|Title||The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists|
In accordance with his arrangement with Hunter, Owen commenced the work in the drawing-room on the Monday morning. Harlow and Easton were distempering some of the ceilings, and about ten o'clock they went down to the scullery to get some more whitewash. Crass was there as usual, pretending to be very busy mixing colours.
`Well, wot do you think of it?' he said as he served them with what they required.
`Think of what?' asked Easton.
`Why, hour speshul hartist,' replied Crass with a sneer. 'Do you think 'e's goin' to get through with it?'
`Shouldn't like to say,' replied Easton guardedly.