the ragged trousered philanthropists-第8节

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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glittering　eyes　set　very　close　together。　　For　some　seconds　this　apparition　regarded　Owen　intently；　then　it　was　silently　withdrawn；　and　he　was　again　alone。　　He　had　been　so　surprised　and　startled　that　he　had　nearly　dropped　the　lamp；　and　now　that　the　ghastly　countenance　was　gone；　Owen　felt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　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。