They both replied to the affirmative.
“I’ve never worked under price yet,” added Harlow.
“Nor me neither,” observed Philpot.
“Well, of course you can please yourselves,” Hunter continued, “but after this week we’ve decided not to pay more than six and a half. Things is cut so fine nowadays that we can’t afford to go on payin’ sevenpence any longer. You can work up till tomorrow night on the old terms, but if you’re not willin’ to accept six and a half you needn’t come on Saturday morning. Please yourselves. Take it or leave it.”
Harlow and Philpot were both too much astonished to say anything in reply to this cheerful announcement, and Hunter, with the final remark, “You can think it over,” left them and went to deliver the same ultimatum to all the other full-price men, who took it in the same way as Philpot and Harlow had done. Crass and Owen were the only two whose wages were not reduced.
It will be remembered that Newman was one of those who were already working for the reduced rate. Misery found him alone in one of the upper rooms, to which he was giving the final coat. He was at his old tricks. The woodwork of the cupboard he was doing was in a rather damaged condition, and he was facing up the dents with white-lead putty before painting it. He knew quite well that Hunter objected to any but very large holes or cracks being stopped, and yet somehow or other he could not scamp the work to the extent that he was ordered to; and so, almost by stealth, he was in the habit of doing it—not properly but as well as he dared. He even went to the length of occasionally buying a few sheets of glasspaper with his own money, as Crass had told Hunter. When the latter came into the room he stood with a sneer on his face, watching Newman for about five minutes before he spoke. The workman became very nervous and awkward under this scrutiny.
“You can make out yer time-sheet and come to the office for yer money at five o’clock,” said Nimrod at last. “We shan’t require your valuable services no more after tonight.”
Newman went white.
“Why, what’s wrong?” said he. “What have I done?”
“Oh, it’s not wot you’ve DONE,” replied Misery. “It’s wot you’ve not done. That’s wot’s wrong! You’ve not done enough, that’s all!” And without further parley he turned and went out.