The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists [66]
significant glances, and Harlow began to smile, but no one said anything.
Philpot, 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 sevenpence an hour for skilled painters. The reader will remember that Newman consented to accept a job at sixpence halfpenny. So far none of the other workmen knew that Newman was working under price: he had told no one, 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.
`You know, I reckon if ole Misery 'ad four legs, 'e'd make a very good pig,' said Philpot, solemnly, `and you can't expect nothin' 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 I wanted to let, Frank?'
`Yes, I think you did.'
`Well, I've let it to Slyme. I think he seems a very decent sort of chap, don't you?'
`Yes, I suppose he is,' replied Owen, hesitatingly. `I know nothing against him.'
`Of course, we'd rather 'ave the 'ouse to ourselves if we could afford it, but work is so scarce lately. I've been figuring out exactly what my money has averaged for the last twelve months and how much a week do you think it comes to?'
`God only knows,' said Owen. `How much?'
`About eighteen bob.'
`So you see we had to do something,' continued Easton; `and I reckon we're lucky to get a respectable sort of chap like Slyme, religious and teetotal and all that, you know. Don't you think so?'
`Yes, I suppose you are,' said Owen, who, although he intensely disliked Slyme, knew nothing definite against him.
They worked 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. You 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 'ave a inside job like this when there's such a lot of chaps walkin' about doin' 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 tamely 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. Why, 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 worth while trying to find out whether it's possible to so arrange things that we may
Philpot, 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 sevenpence an hour for skilled painters. The reader will remember that Newman consented to accept a job at sixpence halfpenny. So far none of the other workmen knew that Newman was working under price: he had told no one, 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.
`You know, I reckon if ole Misery 'ad four legs, 'e'd make a very good pig,' said Philpot, solemnly, `and you can't expect nothin' 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 I wanted to let, Frank?'
`Yes, I think you did.'
`Well, I've let it to Slyme. I think he seems a very decent sort of chap, don't you?'
`Yes, I suppose he is,' replied Owen, hesitatingly. `I know nothing against him.'
`Of course, we'd rather 'ave the 'ouse to ourselves if we could afford it, but work is so scarce lately. I've been figuring out exactly what my money has averaged for the last twelve months and how much a week do you think it comes to?'
`God only knows,' said Owen. `How much?'
`About eighteen bob.'
`So you see we had to do something,' continued Easton; `and I reckon we're lucky to get a respectable sort of chap like Slyme, religious and teetotal and all that, you know. Don't you think so?'
`Yes, I suppose you are,' said Owen, who, although he intensely disliked Slyme, knew nothing definite against him.
They worked 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. You 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 'ave a inside job like this when there's such a lot of chaps walkin' about doin' 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 tamely 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. Why, 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 worth while trying to find out whether it's possible to so arrange things that we may