 'em next week,' remarked Harlow.
`P'hap's so. Most likely they'll 'ave to be done in a bloody 'urry at the last minute.'
Presently Harlow - who was very anxious to know what time it was - went downstairs to ask Slyme. It was twenty minutes to twelve.
From the window of the room where Slyme was papering, one could see into the front garden. Harlow paused a moment to watch Bundy and the labourers, who were still working in the trenches at the drains, and as he looked
Chapter 22
The Phrenologist
The following morning - Saturday - the men went about their work in gloomy silence; there were but few attempts at conversation and no jests or singing. The tenor of the impending slaughter pervaded the house. Even those who were confident of being spared and kept on till the job was finished shared the general depression, not only out of sympathy for the doomed, but because they knew that a similar fate awaited themselves a little later on.
They all waited anxiously for Nimrod to come, but hour after hour dragged slowly by and he did not arrive. At half past eleven some of those who had made up their minds that they were to be `stood still' began to hope that the slaughter was to be deferred for a few days: after all, there was plenty of work still to be done: even if all hands were kept on, the job could scarcely be finished in another week. Anyhow, it would not be very long now before they would know one way or the other. If he did not come before twelve, it was all right: all the hands were paid by the hour and were therefore entitled to an hour's notice.
Easton and Harlow were working together on the staircase, finishing the doors and other woodwork with white enamel. The men had not been allowed to spend the time necessary to prepare this work in a proper manner, it had not been rubbed down smooth or properly filled up, and it had not had a sufficient number of coats of paint to make it solid white. Now that the glossy enamel was put on, the work looked rather rough and shady.
`It ain't 'arf all right, ain't it?' remarked Harlow, sarcastically, indicating the door he had just finished.
Easton laughed: 'I can't understand how people pass such work,' he said.
`Old Sweater did make some remark about it the other day,' replied Harlow, `and I heard Misery tell 'im it was impossible to make a perfect job of such old doors.'
`I believe that man's the biggest liar Gord ever made,' said Easton, an opinion in which Harlow entirely concurred.
`I wonder what the time is?' said the latter after a pause.
`I don't know exactly,' replied Easton, 'but it can't be far off twelve.'
`'E don't seem to be comin', does 'e?' Harlow continued.
`No: and I shouldn't be surprised if 'e didn't turn up at all, now. P'raps 'e don't mean to stop nobody today after all.'
They spoke in hushed tones and glanced cautiously about them fearful of being heard or observed.
`This is a bloody life, ain't it?' Harlow said, bitterly. `Workin' our guts out like a lot of slaves for the benefit of other people, and then as soon as they've done with you, you're chucked aside like a dirty rag.'
`Yes: and I begin to think that a great deal of what Owen says is true. But for my part I can't see 'Ow it's ever goin' to be altered, can you?'
Blowed if I know, mate. But whether it can be altered or not, there's one thing very certain; it won't be done in our time.'
Neither of them seemed to think that if the `alteration' they spoke of were to be accomplished at all they themselves would have to help to bring it about.
`I wonder what they're doin' about the venetian blinds?' said Easton. `Is there anyone doin' em yet?'
`I don't know; ain't 'eard nothing about 'em since the boy took 'em to the shop.'
There was quite a mystery about these blinds. About a month ago they were taken to the paint-shop down at the yard to be repainted and re-harnessed, and since then nothing had been heard of them by the men working at the `Cave'.
`P'hap's a couple of us will be sent there to do 'em next week,' remarked Harlow.
`P'hap's so. Most likely they'll 'ave to be done in a bloody 'urry at the last minute.'
Presently Harlow - who was very anxious to know what time it was - went downstairs to ask Slyme. It was twenty minutes to twelve.
From the window of the room where Slyme was papering, one could see into the front garden. Harlow paused a moment to watch Bundy and the labourers, who were still working in the trenches at the drains, and as he looked