The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists [94]
gentleman resumed his seat, and almost immediately it became evident from the oscillations of the balloon that Mr Belcher was desirous of rising to say a Few Words in acknowledgement, but he was restrained by the entreaties of those near him, who besought him not to exhaust himself. He afterwards said that he would not have been able to say much even if they had permitted him to speak, because he felt too full.
`During the absence of our beloved pastor,' said Brother Didlum, who now rose to give out the closing hymn, `his flock will not be left hentirely without a shepherd, for we 'ave arranged with Mr Starr to come and say a Few Words to us hevery Sunday.'
From the manner in which they constantly referred to themselves, it might have been thought that they were a flock of sheep instead of being what they really were - a pack of wolves.
When they heard Brother Didlum's announcement a murmur of intense rapture rose from the ladies, and Mr Starr rolled his eyes and smiled sweetly. Brother Didlum did not mention the details of the `arrangement', to have done so at that time would have been most unseemly, but the following extract from the accounts of the chapel will not be out of place here: `Paid to Rev. John Starr for Sunday, Nov. 14 - ?.4.0 per the treasurer.' It was not a large sum considering the great services rendered by Mr Starr, but, small as it was, it is to be feared that many worldly, unconverted persons will think it was far too much to pay for a Few Words, even such wise words as Mr John Starr's admittedly always were. But the Labourer is worthy of his hire.
After the `service' was over, most of the children, including Charley and Frankie, remained to get collecting cards. Mr Starr was surrounded by a crowd of admirers, and a little later, when he rode away with Mr Belcher and Mr Sweater in the latter's motor car, the ladies looked hungrily after that conveyance, listening to the melancholy `pip, pip' of its hooter and trying to console themselves with the reflection that they would see him again in a few hours' time at the evening service.
Chapter 18
The Lodger
In accordance with his arrangement with Hunter, Owen commenced the work in the drawing-room on the Monday morning. Harlow and Easton were distempering some of the ceilings, and about ten o'clock they went down to the scullery to get some more whitewash. Crass was there as usual, pretending to be very busy mixing colours.
`Well, wot do you think of it?' he said as he served them with what they required.
`Think of what?' asked Easton.
`Why, hour speshul hartist,' replied Crass with a sneer. 'Do you think 'e's goin' to get through with it?'
`Shouldn't like to say,' replied Easton guardedly.
`You know it's one thing to draw on a bit of paper and colour it with a penny box of paints, and quite another thing to do it on a wall or ceiling,' continued Crass. 'Ain't it?'
`Yes; that's true enough,' said Harlow.
`Do you believe they're 'is own designs?' Crass went on.
`Be rather 'ard to tell,' remarked Easton, embarrassed.
Neither Harlow nor Easton shared Crass's sentiments in this matter, but at the same time they could not afford to offend him by sticking up for Owen.
`If you was to ast me, quietly,' Crass added, `I should be more inclined to say as 'e copied it all out of some book.'
`That's just about the size of it, mate,' agreed Harlow.
`It would be a bit of all right if 'e was to make a bloody mess of it, wouldn't it?' Crass continued with a malignant leer.
`Not arf!' said Harlow.
When the two men regained the upper landing on which they were working they exchanged significant glances and laughed quietly. Hearing these half-suppressed sounds of merriment, Philpot, who was working alone in a room close by, put his head out of the doorway.
`Wot's the game?' he inquired in a low voice.
`Ole Crass ain't arf wild about Owen doin' that room,' replied Harlow, and repeated the substance of Crass's remarks.
`It is a bit of a take-down for the bleeder, ain't it, 'avin' to play second
`During the absence of our beloved pastor,' said Brother Didlum, who now rose to give out the closing hymn, `his flock will not be left hentirely without a shepherd, for we 'ave arranged with Mr Starr to come and say a Few Words to us hevery Sunday.'
From the manner in which they constantly referred to themselves, it might have been thought that they were a flock of sheep instead of being what they really were - a pack of wolves.
When they heard Brother Didlum's announcement a murmur of intense rapture rose from the ladies, and Mr Starr rolled his eyes and smiled sweetly. Brother Didlum did not mention the details of the `arrangement', to have done so at that time would have been most unseemly, but the following extract from the accounts of the chapel will not be out of place here: `Paid to Rev. John Starr for Sunday, Nov. 14 - ?.4.0 per the treasurer.' It was not a large sum considering the great services rendered by Mr Starr, but, small as it was, it is to be feared that many worldly, unconverted persons will think it was far too much to pay for a Few Words, even such wise words as Mr John Starr's admittedly always were. But the Labourer is worthy of his hire.
After the `service' was over, most of the children, including Charley and Frankie, remained to get collecting cards. Mr Starr was surrounded by a crowd of admirers, and a little later, when he rode away with Mr Belcher and Mr Sweater in the latter's motor car, the ladies looked hungrily after that conveyance, listening to the melancholy `pip, pip' of its hooter and trying to console themselves with the reflection that they would see him again in a few hours' time at the evening service.
Chapter 18
The Lodger
In accordance with his arrangement with Hunter, Owen commenced the work in the drawing-room on the Monday morning. Harlow and Easton were distempering some of the ceilings, and about ten o'clock they went down to the scullery to get some more whitewash. Crass was there as usual, pretending to be very busy mixing colours.
`Well, wot do you think of it?' he said as he served them with what they required.
`Think of what?' asked Easton.
`Why, hour speshul hartist,' replied Crass with a sneer. 'Do you think 'e's goin' to get through with it?'
`Shouldn't like to say,' replied Easton guardedly.
`You know it's one thing to draw on a bit of paper and colour it with a penny box of paints, and quite another thing to do it on a wall or ceiling,' continued Crass. 'Ain't it?'
`Yes; that's true enough,' said Harlow.
`Do you believe they're 'is own designs?' Crass went on.
`Be rather 'ard to tell,' remarked Easton, embarrassed.
Neither Harlow nor Easton shared Crass's sentiments in this matter, but at the same time they could not afford to offend him by sticking up for Owen.
`If you was to ast me, quietly,' Crass added, `I should be more inclined to say as 'e copied it all out of some book.'
`That's just about the size of it, mate,' agreed Harlow.
`It would be a bit of all right if 'e was to make a bloody mess of it, wouldn't it?' Crass continued with a malignant leer.
`Not arf!' said Harlow.
When the two men regained the upper landing on which they were working they exchanged significant glances and laughed quietly. Hearing these half-suppressed sounds of merriment, Philpot, who was working alone in a room close by, put his head out of the doorway.
`Wot's the game?' he inquired in a low voice.
`Ole Crass ain't arf wild about Owen doin' that room,' replied Harlow, and repeated the substance of Crass's remarks.
`It is a bit of a take-down for the bleeder, ain't it, 'avin' to play second