The Slaughter
During the afternoon, Rushton and Sweater visited the house, the latter
having an appointment to meet there a gardener to whom he wished to
give instructions concerning the laying out of the grounds, which had
been torn up for the purpose of putting in the new drains. Sweater had
already arranged with the head gardener of the public park to steal
some of the best plants from that place and have them sent up to “The
Cave”. These plants had been arriving in small lots for about a week.
They must have been brought there either in the evening after the men
left off or very early in the morning before they came. The two
gentlemen remained at the house for about half an hour and as they went
away the mournful sound of the Town Hall bell—which was always tolled
to summon meetings of the Council—was heard in the distance, and the
hands remarked to each other that another robbery was about to be
perpetrated.
Hunter did not come to the job again that day: he had been sent by
Rushton to price some work for which the firm was going to tender an
estimate. There was only one person who felt any regret at his absence,
and that was Mrs White—Bert’s mother, who had been working at “The
Cave” for several days, scrubbing the floors. As a rule, Hunter paid
her wages every night, and on this occasion she happened to need the
money even more than usual. As leaving off time drew near, she
mentioned the matter to Crass, who advised her to call at the office on
her way home and ask the young lady clerk for the money. As Hunter did
not appear, she followed the foreman’s advice.
When she reached the shop Rushton was just coming out. She explained to
him what she wanted and he instructed Mr Budd to tell Miss Wade to pay
her. The shopman accordingly escorted her to the office at the back of
the shop, and the young lady book-keeper—after referring to former
entries to make quite certain of the amount, paid her the sum that
Hunter had represented as her wages, the same amount that Miss Wade had
on the previous occasions given him to pay the charwoman. When Mrs
White got outside she found that she held in her hand half a crown
instead of the two shillings she usually received from Mr Hunter. At
first she felt inclined to take it back, but after some hesitation she
thought it better to wait until she saw Hunter, when she could tell him
about it; but the next morning when she saw the disciple at “The Cave”
he broached the subject first, and told her that Miss Wade had made a
mistake. And that evening when he paid her, he deducted the sixpence
from the usual two shillings.
The lecture announced by Philpot was not delivered. Anxiously awaiting
the impending slaughter the men kept tearing into it as usual, for they
generally keep working in the usual way, each one trying to outdo the
others so as not to lose his chance of being one of the lucky ones...
Misery now went round and informed all the men with the exception of
Crass, Owen, Slyme and Sawkins—that they would have to stand off that
night. He told them that the firm had several jobs in view—work they
had tendered for and hoped to get, and said they could look round after
Christmas and he might—possibly—be able to start some of them again.
They would be paid at the office tomorrow—Saturday—at one o’clock as
usual, but if any of them wished they could have their money tonight.
The men thanked him, and most of them said they would come for their
wages at the usual pay-time, and would call round as he suggested,
after the holidays, to see if there was anything to do.
In all, fifteen men—including Philpot, Harlow, Easton and Ned Dawson,
were to “stand off” that night. They took their dismissal stolidly,
without any remark, some of them even with an affectation of
indifference, but there were few attempts at conversation afterwards.
The little work that remained to be done they did in silence, every man
oppressed by the same terror—the dread of the impending want, the
privation and unhappiness that they knew they and their families would
have to suffer during the next few months.
Bundy and his mate Dawson were working in the kitchen fixing the new
range in place of the old one which they had taken out. They had been
engaged on this job all day, and their hands and faces and clothes were
covered with soot, which they had also contrived to smear and dab all
over the surfaces of the doors and other woodwork in the room, much to
the indignation of Crass and Slyme, who had to wash it all off before
they could put on the final coat of paint.
“You can’t help makin’ a little mess on a job of this kind, you know,”
remarked Bundy, as he was giving the finishing touches to the work,
making good the broken parts of the wall with cement, whilst his mate
was clearing away the debris.
“Yes; but there’s no need to claw “old of the bloody doors every time
you goes in and out,” snarled Crass, “and you could ’ave put yer tools
on the floor instead of makin’ a bench of the dresser.”
“You can ’ave the bloody place all to yerself in about five minutes,”
replied Bundy, as he assisted to lift a sack of cement weighing about
two hundredweight on to Dawson’s back. “We’re finished now.”
When they had cleared away all the dirt and fragments of bricks and
mortar, while Crass and Slyme proceeded with the painting, Bundy and
Dawson loaded up their hand-cart with the old range and the bags of
unused cement and plaster, which they took back to the yard. Meantime,
Misery was wandering about the house and gounds like an evil spirit
seeking rest and finding none. He stood for some time gloomily watching
the four gardeners, who were busily at work laying strips of turf,
mowing the lawn, rolling the gravel paths and trimming the trees and
bushes. The boy Bert, Philpot, Harlow, Easton and Sawkins were loading
a hand-cart with ladders and empty paint-pots to return to the yard.
Just as they were setting out, Misery stopped them, remarking that the
cart was not half loaded—he said it would take a month to get all the
stuff away if they went on like that; so by his directions they placed
another long ladder on top of the pile and once more started on their
way, but before they had gone two dozen yards one of the wheels of the
cart collapsed and the load was scattered over the roadway. Bert was at
the same side of the cart as the wheel that broke and he was thrown
violently to the ground, where he lay half stunned, in the midst of the
ladders and planks. When they got him out they were astonished to find
that, thanks to the special Providence that watches over all small
boys, he was almost unhurt—just a little dazed, that was all; and by
the time Sawkins returned with another cart, Bert was able to help to
gather up the fallen paint-pots and to accompany the men with the load
to the yard. At the corner of the road they paused to take a last look
at the “job”.
“There it stands!” said Harlow, tragically, extending his arm towards
the house. “There it stands! A job that if they’d only have let us do
it properly, couldn’t ’ave been done with the number of ’ands we’ve
’ad, in less than four months; and there it is, finished, messed up,
slobbered over and scamped, in nine weeks!”
“Yes, and now we can all go to ’ell,” said Philpot, gloomily.
At the yard they found Bundy and his mate, Ned Dawson, who helped them
to hang up the ladders in their usual places. Philpot was glad to get
out of assisting to do this, for he had contracted a rather severe
attack of rheumatism when working outside at the “Cave”. Whilst the
others were putting the ladders away he assisted Bert to carry the
paint-pots and buckets into the paint shop, and while there he filled a
small medicine bottle he had brought with him for the purpose, with
turpentine from the tank. He wanted this stuff to rub into his
shoulders and legs, and as he secreted the bottle in the inner pocket
of his coat, he muttered: “This is where we gets some of our own back.”
They took the key of the yard to the office and as they separated to go
home Bundy suggested that the best thing they could do would be to sew
their bloody mouths up for a few months, because there was not much
probability of their getting another job until about March.
The next morning while Crass and Slyme were finishing inside, Owen
wrote the two gates. On the front entrance “The Cave” and on the back
“Tradesmens Entrance”, in gilded letters. In the meantime, Sawkins and
Bert made several journeys to the Yard with the hand-cart.
Crass—working in the kitchen with Slyme—was very silent and thoughtful.
Ever since the job was started, every time Mr Sweater had visited the
house to see what progress was being made, Crass had been grovelling to
him in the hope of receiving a tip when the work was finished. He had
been very careful to act upon any suggestions that Sweater had made
from time to time and on several occasions had taken a lot of trouble
to get just the right tints of certain colours, making up a number of
different shades and combinations, and doing parts of the skirtings or
mouldings of rooms in order that Mr Sweater might see exactly—before
they went on with it—what it would look like when finished. He made a
great pretence of deferring to Sweater’s opinion, and assured him that
he did not care how much trouble he took as long as he—Sweater—was
pleased. In fact, it was no trouble at all: it was a pleasure. As the
work neared completion, Crass began to speculate upon the probable
amount of the donation he would receive as the reward of nine weeks of
cringing, fawning, abject servility. He thought it quite possible that
he might get a quid: it would not be too much, considering all the
trouble he had taken. It was well worth it. At any rate, he felt
certain that he was sure to get ten bob; a gentleman like Mr Sweater
would never have the cheek to offer less. The more he thought about it
the more improbable it appeared that the amount would be less than a
quid, and he made up his mind that whatever he got he would take good
care that none of the other men knew anything about it. HE was the one
who had had all the worry of the job, and he was the only one entitled
to anything there was to be had. Besides, even if he got a quid, by the
time you divided that up amongst a dozen—or even amongst two or
three—it would not be worth having.
At about eleven o’clock Mr Sweater arrived and began to walk over the
house, followed by Crass, who carried a pot of paint and a small brush
and made believe to be “touching up” and finishing off parts of the
work. As Sweater went from one room to another Crass repeatedly placed
himself in the way in the hope of being spoken to, but Sweater took no
notice of him whatever. Once or twice Crass’s heart began to beat
quickly as he furtively watched the great man and saw him thrust his
thumb and finger into his waistcoat pocket, but on each occasion
Sweater withdrew his hand with nothing in it. After a while, observing
that the gentleman was about to depart without having spoken, Crass
determined to break the ice himself.
“It’s a little better weather we’re ’avin’ now, sir.”
“Yes,” replied Sweater.
“I was beginnin’ to be afraid as I shouldn’t be hable to git
heverything finished in time for you to move in before Christmas, sir,”
Crass continued, “but it’s hall done now, sir.”
Sweater made no reply.
“I’ve kept the fire agoin’ in hall the rooms has you told me, sir,”
resumed Crass after a pause. “I think you’ll find as the place is nice
and dry, sir; the honly places as is a bit damp is the kitchen and
scullery and the other rooms in the basement, sir, but of course that’s
nearly halways the case, sir, when the rooms is partly hunderground,
sir.
“But of course it don’t matter so much about the basement, sir, because
it’s honly the servants what ’as to use it, sir, and even down there
it’ll be hall right hin the summer, sir.”
One would scarcely think, from the contemptuous way in which he spoke
of “servants” that Crass’s own daughter was “in service”, but such was
the case.
“Oh, yes, there’s no doubt about that,” replied Sweater as he moved
towards the door; “there’s no doubt it will be dry enough in the
summer. Good morning.”
“Good morning to YOU, sir,” said Crass, following him. “I ’opes as
you’re pleased with all the work, sir; everything satisfactory, sir.”
“Oh, yes. I think it looks very nice; very nice indeed; I’m very
pleased with it,” said Sweater affably. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, sir,” replied the foreman with a sickly smile as Sweater
departed.
When the other was gone, Crass sat down dejectedly on the bottom step
of the stairs, overwhelmed with the ruin of his hopes and expectations.
He tried to comfort himself with the reflection that all hope was not
lost, because he would have to come to the house again on Monday and
Tuesday to fix the venetian blinds; but all the same he could not help
thinking that it was only a very faint hope, for he felt that if
Sweater had intended giving anything he would have done so today; and
it was very improbable that he would see Sweater on Monday or Tuesday
at all, for the latter did not usually visit the job in the early part
of the week. However, Crass made up his mind to hope for the best, and,
pulling himself together, he presently returned to the kitchen, where
he found Slyme and Sawkins waiting for him. He had not mentioned his
hopes of a tip to either of them, but they did not need any telling and
they were both determined to have their share of whatever he got. They
eyed him keenly as he entered.
“What did ’e give yer?” demanded Sawkins, going straight to the point.
“Give me?” replied Crass. “Nothing!”
Slyme laughed in a sneering, incredulous way, but Sawkins was inclined
to be abusive. He averred that he had been watching Crass and Sweater
and had seen the latter put his thumb and finger into his waistcoat
pocket as he walked into the dining-room, followed by Crass. It took
the latter a long time to convince his two workmates of the truth of
his own account, but he succeeded at last, and they all three agreed
that Old Sweater was a sanguinary rotter, and they lamented over the
decay of the good old-fashioned customs.
“Why, at one time o’ day,” said Crass, “only a few years ago, if you
went to a gentleman’s ’ouse to paint one or two rooms you could always
be sure of a bob or two when you’d finished.”
By half past twelve everything was squared up, and, having loaded up
the hand-cart with all that remained of the materials, dirty paint-pots
and plant, they all set out together for the yard, to put all the
things away before going to the office for their money. Sawkins took
the handle of the cart, Slyme and Crass walked at one side and Owen and
Bert at the other. There was no need to push, for the road was downhill
most of the way; so much so that they had all to help to hold back the
cart, which travelled so rapidly that Bert found it difficult to keep
pace with the others and frequently broke into a trot to recover lost
ground, and Crass—being fleshy and bloated with beer, besides being
unused to much exertion—began to perspire and soon appealed to the
others not to let it go so fast—there was no need to get done before
one o’clock.