Slyme was busy softening some putty by rubbing and squeezing it between his hands.
“I suppose I’d better finish the room I started on on Saturday?” he asked.
“All right,” replied Crass. “Have you got enough colour?”
“Yes,” said Slyme.
As he passed through the kitchen on the way to his work, Slyme accosted Bert, the boy, who was engaged in lighting, with some pieces of wood, a fire to boil the water to make the tea for breakfast at eight o’clock.
“There’s a bloater I want’s cooked,” he said.
“All right,” replied Bert. “Put it over there on the dresser along of Philpot’s and mine.”
Slyme took the bloater from his food basket, but as he was about to put it in the place indicated, he observed that his was rather a larger one than either of the other two. This was an important matter. After they were cooked it would not be easy to say which was which: he might possibly be given one of the smaller ones instead of his own. He took out his pocket knife and cut off the tail of the large bloater.
“’Ere it is, then,” he said to Bert. “I’ve cut the tail of mine so as you’ll know which it is.”
It was now about twenty minutes past seven and all the other men having been started at work, Crass washed his hands under the tap. Then he went into the kitchen and having rigged up a seat by taking two of the drawers out of the dresser and placing them on the floor about six feet apart and laying a plank across, he sat down in front of the fire, which was now burning brightly under the pail, and, lighting his pipe, began to smoke. The boy went into the scullery and began washing up the cups and jars for the men to drink out of.