His home and garden were his hobby: he was always doing something; painting, whitewashing, papering and so forth. The result was that although the house itself was not of much account he had managed to get it into very good order, and as a result it was very clean and comfortable.
Another result of his industry was that—seeing the improved appearance of the place—the landlord had on two occasions raised the rent. When Linden first took the house the rent was six shillings a week. Five years after, it was raised to seven shillings, and after the lapse of another five years it had been increased to eight shillings.
During the thirty years of his tenancy he had paid altogether nearly six hundred pounds in rent, more than double the amount of the present value of the house. Jack did not complain of this—in fact he was very well satisfied. He often said that Mr Sweater was a very good landlord, because on several occasions when, being out of work, he had been a few weeks behind with his rent the agent acting for the benevolent Mr Sweater had allowed Linden to pay off the arrears by instalments. As old Jack was in the habit of remarking, many a landlord would have sold up their furniture and turned them into the street.
As the reader is already aware, Linden’s household consisted of his wife, his two grandchildren and his daughter-in-law, the widow and children of his youngest son, a reservist, who died while serving in the South African War. This man had been a plasterer, and just before the war he was working for Rushton & Co.
They had just finished their tea when Owen knocked at their front door. The young woman went to see who was there.
“Is Mr Linden in?”
“Yes. Who is it?”
“My name’s Owen.”
Old Jack, however, had already recognized Owen’s voice, and came to the door, wondering what he wanted.
“As I was going home I heard that Makehaste and Sloggit are going to start a large job on Monday, so I thought I’d run over and let you know.”