the ragged trousered philanthropists-第6章

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Hunter　spoke　as　if　the　reduction　were　already　an　accomplished　fact。　The　man　was　more　likely　to　agree；　if　he　thought　that　others　were　already　working　at　the　reduced　rate。

Newman　was　taken　by　surprise　and　hesitated。　　He　had　never　worked　under　price；　indeed；　he　had　sometimes　gone　hungry　rather　than　do　so；　but　now　it　seemed　that　others　were　doing　it。　　And　then　he　was　so　awfully　hard　up。　　If　he　refused　this　job　he　was　not　likely　to　get　another　in　a　hurry。　　He　thought　of　his　home　and　his　family。　　Already　they　owed　five　weeks'　rent；　and　last　Monday　the　collector　had　hinted　pretty　plainly　that　the　landlord　would　not　wait　much　longer。　　Not　only　that；　but　if　he　did　not　get　a　job　how　were　they　to　live？　　This　morning　he　himself　had　had　no　breakfast　to　speak　of；　only　a　cup　of　tea　and　some　dry　bread。　　These　thoughts　crowded　upon　each　other　in　his　mind；　but　still　he　hesitated。　　Hunter　began　to　move　off。　‘Well；'　he　said；　‘if　you　like　to　start　you　can　come　here　at　seven　in　the　morning。'　　Then　as　Newman　still　hesitated　he　added　impatiently；　‘Are　you　coming　or　not？'

‘Yes；　sir；'　said　Newman。

‘All　right；'　said　Hunter；　affably。　　‘I'll　tell　Crass　to　have　a　kit　ready　for　you；'

He　nodded　in　a　friendly　way　to　the　man；　who　went　off　feeling　like　a　criminal。

As　Hunter　resumed　his　march；　well　pleased　with　himself；　the　fifth　man；　who　had　been　waiting　all　this　time；　came　to　meet　him。　　As　he　approached；　Hunter　recognized　him　as　one　who　had　started　work　for　Rushton　&　Co　early　in　the　summer；　but　who　had　left　suddenly　of　his　own　accord；　having　taken　offence　at　some　bullying　remark　of　Hunter's。

Hunter　was　glad　to　see　this　man。　　He　guessed　that　the　fellow　must　be　very　hard　pressed　to　come　again　and　ask　for　work　after　what　had　happened。

‘Any　chance　of　a　job；　sir？'

Hunter　appeared　to　reflect。

‘I　believe　I　have　room　for　one；'　he　said　at　length。　　‘But　you're　such　an　uncertain　kind　of　chap。　　You　don't　seem　to　care　much　whether　you　work　or　not。　　You're　too　independent；　you　know；　one　can't　say　two　words　to　you　but　you　must　needs　clear　off。'

The　man　made　no　answer。

‘We　can't　tolerate　that　kind　of　thing；　you　know；'　Hunter　added。　　‘If　we　were　to　encourage　men　of　your　stamp　we　should　never　know　where　we　are。'

So　saying；　Hunter　moved　away　and　again　proceeded　on　his　journey。

When　he　arrived　within　about　three　yards　of　the　gate　he　noiselessly　laid　his　machine　against　the　garden　fence。　　The　high　evergreens　that　grew　inside　still　concealed　him　from　the　observation　of　anyone　who　might　be　looking　out　of　the　windows　of　the　house。　　Then　he　carefully　crept　along　till　he　came　to　the　gate　post；　and　bending　down；　he　cautiously　peeped　round　to　see　if　he　could　detect　anyone　idling；　or　talking；　or　smoking。　　There　was　no　one　in　sight　except　old　Jack　Linden；　who　was　rubbing　down　the　lobby　doors　with　pumice…stone　and　water。　　Hunter　noiselessly　opened　the　gate　and　crept　quietly　along　the　grass　border　of　the　garden　path。　　His　idea　was　to　reach　the　front　door　without　being　seen；　so　that　Linden　could　not　give　notice　of　his　approach　to　those　within。　　In　this　he　succeeded　and　passed　silently　into　the　house。　　He　did　not　speak　to　Linden；　to　do　so　would　have　proclaimed　his　presence　to　the　rest。　　He　crawled　stealthily　over　the　house　but　was　disappointed　in　his　quest；　for　everyone　he　saw　was　hard　at　work。　　Upstairs　he　noticed　that　the　door　of　one　of　the　rooms　was　closed。

Old　Joe　Philpot　had　been　working　in　this　room　all　day；　washing　off　the　old　whitewash　from　the　ceiling　and　removing　the　old　papers　from　the　walls　with　a　broad　bladed；　square　topped　knife　called　a　stripper。　Although　it　was　only　a　small　room；　Joe　had　had　to　tear　into　the　work　pretty　hard　all　the　time；　for　the　ceiling　seemed　to　have　had　two　or　three　coats　of　whitewash　without　ever　having　been　washed　off；　and　there　were　several　thicknesses　of　paper　on　the　walls。　　The　difficulty　of　removing　these　papers　was　increased　by　the　fact　that　there　was　a　dado　which　had　been　varnished。　　In　order　to　get　this　off　it　had　been　necessary　to　soak　it　several　times　with　strong　soda　water；　and　although　Joe　was　as　careful　as　possible　he　had　not　been　able　to　avoid　getting　some　of　this　stuff　on　his　fingers。　　The　result　was　that　his　nails　were　all　burnt　and　discoloured　and　the　flesh　round　them　cracked　and　bleeding。　　However；　he　had　got　it　all　off　at　last；　and　he　was　not　sorry；　for　his　right　arm　and　shoulder　were　aching　from　the　prolonged　strain　and　in　the　palm　of　the　right　hand　there　was　a　blister　as　large　as　a　shilling；　caused　by　the　handle　of　the　stripping　knife。

All　the　old　paper　being　off；　Joe　washed　down　the　walls　with　water；　and　having　swept　the　paper　into　a　heap　in　the　middle　of　the　floor；　he　mixed　with　a　small　trowel　some　cement　on　a　small　board　and　proceeded　to　stop　up　the　cracks　and　holes　in　the　walls　and　ceiling。　　After　a　while；　feeling　very　tired；　it　occurred　to　him　that　he　deserved　a　spell　and　a　smoke　for　five　minutes。　　He　closed　the　door　and　placed　a　pair　of　steps　against　it。　　There　were　two　windows　in　the　room　almost　opposite　each　other；　these　he　opened　wide　in　order　that　the　smoke　and　smell　of　his　pipe　might　be　carried　away。　　Having　taken　these　precautions　against　surprise；　he　ascended　to　the　top　of　the　step　ladder　that　he　had　laid　against　the　door　and　sat　down　at　ease。　　Within　easy　reach　was　the　top　of　a　cupboard　where　he　had　concealed　a　pint　of　beer　in　a　bottle。　　To　this　he　now　applied　himself。　　Having　taken　a　long　pull　at　the　bottle；　he　tenderly　replaced　it　on　the　top　of　the　cupboard　and　proceeded　to　‘hinjoy'　a　quiet　smoke；　remarking　to　himself：

‘This　is　where　we　get　some　of　our　own　back。'

He　held；　however；　his　trowel　in　one　hand；　ready　for　immediate　action　in　case　of　interruption。

Philpot　was　about　fifty…five　years　old。　　He　wore　no　white　jacket；　only　an　old　patched　apron；　his　trousers　were　old；　very　soiled　with　paint　and　ragged　at　the　bottoms　of　the　legs　where　they　fell　over　the　much…patched；　broken　and　down…at…heel　boots。　　The　part　of　his　waistcoat　not　protected　by　his　apron　was　covered　with　spots　of　dried　paint。　　He　wore　a　coloured　shirt　and　a　‘dickey'　which　was　very　soiled　and　covered　with　splashes　of　paint；　and　one　side　of　it　was　projecting　from　the　opening　of　the　waistcoat。　　His　head　was　covered　with　an　old　cap；　heavy　and　shining　with　paint。　　He　was　very　thin　and　stooped　slightly。　　Although　he　was　really　only　fifty…five；　he　looked　much　older；　for　he　was　prematurely　aged。

He　had　not　been　getting　his　own　back　for　quite　five　minutes　when　Hunter　softly　turned　the　handle　of　the　lock。　　Philpot　immediately　put　out　his　pipe　and　descending　from　his　perch　opened　the　door。　　When　Hunter　entered　Philpot　closed　it　again　and；　mounting　the　steps；　went　on　stripping　the　wall　just　above。　　Nimrod　looked　at　him　suspiciously；　wondering　why　the　door　had　been　closed。　　He　looked　all　round　the　room　but　could　see　nothing　to　complain　of。　　He　sniffed　the　air　to　try　if　he　could　detect　the　odour　of　tobacco；　and　if　he　had　not　been　suffering　a　cold　in　the　head　there　is　no　doubt　that　he　would　have　perceived　it。　　However；　as　it　was　he　could　smell　nothing　but　all　the　same　he　was　not　quite　satisfied；　although　he　remembered　that　Crass　always　gave　Philpot　a　good　character。

‘I　don't　like　to　have　men　working　on　a　job　like　this　with　the　door　shut；'　he　said　at　length。　　‘It　always　gives　me　the　idear　that　the　man's　'avin　a　mike。　　You　can　do　what　you're　doin'　just　as　well　with　the　door　open。'

Philpot；　muttering　something　about　it　being　all　the　same　to　him　…　shut　or　open　…　got　down　from　the　steps　and　opened　the　door。　　Hunter　went　out　again　without　making　any　further　remark　and　once　more　began　crawling　over　the　house。

Owen　was　working　by　himself　in　a　room　on　the　same　floor　as　Philpot。　He　was　at　the　window；　burning　off　with　a　paraffin　torch…lamp　those　parts　of　the　old　paintwork　that　were　blistered　and　cracked。

In　this　work　the　flame　of　the　lamp　is　directed　against　the　old　paint；　which　becomes　soft　and　is　removed　with　a　chisel　knife；　or　a　scraper　called　a　shavehook。　　The　door　was　ajar　and　he　had　opened　the　top　sash　of　the　window　for　the　purpose　of　letting　in　some　fresh　air；　because　the　atmosphere　of　the　room　was　foul　with　the　fumes　of　the　lamp　and　the　smell　of　the　burning　paint；　besides　being　heavy　with　moisture。　The　ceiling　had　only　just　been　water　washed　and　the　walls　had　just　been　stripped。　　The　old　paper；　saturated　with　water；　was　piled　up　in　a　heap　in　the　middle　of　the　floor。

Presently；　as　he　was　working　he　began　to　feel　conscious　of　some　other　presence　in　the　room；　he　looked　round。　　The　door　was　open　about　six　inches　and　in　the　opening　appeared　a　long；　pale　face　with　a　huge　chin；　surmounted　by　a　bowler　hat　and　ornamented　with　a　large　red　nose；　a　drooping　moustache　and　two　small；　glittering　eyes　set　very　close　together。　　For　some　seconds　this　apparition　regarded　Owen　intently；　then　it　was　silently　withdrawn；　and　he　was　again　alone。　　He　had　been　so　surprised　and　startled　that　he　had　nearly　dropped　the　lamp；　and　now　that　the　ghastly　countenance　was　gone；　Owen　felt　the　blood　surge　into　his　own　cheeks。　　He　trembled　with　suppressed　fury　and　longed　to　be　able　to　go　out　there　on　the　landing　and　hurl　the　lamp　into　Hunter's　face。

Meanwhile；　on　the　landing　outside　Owen's　door；　Hunter　stood　thinking。　Someone　must　be　got　rid　of　to　make　room　for　the　cheap　man　tomorrow。　He　had　hoped　to　catch　somebody　doing　something　that　would　have　served　as　an　excuse　for　instant　dismissal；　but　there　was　now　no　hope　of　that　happening。　　What　was　to　be　done？　　He　would　like　to　get　rid　of　Linden；　who　was　now　really　too　old　to　be　of　much　use；　but　as　the　old　man　had　worked　for　Rushton　on　and　off　for　many　years；　Hunter　felt　that　he　could　scarcely　sack　him　off　hand　without　some　reasonable　pretext。　Still；　the　fellow　was　really　not　worth　the　money　　he　was　getting。　Sevenpence　an　hour　was　an　absurdly　large　wage　for　an　old　man　like　him。　It　was　preposterous：　he　would　have　to　go；　excuse　or　no　excuse。

Hunter　crawled　downstairs　again。

Jack　Linden　was　about　sixty…seven　years　old；　but　like　Philpot；　and　as　is　usual　with　working　men；　he　appeared　older；　because　he　had　had　to　work　very　hard　all　his　life；　frequently　without　proper　food　and　clothing。　　His　life　had　been　passed　in　the　midst　of　a　civilization　which　he　had　never　been　permitted　to　enjoy　the　benefits　of。　　But　of　course　he　knew　nothing　about　all　this。　　He　had　never　expected　or　wished　to　be　allowed　to　enjoy　such　things；　he　had　always　been　of　opinion　that　they　were　never　intended　for　the　likes　of　him。　　He　called　himself　a　Conservative　and　was　very　patriotic。

At　the　time　when　the　Boer　War　commenced；　Linden　was　an　enthusiastic　jingo：　his　enthusiasm　had　been　somewhat　damped　when　his　youngest　son；　a　reservist；　had　to　go　to　the　front；　where　he　died　of　fever　and　exposure。　　When　this　soldier　son　went　away；　he　left　his　wife　and　two　children；　aged　respectively　four　and　five　years　at　that　time；　in　his　father's　care。　　After　he　died　they　stayed　on　with　the　old　people。　　The　young　woman　earned　a　little　occasionally　by　doing　needlework；　but　was　really　dependent　on　her　father…in…law。　　Notwithstanding　his　poverty；　he　was　glad　to　have　them　in　the　house；　because　of　late　years　his　wife　had　been　getting　very　feeble；　and；　since　the　shock　occasioned　by　the　news　of　the　death　of　her　son；　needed　someone　constantly　with　her。

Linden　was　still