, Owen lay listening to the howling of the
wind and the noise of the rain as it poured heavily on the roof...

Chapter 7

The Exterminating Machines

'Come on, Saturday!' shouted Philpot, just after seven o'clock one
Monday morning as they were getting ready to commence work.

It was still dark outside, but the scullery was dimly illuminated by
the flickering light of two candles which Crass had lighted and stuck
on the shelf over the fireplace in order to enable him to see to serve
out the different lots of paints and brushes to the men.

'Yes, it do seem a 'ell of a long week, don't it?' remarked Harlow as
he hung his overcoat on a nail and proceeded to put on his apron and
blouse. 'I've 'ad bloody near enough of it already.'

'Wish to Christ it was breakfast-time,' growled the more easily
satisfied Easton.

Extraordinary as it may appear, none of them took any pride in their
work: they did not 'love' it. They had no conception of that lofty
ideal of 'work for work's sake', which is so popular with the people
who do nothing. On the contrary, when the workers arrived in the
morning they wished it was breakfast-time. When they resumed work
after breakfast they wished it was dinner-time. After dinner they
wished it was one o'clock on Saturday.

So they went on, day after day, year after year, wishing their time was
over and, without realizing it, really wishing that they were dead.

How extraordinary this must appear to those idealists who believe in
'work for work's sake', but who themselves do nothing but devour or use
and enjoy or waste the things that are produced by the labour of those
others who are not themselves permitted to enjoy a fair share of the
good things they help to create?

Crass poured several lots of colour into several pots.

'Harlow,' he said, 'you and Sawkins, when he comes, can go up and do
the top bedrooms out with this colour. You'll find a couple of candles
up there. It's only goin' to 'ave one coat, so see that you make it
cover all right, and just look after Sawkins a bit so as 'e doesn't
make a bloody mess of it. You do the doors and windows, and let 'im do
the cupboards and skirtings.'

'That's a bit of all right, I must say,' Harlow said, addressing the
company generally. 'We've got to teach a b--r like 'im so as 'e can do
us out of a job presently by working under price.'

'Well, I can't 'elp it,' growled Crass. 'You know 'ow it is: 'Unter
sends 'im 'ere to