“Wot I mean,” said Slyme, “is that no man oughtn’t to marry till he’s saved up enough so as to ’ave some money in the bank; an’ another thing, I reckon a man oughtn’t to get married till ’e’s got an ’ouse of ’is own. It’s easy enough to buy one in a building society if you’re in reg’lar work.”
At this there was a general laugh.
“Why, you bloody fool,” said Harlow, scornfully, “most of us is walkin’ about ’arf our time. It’s all very well for you to talk; you’ve got almost a constant job on this firm. If they’re doin’ anything at all you’re one of the few gets a show in. And another thing,” he added with a sneer, “we don’t all go to the same chapel as old Misery,”
“Old Misery” was Ruston & Co.’s manager or walking foreman. “Misery” was only one of the nicknames bestowed upon him by the hands: he was also known as “Nimrod” and “Pontius Pilate”.
“And even if it’s not possible,” Harlow continued, winking at the others, “what’s a man to do during the years he’s savin’ up?”
“Well, he must conquer hisself,” said Slyme, getting red.
“Conquer hisself is right!” said Harlow and the others laughed again.
“Of course if a man tried to conquer hisself by his own strength,” replied Slyme, “’e would be sure to fail, but when you’ve got the Grace of God in you it’s different.”
“Chuck it, fer Christ’s sake!” said Harlow in a tone of disgust. “We’ve only just ’ad our dinner!”
“And wot about drink?” demanded old Joe Philpot, suddenly.