the ragged trousered philanthropists-第7章

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Linden　was　still　working　at　the　vestibule　doors　when　the　manager　came　downstairs。　　Misery　stood　watching　him　for　some　minutes　without　speaking。　　At　last　he　said　loudly：

‘How　much　longer　are　you　going　to　be　messing　about　those　doors？　　Why　don't　you　get　them　under　colour？　　You　were　fooling　about　there　when　I　was　here　this　morning。　　Do　you　think　it'll　pay　to　have　you　playing　about　there　hour　after　hour　with　a　bit　of　pumice　stone？　　Get　the　work　done！　　Or　if　you　don't　want　to；　I'll　very　soon　find　someone　else　who　does！　　I've　been　noticing　your　style　of　doing　things　for　some　time　past　and　I　want　you　to　understand　that　you　can't　play　the　fool　with　me。　　There's　plenty　of　better　men　than　you　walking　about。　　If　you　can't　do　more　than　you've　been　doing　lately　you　can　clear　out；　we　can　do　without　you　even　when　we're　busy。'

Old　Jack　trembled。　　He　tried　to　answer；　but　was　unable　to　speak。　　If　he　had　been　a　slave　and　had　failed　to　satisfy　his　master；　the　latter　might　have　tied　him　up　somewhere　and　thrashed　him。　　Hunter　could　not　do　that；　he　could　only　take　his　food　away。　　Old　Jack　was　frightened　…　it　was　not　only　HIS　food　that　might　be　taken　away。　　At　last；　with　a　great　effort；　for　the　words　seemed　to　stick　in　his　throat；　he　said：

‘I　must　clean　the　work　down；　sir；　before　I　go　on　painting。'

‘I'm　not　talking　about　what　you're　doing；　but　the　time　it　takes　you　to　do　it！'　shouted　Hunter。　　‘And　I　don't　want　any　back　answers　or　argument　about　it。　　You　must　move　yourself　a　bit　quicker　or　leave　it　alone　altogether。'

Linden　did　not　answer：　he　went　on　with　his　work；　his　hand　trembling　to　such　an　extent　that　he　was　scarcely　able　to　hold　the　pumice　stone。

Hunter　shouted　so　loud　that　his　voice　filled　all　the　house。　　Everyone　heard　and　was　afraid。　　Who　would　be　the　next？　they　thought。

Finding　that　Linden　made　no　further　answer；　Misery　again　began　walking　about　the　house。

As　he　looked　at　them　the　men　did　their　work　in　a　nervous；　clumsy；　hasty　sort　of　way。　　They　made　all　sorts　of　mistakes　and　messes。　Payne；　the　foreman　carpenter；　was　putting　some　new　boards　on　a　part　of　the　drawing…room　floor：　he　was　in　such　a　state　of　panic　that；　while　driving　a　nail；　he　accidentally　struck　the　thumb　of　his　left　hand　a　severe　blow　with　his　hammer。　　Bundy　was　also　working　in　the　drawing…　room　putting　some　white…glazed　tiles　in　the　fireplace。　　Whilst　cutting　one　of　these　in　half　in　order　to　fit　it　into　its　place；　he　inflicted　a　deep　gash　on　one　of　his　fingers。　　He　was　afraid　to　leave　off　to　bind　it　up　while　Hunter　was　there；　and　consequently　as　he　worked　the　white　tiles　became　all　smeared　and　spattered　with　blood。　　Easton；　who　was　working　with　Harlow　on　a　plank；　washing　off　the　old　distemper　from　the　hall　ceiling；　was　so　upset　that　he　was　scarcely　able　　to　stand　on　the　plank；　and　presently　the　brush　fell　from　his　trembling　hand　with　a　crash　upon　the　floor。

Everyone　was　afraid。　　They　knew　that　it　was　impossible　to　get　a　job　for　any　other　firm。　　They　knew　that　this　man　had　the　power　to　deprive　them　of　the　means　of　earning　a　living；　that　he　possessed　the　power　to　deprive　their　children　of　bread。

Owen；　listening　to　Hunter　over　the　banisters　upstairs；　felt　that　he　would　like　to　take　him　by　the　throat　with　one　hand　and　smash　his　face　in　with　the　other。

And　then？

Why　then　he　would　be　sent　to　gaol；　or　at　the　best　he　would　lose　his　employment：　his　food　and　that　of　his　family　would　be　taken　away。　　That　was　why　he　only　ground　his　teeth　and　cursed　and　beat　the　wall　with　his　clenched　fist。　　So！　and　so！　and　so！

If　it　were　not　for　them！

Owen's　imagination　ran　riot。

First　he　would　seize　him　by　the　collar　with　his　left　hand；　dig　his　knuckles　into　his　throat；　force　him　up　against　the　wall　and　then；　with　his　right　fist；　smash！　smash！　smash！　until　Hunter's　face　was　all　cut　and　covered　with　blood。

But　then；　what　about　those　at　home？　　Was　it　not　braver　and　more　manly　to　endure　in　silence？

Owen　leaned　against　the　wall；　white…faced；　panting　and　exhausted。

Downstairs；　Misery　was　still　going　to　and　fro　in　the　house　and　walking　up　and　down　in　it。　　Presently　he　stopped　to　look　at　Sawkins'　work。　This　man　was　painting　the　woodwork　of　the　back　staircase。　　Although　the　old　paintwork　here　was　very　dirty　and　greasy；　Misery　had　given　orders　that　it　was　not　to　be　cleaned　before　being　painted。

‘Just　dust　it　down　and　slobber　the　colour　on；'　he　had　said。　Consequently；　when　Crass　made　the　paint；　he　had　put　into　it　an　extra　large　quantity　of　dryers。　　To　a　certain　extent　this　destroyed　the　‘body'　of　the　colour：　it　did　not　cover　well；　it　would　require　two　coats。　　When　Hunter　perceived　this　he　was　furious。　　He　was　sure　it　could　be　made　to　do　with　one　coat　with　a　little　care；　he　believed　Sawkins　was　doing　it　like　this　on　purpose。　　Really；　these　men　seemed　to　have　no　conscience。

Two　coats！　and　he　had　estimated　for　only　three。

‘Crass！'

‘Yes；　sir。'

‘Come　here！'

‘Yes；　sir。'

Crass　came　hurrying　along。

‘What's　the　meaning　of　this？　　Didn't　I　tell　you　to　make　this　do　with　one　coat？　　Look　at　it！'

‘It's　like　this；　sir；'　said　Crass。　　‘If　it　had　been　washed　down　…'

‘Washed　down　be　damned；'　shouted　Hunter。　　‘The　reason　is　that　the　colour　ain't　thick　enough。　　Take　the　paint　and　put　a　little　more　body　in　it　and　we'll　soon　see　whether　it　can　be　done　or　not。　　I　can　make　it　cover　if　you　can't。'

Crass　took　the　paint；　and；　superintended　by　Hunter；　made　it　thicker。　Misery　then　seized　the　brush　and　prepared　to　demonstrate　the　possibility　of　finishing　the　work　with　one　coat。　　Crass　and　Sawkins　looked　on　in　silence。

Just　as　Misery　was　about　to　commence　he　fancied　he　heard　someone　whispering　somewhere。　　He　laid　down　the　brush　and　crawled　stealthily　upstairs　to　see　who　it　was。　　Directly　his　back　was　turned　Crass　seized　a　bottle　of　oil　that　was　standing　near　and；　tipping　about　half　a　pint　of　it　into　the　paint；　stirred　it　up　quickly。　　Misery　returned　almost　immediately：　he　had　not　caught　anyone；　it　must　have　been　fancy。　　He　took　up　the　brush　and　began　to　paint。　　The　result　was　worse　than　Sawkins！

He　messed　and　fooled　about　for　some　time；　but　could　not　make　it　come　right。　　At　last　he　gave　it　up。

‘I　suppose　it'll　have　to　have　two　coats　after　all；'　he　said；　mournfully。　　‘But　it's　a　thousand　pities。'

He　almost　wept。

The　firm　would　be　ruined　if　things　went　on　like　this。

‘You'd　better　go　on　with　it；'　he　said　as　he　laid　down　the　brush。

He　began　to　walk　about　the　house　again。　　He　wanted　to　go　away　now；　but　he　did　not　want　them　to　know　that　he　was　gone；　so　he　sneaked　out　of　the　back　door；　crept　around　the　house　and　out　of　the　gate；　mounted　his　bicycle　and　rode　away。

No　one　saw　him　go。

For　some　time　the　only　sounds　that　broke　the　silence　were　the　noises　made　by　the　hands　as　they　worked。　　The　musical　ringing　of　Bundy's　trowel；　the　noise　of　the　carpenters'　hammers　and　saws　and　the　occasional　moving　of　a　pair　of　steps。

No　one　dared　to　speak。

At　last　Philpot　could　stand　it　no　longer。　　He　was　very　thirsty。

He　had　kept　the　door　of　his　room　open　since　Hunter　arrived。

He　listened　intently。　　He　felt　certain　that　Hunter　must　be　gone：　he　looked　across　the　landing　and　could　see　Owen　working　in　the　front　room。　　Philpot　made　a　little　ball　of　paper　and　threw　it　at　him　to　attract　his　attention。　　Owen　looked　round　and　Philpot　began　to　make　signals：　he　pointed　downwards　with　one　hand　and　jerked　the　thumb　of　the　other　over　his　shoulder　in　the　direction　of　the　town；　winking　grotesquely　the　while。　　This　Owen　interpreted　to　be　an　inquiry　as　to　whether　Hunter　had　departed。　　He　shook　his　head　and　shrugged　his　shoulders　to　intimate　that　he　did　not　know。

Philpot　cautiously　crossed　the　landing　and　peeped　furtively　over　the　banisters；　listening　breathlessly。　　‘Was　it　gorn　or　not？'　he　wondered。

He　crept　along　on　tiptoe　towards　Owen's　room；　glancing　left　and　right；　the　trowel　in　his　hand；　and　looking　like　a　stage　murderer。　　‘Do　you　think　it's　gorn？'　he　asked　in　a　hoarse　whisper　when　he　reached　Owen's　door。

‘I　don't　know；'　replied　Owen　in　a　low　tone。

Philpot　wondered。　　He　MUST　have　a　drink；　but　it　would　never　do　for　Hunter　to　see　him　with　the　bottle：　he　must　find　out　somehow　whether　he　was　gone　or　not。

At　last　an　idea　came。　　He　would　go　downstairs　to　get　some　more　cement。　Having　confided　this　plan　to　Owen；　he　crept　quietly　back　to　the　room　in　which　he　had　been　working；　then　he　walked　noisily　across　the　landing　again。

‘Got　a　bit　of　stopping　to　spare；　Frank？'　he　asked　in　a　loud　voice。

‘No；'　replied　Owen。　　‘I'm　not　using　it。'

‘Then　I　suppose　I'll　have　to　go　down　and　get　some。　　Is　there　anything　I　can　bring　up　for　you？'

‘No；　thanks；'　replied　Owen。

Philpot　marched　boldly　down　to　the　scullery；　which　Crass　had　utilized　as　a　paint…shop。　　Crass　was　there　mixing　some　colour。

‘I　want　a　bit　of　stopping；'　Philpot　said　as　he　helped　himself　to　some。

‘Is　the　br　gorn？'　whispered　Crass。

‘I　don't　know；'　replied　Philpot。　　‘Where's　his　bike？'

‘'E　always　leaves　it　outside　the　gate；　so's　we　can't　see　it；'　replied　Crass。

‘Tell　you　what；'　whispered　Philpot；　after　a　pause。　　‘Give　the　boy　a　hempty　bottle　and　let　'im　go　to　the　gate　and　look　to　the　bikes　there。　If　Misery　sees　him　'e　can　pretend　to　be　goin'　to　the　shop　for　some　hoil。'

This　was　done。　　Bert　went　to　the　gate　and　returned　almost　immediately：　the　bike　was　gone。　　As　the　good　news　spread　through　the　house　a　chorus　of　thanksgiving　burst　forth。

‘Thank　Gord！'　said　one。

‘Hope　the　br　falls　orf　and　breaks　'is　bloody　neck；'　said　another。

‘These　Bible…thumpers　are　all　the　same；　no　one　ever　knew　one　to　be　any　good　yet；'　cried　a　third。

Directly　they　knew　for　certain　that　he　was　gone；　nearly　everyone　left　off　work　for　a　few　minutes　to　curse　him。　　　Then　they　again　went　on　working　and　now　that　they　were　relieved　of　the　embarrassment　that　Misery's　presence　inspired；　they　made　better　progress。　　A　few　of　them　lit　their　pipes　and　smoked　as　they　worked。

One　of　these　was　old　Jack　Linden。　　He　was　upset　by　the　bullying　he　had　received；　and　when　he　noticed　some　of　the　others　smoking　he　thought　he　would　have　a　pipe；　it　might　steady　his　nerves。　　As　a　rule　he　did　not　smoke　when　working；　it　was　contrary　to　orders。

As　Philpot　was　returning　to　work　again　he　paused　for　a　moment　to　whisper　to　Linden；　with　the　result　that　the　latter　accompanied　him　upstairs。

On　reaching　Philpot's　room　the　latter　placed　the　step…ladder　near　the　cupboard　and；　taking　down　the　bottle　of　beer；　handed　it　to　Linden　with　the　remark；　‘Get　some　of　that　acrost　yer；　matey；　it'll　put　yer　right。'

While　Linden　was　taking　a　hasty　drink；　Joe　kept　watch　on　the　landing　outside　in　case　Hunter　should　suddenly　and　unexpectedly　reappear。

When　Linden　was　gone　downstairs　again；　Philpot；　having　finished　what　remained　of　the　beer　and　hidden　the　bottle　up　the　chimney；　resumed　the　work　of　stopping　up　the　holes　and　cracks　in　the　ceiling　and　walls。　　He　must　make　a　bit　of　a　show　tonight　or　there　would　be　a　hell　of　a　row　when　Misery　came　in　the　morning。

Owen　worked　on　in　a　disheartened；　sullen　way。　　He　felt　like　a　beaten　dog。

He　was　more　indignant　on　poor　old　Linden's　account　than　on　his　own；　and　was　oppressed　by　a　sense　of　impotence　and　shameful　degradation。

All　his　life　it　had　been　the　same：　incessant　work　under　similar　more　or　less　humiliating　c