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Updated: June 8, 2025
As Sweater went from one room to another Crass repeatedly placed himself in the way in the hope of being spoken to, but Sweater took no notice of him whatever. Once or twice Crass's heart began to beat quickly as he furtively watched the great man and saw him thrust his thumb and finger into his waistcoat pocket, but on each occasion Sweater withdrew his hand with nothing in it.
Frank Owen was one of these. There were others who by the judicious administration of pipefuls of tobacco and pints of beer, managed to keep in Crass's good graces and often retained their employment when better workmen were 'stood off'. As he walked home through the rain thinking of these things, Easton realized that it was not possible to foresee what a day or even an hour might bring forth.
While he was doing this the sound of Crass's whistle shrilled through the house. 'Thank Gord! exclaimed Philpot fervently as he laid his brushes on the top of his pot and joined in the general rush to the kitchen. The scene here is already familiar to the reader.
Hearing these half-suppressed sounds of merriment, Philpot, who was working alone in a room close by, put his head out of the doorway. 'Wot's the game? he inquired in a low voice. 'Ole Crass ain't arf wild about Owen doin' that room, replied Harlow, and repeated the substance of Crass's remarks.
If you, reader, had been one of the hands, would you have slogged? Or would you have preferred to starve and see your family starve? If you had been in Crass's place, would you have resigned rather than do such dirty work? If you had had Hunter's berth, would you have given it up and voluntarily reduced yourself to the level of the hands?
''Ow much more did they buy from us last year, than we did from them? Harlow looked foolish: as a matter of fact his knowledge of the subject was not much wider than Crass's. He mumbled something about not having no 'ed for figures, and offered to bring full particulars next day.
The time passed quickly enough and by half past seven the brakes were loaded up again and a start made for the return journey. They called at all the taverns on the road, and by the time they reached the Blue Lion half of them were three sheets in the wind, and five or six were very drunk, including the driver of Crass's brake and the man with the bugle.
Meantime the speed of the vehicle had increased to a fearful rate. Rushton and the other occupants of the little wagonette in front had been for some time shouting to them to moderate the pace of their horses, but as the driver of Crass's brake was too drunk to understand what they said he took no notice, and they had no alternative but to increase their own speed to avoid being run down.
Although they were nominally attired in the same way, there was a remarkable dissimilarity in their appearance. Crass's coat was of smooth, intensely black cloth, having been recently dyed, and his hat was rather low in the crown, being of that shape that curved outwards towards the top.
Loud cheers greeted the conclusion of this speech, and then Crass stood up and said that he begged to propose the health of Mr 'Unter. Loud applause greeted the conclusion of Crass's remarks, and once more the meeting burst into song: For he's a jolly good fellow For he's a jolly good fellow. For he's a jolly good fellow, And so say all of us. So 'ip, 'ip, 'ip, 'ooray! So 'ip, 'ip, 'ip, 'ooray!
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