Part 83 (1/2)

Rushton's had so little work in that nearly all the hands expected that they would be slaughtered the next Sat.u.r.day after the 'Beano' and there was one man--Jim Smith he was called--who was not allowed to live even till then: he got the sack before breakfast on the Monday morning after the Beano.

This man was about forty-five years old, but very short for his age, being only a little over five feet in height. The other men used to say that Little Jim was not made right, for while his body was big enough for a six-footer, his legs were very short, and the fact that he was rather inclined to be fat added to the oddity of his appearance.

On the Monday morning after the Beano he was painting an upper room in a house where several other men were working, and it was customary for the coddy to shout 'Yo! Ho!' at mealtimes, to let the hands know when it was time to leave off work. At about ten minutes to eight, Jim had squared the part of the work he had been doing--the window--so he decided not to start on the door or the skirting until after breakfast.

Whilst he was waiting for the foreman to shout 'Yo! Ho!' his mind reverted to the Beano, and he began to hum the tunes of some of the songs that had been sung. He hummed the tune of 'He's a jolly good fellow', and he could not get the tune out of his mind: it kept buzzing in his head. He wondered what time it was? It could not be very far off eight now, to judge by the amount of work he had done since six o'clock. He had rubbed down and stopped all the woodwork and painted the window. A jolly good two hours' work! He was only getting sixpence-halfpenny an hour and if he hadn't earned a bob he hadn't earned nothing! Anyhow, whether he had done enough for 'em or not he wasn't goin' to do no more before breakfast.

The tune of 'He's a jolly good fellow' was still buzzing in his head; he thrust his hands deep down in his trouser pockets, and began to polka round the room, humming softly:

'I won't do no more before breakfast!

I won't do no more before breakfast!

I won't do no more before breakfast!

So 'ip 'ip 'ip 'ooray!

So 'ip 'ip 'ip 'ooray So 'ip 'ip 'ooray!

I won't do no more before breakfast--etc.'

'No! and you won't do but very little after breakfast, here!' shouted Hunter, suddenly entering the room.

'I've bin watchin' of you through the crack of the door for the last 'arf hour; and you've not done a dam' stroke all the time. You make out yer time sheet, and go to the office at nine o'clock and git yer money; we can't afford to pay you for playing the fool.'

Leaving the man dumbfounded and without waiting for a reply, Misery went downstairs and after kicking up a devil of a row with the foreman for the lack of discipline on the job, he instructed him that Smith was not to be permitted to resume work after breakfast. Then he rode away.

He had come in so stealthily that no one had known anything of his arrival until they heard him bellowing at Smith.

The latter did not stay to take breakfast but went off at once, and when he was gone the other chaps said it served him b.l.o.o.d.y well right: he was always singing, he ought to have more sense. You can't do as you like nowadays you know!

Easton--who was working at another job with Cra.s.s as his foreman--knew that unless some more work came in he was likely to be one of those who would have to go. As far as he could see it was only a week or two at the most before everything would be finished up. But notwithstanding the prospect of being out of work so soon he was far happier than he had been for several months past, for he imagined he had discovered the cause of Ruth's strange manner.

This knowledge came to him on the night of the Beano. When he arrived home he found that Ruth had already gone to bed: she had not been well, and it was Mrs Linden's explanation of her illness that led Easton to think that he had discovered the cause of the unhappiness of the last few months. Now that he knew--as he thought--he blamed himself for not having been more considerate and patient with her. At the same time he was at a loss to understand why she had not told him about it herself.

The only explanation he could think of was the one suggested by Mrs Linden--that at such times women often behaved strangely. However that might be, he was glad to think he knew the reason of it all, and he resolved that he would be more gentle and forebearing with her.

The place where he was working was practically finished. It was a large house called 'The Refuge', very similar to 'The Cave', and during the last week or two, it had become what they called a 'hospital'.

That is, as the other jobs became finished the men were nearly all sent to this one, so that there was quite a large crowd of them there. The inside work was all finished--with the exception of the kitchen, which was used as a mess room, and the scullery, which was the paint shop.

Everybody was working on the job. Poor old Joe Philpot, whose rheumatism had been very bad lately, was doing a very rough job--painting the gable from a long ladder.

But though there were plenty of younger men more suitable for this, Philpot did not care to complain for fear Cra.s.s or Misery should think he was not up to his work. At dinner time all the old hands a.s.sembled in the kitchen, including Cra.s.s, Easton, Harlow, Bundy and d.i.c.k Wantley, who still sat on a pail behind his usual moat.

Philpot and Harlow were absent and everybody wondered what had become of them.

Several times during the morning they had been seen whispering together and comparing sc.r.a.ps of paper, and various theories were put forward to account for their disappearance. Most of the men thought they must have heard something good about the probable winner of the Handicap and had gone to put something on. Some others thought that perhaps they had heard of another 'job' about to be started by some other firm and had gone to inquire about it.

'Looks to me as if they'll stand a very good chance of gettin' drowned if they're gone very far,' remarked Easton, referring to the weather.

It had been threatening to rain all the morning, and during the last few minutes it had become so dark that Cra.s.s lit the gas, so that--as he expressed it--they should be able to see the way to their mouths.

Outside, the wind grew more boisterous every moment; the darkness continued to increase, and presently there succeeded a torrential downfall of rain, which beat fiercely against the windows, and poured in torrents down the gla.s.s. The men glanced gloomily at each other. No more work could be done outside that day, and there was nothing left to do inside. As they were paid by the hour, this would mean that they would have to lose half a day's pay.

'If it keeps on like this we won't be able to do no more work, and we won't be able to go home either,' remarked Easton.