'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.'

'Are they?' said Linden. 'I'll go and see them in the morning. But
I'm afraid I won't stand much chance, because a lot of their regular
hands are waiting for a job; but I'll go and see 'em all the same.'

'Well, you know, it's a big job. All the outside of that block at the
corner of Kerk Street and Lord Street. They're almost sure to want a
few extra hands.'

'Yes, there's something in that,' said Linden. 'Anyhow, I'm much
obliged to you for letting me know; but come in out of the rain. You
must be wet through.'

'No; I won't stay,' responded Owen. 'I don't want to stand about any
longer than I can help in these wet clothes.'

'But it won't take you a minit to drink a cup of tea,' Linden insisted.
'I won't ask you to stop longer than that.'

Owen entered; the old man closed the door and led the way into the
kitchen. At one side of the fire, Linden's wife, a frail-looking old
lady with white hair, was seated in a large armchair, knitting. Linden
sat down in a similar chair on the other side. The two grandchildren,
a boy and girl about seven and eight years, respectively, were still
seated at the table.

Standing by the side of the dresser at one end of the room was a
treadle sewing machine, and on one end of the dresser was a a pile of
sewing: ladies' blouses in process of making. This was another
instance of the goodness of Mr Sweater, from whom Linden's
daughter-in-law obtained the work. It was not much, because she was
only able to do it in her spare time, but then, as she often remarked,
every little helped.

The floor was covered with linoleum: there were a number of framed
pictures on the walls, and on the high mantelshelf were a number of
brightly polished tins and copper utensils. The room had that
indescribably homelike, cosy air that is found only in those houses in
which the inhabitants have dwelt for a very long time.

The younger woman was already pouring out a cup of tea.

Old Mrs Linden, who had never seen Owen before, although she had heard
of him, belonged to the Church of England and was intensely religious.
She looked curiously at the Atheist as he entered the room