ty? The man who is so
poor that he cannot marry is in a condition of poverty already.'

'Wot I mean,' said Slyme, 'is that no man oughtn't to marry till he's
saved up enough so as to 'ave some money in the bank; an' another
thing, I reckon a man oughtn't to get married till 'e's got an 'ouse of
'is own. It's easy enough to buy one in a building society if you're
in reg'lar work.'

At this there was a general laugh.

'Why, you bloody fool,' said Harlow, scornfully, 'most of us is walkin'
about 'arf our time. It's all very well for you to talk; you've got
almost a constant job on this firm. If they're doin' anything at all
you're one of the few gets a show in. And another thing,' he added
with a sneer, 'we don't all go to the same chapel as old Misery,'

'Old Misery' was Ruston & Co.'s manager or walking foreman. 'Misery'
was only one of the nicknames bestowed upon him by the hands: he was
also known as 'Nimrod' and 'Pontius Pilate'.

'And even if it's not possible,' Harlow continued, winking at the
others, 'what's a man to do during the years he's savin' up?'

'Well, he must conquer hisself,' said Slyme, getting red.

'Conquer hisself is right!' said Harlow and the others laughed again.

'Of course if a man tried to conquer hisself by his own strength,'
replied Slyme, ''e would be sure to fail, but when you've got the Grace
of God in you it's different.'

'Chuck it, fer Christ's sake!' said Harlow in a tone of disgust. 'We've
only just 'ad our dinner!'

'And wot about drink?' demanded old Joe Philpot, suddenly.

''Ear, 'ear,' cried Harlow. 'That's the bleedin' talk. I wouldn't
mind 'avin 'arf a pint now, if somebody else will pay for it.'

Joe Philpot--or as he was usually called, 'Old Joe'--was in the habit
of indulging freely in the cup that inebriates. He was not very old,
being only a little over fifty, but he looked much older. He had lost
his wife some five years ago and was now alone in the world, for his
three children had died in their infancy. Slyme's reference to drink
had roused Philpot's indignation; he felt that it was directed against
himself. The muddled condition of his brain did not permit him to take
up the cudgels in his own behalf, but he knew that although Owen was a
tee-totaller himself, he disliked Slyme.

'There's no need for us to talk about drink or laziness,' returned
Owen, impatiently, 'because they have nothing to do with the matter.
The question is, what is the c