Page:Ragged Trousered Philanthropists.djvu/71

 their front door. The young woman went to see who was there.

'Is Mr Linden in?'

'Yes: who is it?'

'My name's Owen.'

Old Jack, however, had already recognised Owen's voice, and came to the door, wondering what he wanted.

'As I was going home I heard that Makehaste and Sloggit are going to start a large job on Monday, so I thought I'd run over and let you know.'

'Are they?' said Linden, 'I'll go and see them in the morning. But I'm afraid I won't stand much chance, because a lot of their regular hands are waiting for a job; but I'll go and see 'em all the same.'

'Well, you know, it's a big job. All the outside of that block at the corner of Kerk Street and Lord Street. They're almost sure to want a few extra hands.'

'Yes, there's something in that,' said Linden. 'Anyhow, I'm much obliged to you for letting me know. But come in out of the rain. You must be wet through.'

'No, I won't stay,' responded Owen; 'I don't want to stand about any longer than I can help in these wet clothes.'

'But it won't take you a minit to drink a cup of tea,' Linden insisted. 'I won't ask you to stop longer than that.'

Owen entered, and the old man closed the door and led the way into the kitchen.

At one side of the fire, Linden's wife, a frail-looking old lady with white hair, was seated in a large arm-chair, knitting. Linden sat down in a similar chair on the other side. The two grandchildren, a boy and girl about seven and eight years of age respectively, were still seated at the table.

A treadle sewing machine stood at one end of the room, and on the dresser was a pile of sewing—ladies' blouses in process of making. This was another instance of the goodness of Mr Sweater, from whom Linden's daughter-in-law obtained the work. It was not much, because she was only able to do it in her spare time, but then, as she often remarked, every little helped.

The floor was covered with linoleum, there were several framed pictures on the walls, and on the high mantel-shelf a number of brightly polished tins and copper utensils. The room had that indescribable homelike, cosy air that is 59