As they worked on, trembling with cold, and with their teeth chattering, their faces and hands became of that pale violet colour generally seen on the lips of a corpse.Their eyes became full of water and the lids were red and inflamed.Philpot's and Harlow's boots were soon wet through, with the water they absorbed from the damp ground, and their feet were sore and intensely painful with cold.
Their hands, of course, suffered the most, becoming so numbed that they were unable to feel the brushes they held; in fact, presently, as Philpot was taking a dip of colour, the brush fell from his hand into the pot; and then, finding that he was unable to move his fingers, he put his hand into his trousers pocket to thaw, and began to walk about, stamping his feet upon the ground.His example was quickly followed by Owen, Easton and Harlow, and they all went round the corner to the sheltered side of the house where Slyme was working, and began walking up and down, rubbing their hands, stamping their feet and swinging their arms to warm themselves.
`If I thought Nimrod wasn't comin', I'd put my overcoat on and work in it,' remarked Philpot, 'but you never knows when to expect the b--r, and if 'e saw me in it, it would mean the bloody push.'
`It wouldn't interfere with our workin' if we did wear 'em,' said Easton; `in fact, we'd be able to work all the quicker if we wasn't so cold.'
`Even if Misery didn't come, I suppose Crass would 'ave something to say if we did put 'em on,' continued Philpot.
`Well, yer couldn't blame 'im if 'e did say something, could yer?'
said Slyme, offensively.`Crass would get into a row 'imself if 'Unter came and saw us workin' in overcoats.It would look ridiclus.'
Slyme suffered less from the cold than any of them, not only because he had secured the most sheltered window, but also because he was better clothed than most of the rest.
`What's Crass supposed to be doin' inside?' asked Easton as he tramped up and down, with his shoulders hunched up and his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his trousers.
`Blowed if I know,' replied Philpot.`Messin' about touchin' up or makin' colour.He never does 'is share of a job like this; 'e knows 'ow to work things all right for 'isself.'
`What if 'e does? We'd be the same if we was in 'is place, and so would anybody else,' said Slyme, and added sarcastically: `Or p'haps you'd give all the soft jobs to other people and do all the rough yerself!'
Slyme knew that, although they were speaking of Crass, they were also alluding to himself, and as he replied to Philpot he looked slyly at Owen, who had so far taken no part in the conversation.
`It's not a question of what we would do,' chimed in Harlow.`It's a question of what's fair.If it's not fair for Crass to pick all the soft jobs for 'imself and leave all the rough for others, the fact that we might do the same if we 'ad the chance don't make it right.'
`No one can be blamed for doing the best he can for himself under existing circumstances,' said Owen in reply to Slyme's questioning look.That is the principle of the present system - every man for himself and the devil take the rest.For my own part I don't pretend to practise unselfishness.I don't pretend to guide my actions by the rules laid down in the Sermon on the Mount.But it's certainly surprising to hear you who profess to be a follower of Christ -advocating selfishness.Or, rather, it would be surprising if it were not that the name of "Christian" has ceased to signify one who follows Christ, and has come to mean only liar and hypocrite.'
Slyme made no answer.Possibly the fact that he was a true believer enabled him to bear this insult with meekness and humility.
`I wonder what time it is?' interposed Philpot.
Slyme looked at his watch.It was nearly ten o'clock.
`Jesus Christ! Is that all?' growled Easton as they returned to work.
`Two hours more before dinner!'
Only two more hours, but to these miserable, half-starved, ill-clad wretches, standing here in the bitter wind that pierced their clothing and seemed to be tearing at their very hearts and lungs with icy fingers, it appeared like an eternity.To judge by the eagerness with which they longed for dinner-time, one might have thought they had some glorious banquet to look forward to instead of bread and cheese and onions, or bloaters - and stewed tea.
Two more hours of torture before dinner; and three more hours after that.And then, thank God, it would be too dark to see to work any longer.
It would have been much better for them if, instead of being `Freemen', they had been slaves, and the property, instead of the hirelings, of Mr Rushton.As it was, HE would not have cared if one or all of them had become ill or died from the effects of exposure.
It would have made no difference to him.There were plenty of others out of work and on the verge of starvation who would be very glad to take their places.But if they had been Rushton's property, such work as this would have been deferred until it could be done without danger to the health and lives of the slaves; or at any rate, even if it were proceeded with during such weather, their owner would have seen to it that they were properly clothed and fed; he would have taken as much care of them as he would of his horse.
People always take great care of their horses.If they were to overwork a horse and make it ill, it would cost something for medicine and the veterinary surgeon, to say nothing of the animal's board and lodging.If they were to work their horses to death, they would have to buy others.But none of these considerations applies to workmen.