|Title||The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists|
|Chapter||The Cap on the Stairs|
After breakfast, when they were working together in the drawing-room, Easton, desiring to do Owen a good turn, thought he would put him on his guard, and repeated to him in a whisper the substance of the conversation he had held with Crass concerning him.
`Of course, you needn't mention that I told you, Frank,' he said, `but I thought I ought to let you know: you can take it from me, Crass ain't no friend of yours.'
`I've know that for a long time, mate,' replied Owen. `Thanks for telling me, all the same.'
`The bloody rotter's no friend of mine either, or anyone else's, for that matter,' Easton continued, `but of course it doesn't do to fall out with 'im because you never know what he'd go and say to ol' 'Unter.'
`Yes, one has to remember that.'
`Of course we all know what's the matter with 'im as far as YOU'RE concerned,' Easton went on. `He don't like 'avin'