Part 27 (1/2)

'Yes: don't you remember 'ow good-tempered 'e was last summer when there was such a lot of Scarlet Fever about?' observed Harlow.

'Yes,' said Cra.s.s with a chuckle. 'I recollect we 'ad six children's funerals to do in one week. Ole Misery was as pleased as Punch, because of course as a rule there ain't many boxin'-up jobs in the summer. It's in winter as hundertakers reaps their 'arvest.'

'We ain't 'ad very many this winter, though, so far,' said Harlow.

'Not so many as usual,' admitted Cra.s.s, 'but still, we can't grumble: we've 'ad one nearly every week since the beginning of October. That's not so bad, you know.'

Cra.s.s took a lively interest in the undertaking department of Rushton & Co.'s business. He always had the job of polis.h.i.+ng or varnis.h.i.+ng the coffin and a.s.sisting to take it home and to 'lift in' the corpse, besides acting as one of the bearers at the funeral. This work was more highly paid for than painting.

'But I don't think there's no funeral job in,' added Cra.s.s after a pause. 'I think it's because 'e's glad to see the end of Owen, if yeh ask me.'

'Praps that 'as got something to do with it,' said Harlow. 'But all the same I don't call that a proper way to treat anyone--givin' a man the push in that way just because 'e 'appened to 'ave a spite against 'im.'

'It's wot I call a bl--dy shame!' cried Philpot. 'Owen's a chap wots always ready to do a good turn to anybody, and 'e knows 'is work, although 'e is a bit of a nuisance sometimes, I must admit, when 'e gets on about Socialism.'

'I suppose Misery didn't say nothin' about 'im this mornin'?' inquired Easton.

'No,' replied Cra.s.s, and added: 'I only 'ope Owen don't think as I never said anything against 'im. 'E looked at me very funny that night after Nimrod went away. Owen needn't think nothing like that about ME, because I'm a chap like this--if I couldn't do n.o.body no good, I wouldn't never do 'em no 'arm!'

At this some of the others furtively exchanged 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 pa.s.sed 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 n.o.body 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 a.s.sailed with questions as to what had transpired at the office. Cra.s.s 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?'

'G.o.d 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.