Part 38 (1/2)

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. Cra.s.s 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 Cra.s.s 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 Cra.s.s. 'Ain't it?'

'Yes; that's true enough,' said Harlow.

'Do you believe they're 'is own designs?' Cra.s.s went on.

'Be rather 'ard to tell,' remarked Easton, embarra.s.sed.

Neither Harlow nor Easton shared Cra.s.s'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,' Cra.s.s 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 b.l.o.o.d.y mess of it, wouldn't it?' Cra.s.s 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 Cra.s.s ain't arf wild about Owen doin' that room,' replied Harlow, and repeated the substance of Cra.s.s's remarks.

'It is a bit of a take-down for the bleeder, ain't it, 'avin' to play second fiddle,' said Philpot with a delighted grin.

''E's opin' Owen'll make a mess of it,' Easton whispered.

'Well, 'e'll be disappointed, mate,' answered Philpot. 'I was workin'

along of Owen for Pushem and Sloggem about two year ago, and I seen 'im do a job down at the Royal 'Otel--the smokin'-room ceilin' it was--and I can tell you it looked a b.l.o.o.d.y treat!'

'I've heard tell of it,' said Harlow.

'There's no doubt Owen knows 'is work,' remarked Easton, 'although 'e is a bit orf is onion about Socialism.'

'I don't know so much about that, mate,' returned Philpot. 'I agree with a lot that 'e ses. I've often thought the same things meself, but I can't talk like 'im, 'cause I ain't got no 'ead for it.'

'I agree with some of it too,' said Harlow with a laugh, 'but all the same 'e does say some b.l.o.o.d.y silly things, you must admit. For instance, that stuff about money bein' the cause of poverty.'