The men were all working as fast as they could move, some of them shovelling the materials into the mixer, others running the machine, others wheeling the wet concrete in iron barrows to the men at the edge of the cellar who tamped it down as fast as it was poured into the narrow space that defined the growing wall.
“When it is full, way up to the top, what happens next?” Dorothy inquired of Mr. Anderson who came over to where they were standing.
“Then we’re going to build on it a three foot wall of concrete blocks to support the upper part of the house.”
“That’s the wall that has the cellar windows in it?”
“Yes.”
“Then do make good big ones; Mother likes a bright cellar,” urged Dorothy.
“We’re going to make her a beauty,” promised the contractor. “Come up into your garden now and let’s get this concrete work up there done. Here, Luigi,” he called to an Italian, “bring us a load of concrete over there,” and he waved his hand in the direction of the spot where Patrick had dug the hole for the tub.
They all examined the hole with care and the Ethels fitted in the tub and found that their digger had done his work skilfully, since there were just about three inches between the earth and the tub all around. They pulled the tub out again and under Mr. Anderson’s direction they greased it thoroughly.
“We want to do every bit we can ourselves,” they insisted when he suggested that Luigi might do that part for them.
“Don’t forget the hole for the drainage,” he reminded them. “Have you got your stick? And on which side are you going to have that?”