Newman stood in the darkening room feeling as if his heart had turned to lead. There rose before his mind the picture of his home and family. He could see them as they were at this very moment, the wife probably just beginning to prepare the evening meal, and the children setting the cups and saucers and other things on the kitchen table—a noisy work, enlivened with many a frolic and childish dispute. Even the two-year-old baby insisted on helping, although she always put everything in the wrong place and made all sorts of funny mistakes. They had all been so happy lately because they knew that he had work that would last till nearly Christmas—if not longer. And now this had happened—to plunge them back into the abyss of wretchedness from which they had so recently escaped. They still owed several weeks’ rent, and were already so much in debt to the baker and the grocer that it was hopeless to expect any further credit.
“My God!” said Newman, realizing the almost utter hopelessness of the chance of obtaining another “job” and unconsciously speaking aloud. “My God! How can I tell them? What WILL become of us?”
Having accomplished the objects of his visit, Hunter shortly afterwards departed, possibly congratulating himself that he had not been hiding his light under a bushel, but that he had set it upon a candlestick and given light unto all that were within that house.
As soon as they knew that he was gone, the men began to gather into little groups, but in a little while they nearly all found themselves in the kitchen, discussing the reduction. Sawkins and the other “lightweights” remained at their work. Some of them got only fourpence halfpenny—Sawkins was paid fivepence—so none of these were affected by the change. The other two fresh hands—the journeymen—joined the crowd in the kitchen, being anxious to conceal the fact that they had agreed to accept the reduced rate before being “taken on”. Owen also was there, having heard the news from Philpot.
There was a lot of furious talk. At first several of them spoke of “chucking up”, at once; but others were more prudent, for they knew that if they did leave there were dozens of others who would be eager to take their places.
“After all, you know,” said Slyme, who had—stowed away somewhere at the back of his head—an idea of presently starting business on his own account: he was only waiting until he had saved enough money, “after all, there’s something in what ’Unter says. It’s very ’ard to get a fair price for work nowadays. Things IS cut very fine.”
“Yes! We know all about that!” shouted Harlow. “And who the bloody ’ell is it cuts ’em? Why, sich b—rs as ’Unter and Rushton! If this firm ’adn’t cut this job so fine, some other firm would ’ave ’ad it for more money. Rushton’s cuttin’ it fine didn’t MAKE this job, did it? It would ’ave been done just the same if they ’adn’t tendered for it at all! The only difference is that we should ’ave been workin’ for some other master.”
“I don’t believe the bloody job’s cut fine at all!” said Philpot.
“Rushton is a pal of Sweater’s and they’re both members of the Town Council.”
“That may be,” replied Slyme; “but all the same I believe Sweater got several other prices besides Rushton’s—friend or no friend; and you can’t blame ’im: it’s only business. But pr’aps Rushton got the preference—Sweater may ’ave told ’im the others’ prices.”