They were evidently in their stocking feet, and moved about without a sound, two of them being dimly seen by the lantern light to be carrying small kegs.
“Be keerful wi’ that lantern, Barker,” said the first speaker, who had evidently been drinking.
“Yes, I’m careful enough,” said the man; “but these nails and bits of metal are dreadful to the feet.”
“He, he, he!” laughed Slee, “we shall clear all them away soon. I’m glad I comed. I’m not the man to stay away when theer’s a job o’ this sort on. Look alive, Stocktle.”
“I’m looking alive enew,” said one of the men with the kegs; “but it seems a burning shame to spoil the owd place wheer we’ve made so many honest shillings.”
“None o’ your snivelling, Joe Stocktle,” exclaimed Sim Slee. “Don’t you come powering your warm watter on the powther. Is the place a-bringing you money now, or starving your missus and the bairns?”
“That’s a true word,” said the man, sulkily; and he placed his keg on the earth, beside one of the thick furnace walls, as Joe Banks, without another word, placed his there too, right in the centre of the building, where the great wall went up as a support to the various floors, close to the huge chimney-shaft, which was continued up a couple of hundred feet above the building.
“It’ll send the owd shaft down too,” said Sim; “and if we’re lucky, the place ’ll catch fire and blaze like owt.”
“Pray be quick, my lads; and we’d better go now,” whispered Barker. “Hush! wasn’t that a noise?”
“On’y an owd tom cat,” said Slee. “He lives here, and scarred me finely when I came for the bands. Yow can do wi’out us, now, Joe Banks?”