“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!”
“It must ’ave been a norrible death,” remarked Harlow.
“’Orrible ain’t the work for it, mate,” replied Philpot, mournfully. “It was something chronic!”
After this final heartrending appeal to Sweater’s humanity they returned to work, satisfied that, whatever the result of their efforts, they had done their best. They had placed the matter fully and fairly before him: nothing more could be said: the issue now rested entirely with him.
But it was all in vain. Sweater either did not or would not understand, and when he came downstairs he took no notice whatever of the cap which Philpot had placed so conspicuously in the centre of the landing floor.
Chapter 9
Who is to Pay?
Sweater reached the hall almost at the same moment that Rushton entered by the front door. They greeted each other in a friendly way and after a few remarks concerning the work that was being done, they went into the drawing-room where Owen and Easton were and Rushton said:
“What about this room? Have you made up your mind what you’re going to have done to it?”
“Yes,” replied Sweater; “but I’ll tell you about that afterwards. What I’m anxious about is the drains. Have you brought the plans?”