|Title||The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists|
it?' Crass continued with a malignant leer.
`Not arf!' said Harlow.
When the two men regained the upper landing on which they were working they exchanged significant glances and laughed quietly. Hearing these half-suppressed sounds of merriment, Philpot, who was working alone in a room close by, put his head out of the doorway.
`Wot's the game?' he inquired in a low voice.
`Ole Crass ain't arf wild about Owen doin' that room,' replied Harlow, and repeated the substance of Crass's remarks.
`It is a bit of a take-down for the bleeder, ain't it, 'avin' to play second fiddle,' said Philpot with a delighted grin.
`'E's opin' Owen'll make a mess of it,' Easton whispered.
`Well, 'e'll be disappointed, mate,'