“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 bloody 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?”