The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists Part 22

'Good morning, sir!'

'Good morning. They told me upstairs that I should find the foreman here. Are you the foreman?'

'Yes, sir.'

'I see you're getting on with the work here.'

'Ho yes sir, we're beginning to make a bit hov a show now, sir,'

replied Cra.s.s, speaking as if he had a hot potato in his mouth.

'Mr Rushton isn't here yet, I suppose?'

'No, sir: 'e don't horfun come hon the job hin the mornin, sir; 'e generally comes hafternoons, sir, but Mr 'Unter's halmost sure to be 'ere presently, sir.'

'It's Mr Rushton I want to see: I arranged to meet him here at ten o'clock; but'--looking at his watch--'I'm rather before my time.'

'He'll be here presently, I suppose,' added Mr Sweater. 'I'll just take a look round till he comes.'

'Yes, sir,' responded Cra.s.s, walking behind him obsequiously as he went out of the room.

Hoping that the gentleman might give him a s.h.i.+lling, Cra.s.s followed him into the front hall and began explaining what progress had so far been made with the work, but as Mr Sweater answered only by monosyllables and grunts, Cra.s.s presently concluded that his conversation was not appreciated and returned to the kitchen.

Meantime, upstairs, Philpot had gone into Newman's room and was discussing with him the possibility of extracting from Mr Sweater the price of a little light refreshment.

'I think,' he remarked, 'that we oughter see-ise this 'ere tuneropperty to touch 'im for an allowance.'

'We won't git nothin' out of 'IM, mate,' returned Newman. ''E's a red-'ot teetotaller.'

'That don't matter. 'Ow's 'e to know that we buys beer with it? We might 'ave tea, or ginger ale, or lime-juice and glycerine for all 'e knows!'

Mr Sweater now began ponderously re-ascending the stairs and presently came into the room where Philpot was. The latter greeted him with respectful cordiality:

'Good morning, sir.'

'Good morning. You've begun painting up here, then.'

'Yes, sir, we've made a start on it,' replied Philpot, affably.

'Is this door wet?' asked Sweater, glancing apprehensively at the sleeve of his coat.

'Yes, sir,' answered Philpot, and added, as he looked meaningly at the great man, 'the paint is wet, sir, but the PAINTERS is dry.'

'Confound it!' exclaimed Sweater, ignoring, or not hearing the latter part of Philpot's reply. 'I've got some of the beastly stuff on my coat sleeve.'

'Oh, that's nothing, sir,' cried Philpot, secretly delighted. 'I'll get that orf for yer in no time. You wait just 'arf a mo!'

He had a piece of clean rag in his tool bag, and there was a can of turps in the room. Moistening the rag slightly with turps he carefully removed the paint from Sweater's sleeve.

'It's all orf now, sir,' he remarked, as he rubbed the place with a dry part of the rag. 'The smell of the turps will go away in about a hour's time.'

'Thanks,' said Sweater.

Philpot looked at him wistfully, but Sweater evidently did not understand, and began looking about the room.

'I see they've put a new piece of skirting here,' he observed.

'Yes, sir,' said Newman, who came into the room just then to get the turps. 'The old piece was all to bits with dry-rot.'

'I feel as if I 'ad a touch of the dry-rot meself, don't you?' said Philpot to Newman, who smiled feebly and cast a sidelong glance at Sweater, who did not appear to notice the significance of the remark, but walked out of the room and began climbing up to the next floor, where Harlow and Sawkins were working.

'Well, there's a bleeder for yer!' said Philpot with indignation.

'After all the trouble I took to clean 'is coat! Not a b.l.o.o.d.y stiver!

Well, it takes the cake, don't it?'

'I told you 'ow it would be, didn't I?' replied Newman.

'P'raps I didn't make it plain enough,' said Philpot, thoughtfully. 'We must try to get some of our own back somehow, you know.'

Going out on the landing he called softly upstairs.

'I say, Harlow.'

'Hallo,' said that individual, looking over the banisters.

''Ow are yer getting on up there?'

'Oh, all right, you know.'

'Pretty dry job, ain't it?' Philpot continued, raising his voice a little and winking at Harlow.

'Yes, it is, rather,' replied Harlow with a grin.

'I think this would be a very good time to take up the collection, don't you?'

'Yes, it wouldn't be a bad idear.'

'Well, I'll put me cap on the stairs,' said Philpot, suiting the action to the word. 'You never knows yer luck. Things is gettin' a bit serious on this floor, you know; my mate's fainted away once already!'

Philpot now went back to his room to await developments: but as Sweater made no sign, he returned to the landing and again hailed Harlow.

'I always reckon a man can work all the better after 'e's 'ad a drink: you can seem to get over more of it, like.'

'Oh, that's true enough,' responded Harlow. 'I've often noticed it meself.'

Sweater came out of the front bedroom and pa.s.sed into one of the back rooms without any notice of either of the men.

'I'm afraid it's a frost, mate,' Harlow whispered, and Philpot, shaking his head sadly, returned to work; but in a little while he came out again and once more accosted Harlow.

'I knowed a case once,' he said in a melancholy tone, 'where a chap died--of thirst--on a job just like this; and at the inquest the doctor said as 'arf a pint would 'a saved 'im!'