|Title||The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists|
Presently Harlow began to sing. He had a good voice and it was a good song, but his mates just then did not appreciate either one of the other. His singing was the signal for an outburst of exclamations and catcalls.
`Shut it, for Christ's sake!'
`That's enough of that bloody row!'
And so on. Harlow stopped.
`How's the enemy?' asked Easton presently, addressing no one in particular.
`Don't know,' replied Bundy. `It must be about half past four. Ask Slyme; he's got a watch,'
It was a quarter past four.
`It gets dark very early now,' said Easton.
`Yes,' replied Bundy. `It's been very dull all day.