“Yer don’t blame me, do yer?” continued Crass. “Why should we put up with a lot of old buck from the likes of ’im! We’re not a lot of bloody Chinamen, are we?”
So far from blaming him, they all assured him that they would have acted in precisely the same way under similar circumstances.
“For my part, I’m a bloke like this,” said a tall man with a very loud voice—a chap who nearly fell down dead every time Rushton or Misery looked at him. “I’m a bloke like this ’ere: I never stands no cheek from no gaffers! If a guv’nor ses two bloody words to me, I downs me tools and I ses to ’im, ‘Wot! Don’t I suit yer, guv’ner? Ain’t I done enuff for yer? Werry good! Gimmie me bleedin’ a’pence.’”
“Quite right too,” said everybody. That was the way to serve ’em. If only everyone would do the same as the tall man—who had just paid for another round of drinks—things would be a lot more comfortable than they was.
“Last summer I was workin’ for ole Buncer,” said a little man with a cutaway coat several sizes too large for him. “I was workin’ for ole Buncer, over at Windley, an’ you all knows as ’e don’t arf lower it. Well, one day, when I knowed ’e was on the drunk, I ’ad to first coat a room out—white; so thinks I to meself, If I buck up I shall be able to get this lot done by about four o’clock, an’ then I can clear orf ’ome. ’Cos I reckoned as ’e’d be about flattened out by that time, an’ you know ’e ain’t got no foreman. So I tears into it an’ gets this ’ere room done about a quarter past four, an’ I’d just got me things put away for the night w’en ’oo should come fallin’ up the bloody stairs but ole Buncer, drunk as a howl! An’ no sooner ’e gits inter the room than ’e starts yappin’ an’ rampin’. ‘Is this ’ere hall you’ve done?’ ’e shouts out. ‘Wotcher bin up to hall day?’ ’e ses, an’ ’e keeps on shouting” an’ swearin’ till at last I couldn’t stand it no longer, ’cos you can guess I wasn’t in a very good temper with ’im comin’ along jist then w’en I thought I was goin’ to get orf a bit early—so w’en ’e kept on shoutin’ I never made no answer to ’im, but ups with me fist an’ I gives ’im a slosh in the dial an’ stopped ’is clock! Then I chucked the pot o’ w’ite paint hover ’im, an’ kicked ’im down the bloody stairs.”
“Serve ’im blooming well right, too,” said Crass as he took a fresh glass of beer from one of the others, who had just “stood” another round.
“What did the b—r say to that?” inquired the tall man.
“Not a bloody word!” replied the little man, “’E picked ’isself up, and called a keb wot was passin’ an’ got inter it an’ went ’ome; an’ I never seen no more of ’im until about ’arf-past eleven the next day, w’en I was second-coatin’ the room, an’ ’e comes up with a noo suit o’ clothes on, an’ arsts me if I’d like to come hover to the pub an’ ’ave a drink? So we goes hover, an’ ’e calls for a w’iskey an’ soda for isself an’ arsts me wot I’d ’ave, so I ’ad the same. An’ w’ile we was gettin’ it down us, ’e ses to me, ‘Ah, Garge,’ ’e ses. ‘You losed your temper with me yesterday,’” ’e ses.”
“There you are, you see!” said the tall man. “There’s an example for yer! If you ’adn’t served ’im as you did you’d most likely ’ave ’ad to put up with a lot more ole buck.”
They all agreed that the little man had done quite right: they all said that they didn’ blame him in the least: they would all have done the same: in fact, this was the way they all conducted themselves whenever occasion demanded it. To hear them talk, one would imagine that such affairs as the recent exploit of Bill Bates and the Semi-drunk were constantly taking place, instead of only occurring about once in a blue moon.