“I don’t suppose they’ll have much difficulty in getting a couple of chaps.”
“No, you’re right, mate. There’s plenty of ’em walkin’ about as a week’s work would be a Gordsend to.”
“Come to think of it,” continued Newman after a pause, “I believe the firm used to give all their blind work to old Latham, the venetian blind maker. Prap’s they’ll give ’im this lot to do.”
“Very likely,” replied Philpot, “I should think ’e can do ’em cheaper even than us chaps, and that’s all the firm cares about.”
How far their conjectures were fulfilled will appear later.
Shortly after Bert was gone it became so dark that it was necessary to light the candles, and Philpot remarked that although he hated working under such conditions, yet he was always glad when lighting up time came, because then knocking off time was not very far behind.
About five minutes to five, just as they were all putting their things away for the night, Nimrod suddenly appeared in the house. He had come hoping to find some of them ready dressed to go home before the proper time. Having failed in this laudable enterprise, he stood silently by himself for some seconds in the drawing-room. This was a spacious and lofty apartment with a large semicircular bay window. Round the ceiling was a deep cornice. In the semi-darkness the room appeared to be of even greater proportions than it really was. After standing thinking in this room for a little while, Hunter turned and strode out to the kitchen, where the men were preparing to go home. Owen was taking off his blouse and apron as the other entered. Hunter addressed him with a malevolent snarl:
“You can call at the office tonight as you go home.”
Owen’s heart seemed to stop beating. All the petty annoyances he had endured from Hunter rushed into his memory, together with what Easton had told him that morning. He stood, still and speechless, holding his apron in his hand and staring at the manager.
“What for?” he ejaculated at length. “What’s the matter?”