When they had looked their fill they came out from behind the showcase, almost bursting with suppressed merriment.Budd reached down a key from where it was hanging on a hook on the wall and gave it to Crass and the two resumed their interrupted journey.But before they had proceeded a dozen yards from the shop, they were accosted by a short, elderly man with grey hair and a beard.This man looked about sixty-five years of age, and was very shabbily dressed.The ends of the sleeves of his coat were frayed and ragged, and the elbows were worn threadbare.His boots were patched, broken, and down at heel, and the knees and bottoms of the legs of his trousers were in the same condition as the sleeves of his coat.This man's name was Latham; he was a venetian blind maker and repairer.With his son, he was supposed to be `in business' on his own account, but as most of their work was done for `the trade', that is, for such firms as Rushton & Co., they would be more correctly described as men who did piecework at home.
He had been `in business' - as he called it - for about forty years working, working, always working; and ever since his son became old enough to labour he had helped his father in the philanthropic task of manufacturing profits for the sweaters who employed them.They had been so busy running after work, and working for the benefit of others, that they had overlooked the fact that they were only earning a bare living for themselves and now, after forty years' hard labour, the old man was clothed in rags and on the verge of destitution.
`Is Rushton there?' he asked.
`Yes, I think so,' replied Crass, attempting to pass on; but the old man detained him.
`He promised to let us know about them blinds for "The Cave".We gave 'im a price for 'em about a month ago.In fact, we gave 'im two prices, because he said the first was too high.Five and six a set Iasked 'im! take 'em right through the 'ole 'ouse! one with another -big and little.Two coats of paint, and new tapes and cords.That wasn't too much, was it?'
`No,' said Crass, walking on; `that was cheap enough!'
HE said it was too much,' continued Latham.`Said as 'e could get 'em done cheaper! But I say as no one can't do it and make a living.'
As he walked along, talking, between Crass and Slyme, the old man became very excited.
`But we 'adn't nothing to do to speak of, so my son told 'im we'd do 'em for five bob a set, and 'e said 'e'd let us know, but we ain't 'eard nothing from 'im yet, so I thought I'd try and see 'im tonight.'
Well, you'll find 'im in there now,' said Slyme with a peculiar look, and walking faster.`Good night.'
`I won't take 'em on for no less!' cried the old man as he turned back.I've got my livin' to get, and my son's got 'is wife and little 'uns to keep.We can't work for nothing!'
`Certainly not,' said Crass, glad to get away at last.`Good night, and good luck to you.'
As soon as they were out of hearing, they both burst out laughing at the old man's vehemence.
`Seemed quite upset about it,' said Slyme; and they laughed again.
They now left the main road and pursued their way through a number of badly lighted, mean-looking streets, and finally turning down a kind of alley, arrived at their destination.On one side of this street was a row of small houses; facing these were a number of buildings of a miscellaneous description - sheds and stables; and beyond these a plot of waste ground on which could be seen, looming weirdly through the dusk, a number of empty carts and waggons with their shafts resting on the ground or reared up into the air.Threading their way carefully through these and avoiding as much as possible the mud, pools of water, and rubbish which covered the ground, they arrived at a large gate fastened with a padlock.Applying the key, Crass swung back the gate and they found themselves in a large yard filled with building materials and plant, ladders, huge tressels, planks and beams of wood, hand-carts, and wheelbarrows, heaps of sand and mortar and innumerable other things that assumed strange fantastic shapes in the semi-darkness.Crates and packing cases, lengths of iron guttering and rain-pipes, old door-frames and other woodwork that had been taken from buildings where alterations had been made.And over all these things, a gloomy, indistinct and shapeless mass, rose the buildings and sheds that comprised Rushton & Co.'s workshop.
Crass struck a match, and Slyme, stooping down, drew a key from a crevice in the wall near one of the doors, which he unlocked, and they entered.Crass struck another match and lit the gas at the jointed bracket fixed to the wall.This was the paint-shop.At one end was a fireplace without a grate but with an iron bar fixed across the blackened chimney for the purpose of suspending pails or pots over the fire, which was usually made of wood on the hearthstone.All round the walls of the shop - which had once been whitewashed, but were now covered with smears of paint of every colour where the men had `rubbed out' their brushes - were rows of shelves with kegs of paint upon them.In front of the window was a long bench covered with an untidy litter of dirty paint-pots, including several earthenware mixing vessels or mortars, the sides of these being thickly coated with dried paint.Scattered about the stone floor were a number of dirty pails, either empty or containing stale whitewash; and standing on a sort of low platform or shelf at one end of the shop were four large round tanks fitted with taps and labelled `Boiled Oil', `Turps', `Linseed Oil', `Turps Substitute'.The lower parts of the walls were discoloured with moisture.The atmosphere was cold and damp and foul with the sickening odours of the poisonous materials.
It was in this place that Bert - the apprentice - spent most of his time, cleaning out pots and pails, during slack periods when there were no jobs going on outside.
