Barrington, who seldom spoke and was an ideal listener, was appropriated by several men in succession, who each told him a different yarn. There was one man sitting on an up-ended pail in the far corner of the room and it was evident from the movements of his lips that he also was relating a story, although nobody knew what it was about or heard a single word of it, for no one took the slightest notice of him...
When the uproar had subsided Harlow remembered the case of a family whose house got into such a condition that the landlord had given them notice and the father had committed suicide because the painters had come to turn ’em out of house and home. There were a man, his wife and daughter—a girl about seventeen—living in the house, and all three of ’em used to drink like hell. As for the woman, she COULD shift it and no mistake! Several times a day she used to send the girl with a jug to the pub at the corner. When the old man was out, one could have anything one liked to ask for from either of ’em for half a pint of beer, but for his part, said Harlow, he could never fancy it. They were both too ugly.
The finale of this tale was received with a burst of incredulous laughter by those who heard it.
“Do you ’ear what Harlow says, Bob?” Easton shouted to Crass.
“No. What was it?”
“’E ses ’e once ’ad a chance to ’ave something but ’e wouldn’t take it on because it was too ugly!”
“If it ’ad bin me, I should ’ave shut me bl—y eyes,” cried Sawkins. “I wouldn’t pass it for a trifle like that.”
“No,” said Crass amid laughter, “and you can bet your life ’e didn’t lose it neither, although ’e tries to make ’imself out to be so innocent.”
“I always though old Harlow was a bl—y liar,” remarked Bundy, “but now we knows ’e is.”
Although everyone pretended to disbelieve him, Harlow stuck to his version of the story.