he floor, when Sweater spoke
to him, but he contrived to convey the impression that he was willing
to do so if desired.

Outside the house Bundy and his mates had dug deep trenches in the damp
ground in which they were laying new drains. This work, like that of
the painting of the inside of the house, was nearly completed. It was a
miserable job. Owing to the fact that there had been a spell of bad
weather the ground was sodden with rain and there was mud everywhere,
the men's clothing and boots being caked with it. But the worst thing
about the job was the smell. For years the old drain-pipes had been
defective and leaky. The ground a few feet below the surface was
saturated with fetid moisture and a stench as of a thousand putrefying
corpse emanated from the opened earth. The clothing of the men who
were working in the hendeca became saturated with this fearful odour,
and for that matter, so did the men themselves.

They said they could smell and taste it all the time, even when they
were away from the work at home, and when they were at meals. Although
they smoked their pipes all the time they were at work, Misery having
ungraciously given them permission, several times Bundy and one or
other of his mates were attacked with fits of vomiting.

But, as they began to realize that the finish of the job was in sight,
a kind of panic seized upon the hands, especially those who had been
taken on last and who would therefore be the first to be 'stood still'.
Easton, however, felt pretty confident that Crass would do his best to
get him kept on till the end of the job, for they had become quite
chummy lately, usually spending a few evenings together at the
Cricketers every week.

'There'll be a bloody slaughter 'ere soon,' remarked Harlow to Philpot
one day as they were painting the banisters of the staircase. 'I
reckon next week will about finish the inside.'

'And the outside ain't goin' to take very long, you know,' replied
Philpot.

'They ain't got no other work in, have they?'

'Not that I knows of,' replied Philpot gloomily; 'and I don't think
anyone else has either.'

'You know that little place they call the "Kiosk" down the Grand
Parade, near the bandstand,' asked Harlow after a pause.

'Where they used to sell refreshments?'

'Yes; it belongs to the Corporation, you know.'

'It's been closed up lately, ain't it?'

'Yes; the people who 'ad it couldn't make it pay; but I 'eard last
night that Gr