to this one, so that there was quite a large crowd of them there. The
inside work was all finished--with the exception of the kitchen, which
was used as a mess room, and the scullery, which was the paint shop.

Everybody was working on the job. Poor old Joe Philpot, whose
rheumatism had been very bad lately, was doing a very rough
job--painting the gable from a long ladder.

But though there were plenty of younger men more suitable for this,
Philpot did not care to complain for fear Crass or Misery should think
he was not up to his work. At dinner time all the old hands assembled
in the kitchen, including Crass, Easton, Harlow, Bundy and Dick
Wantley, who still sat on a pail behind his usual moat.

Philpot and Harlow were absent and everybody wondered what had become
of them.

Several times during the morning they had been seen whispering together
and comparing scraps of paper, and various theories were put forward to
account for their disappearance. Most of the men thought they must
have heard something good about the probable winner of the Handicap and
had gone to put something on. Some others thought that perhaps they
had heard of another 'job' about to be started by some other firm and
had gone to inquire about it.

'Looks to me as if they'll stand a very good chance of gettin' drowned
if they're gone very far,' remarked Easton, referring to the weather.
It had been threatening to rain all the morning, and during the last
few minutes it had become so dark that Crass lit the gas, so that--as
he expressed it--they should be able to see the way to their mouths.
Outside, the wind grew more boisterous every moment; the darkness
continued to increase, and presently there succeeded a torrential
downfall of rain, which beat fiercely against the windows, and poured
in torrents down the glass. The men glanced gloomily at each other. No
more work could be done outside that day, and there was nothing left to
do inside. As they were paid by the hour, this would mean that they
would have to lose half a day's pay.

'If it keeps on like this we won't be able to do no more work, and we
won't be able to go home either,' remarked Easton.

'Well, we're all right 'ere, ain't we?' said the man behind the moat;
'there's a nice fire and plenty of heasy chairs. Wot the 'ell more do
you want?'

'Yes,' remarked another philosopher. 'If we only had a shove-ha'penny
table or a ring board, I reckon we should be able to enjoy