The Lodger 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.
'You know it's one thing to draw on a bit of paper and colour it with a penny box of paints, and quite another thing to do it on a wall or ceiling,' continued Crass.

'Ain't it ?' 'Yes; that's true enough,' said Harlow.
'Do you believe they're 'is own designs ?' Crass went on.
'Be rather 'ard to tell,' remarked Easton, embarrassed.
Neither Harlow nor Easton shared Crass's sentiments in this matter, but at the same time they could not afford to offend him by sticking up for Owen.
'If you was to ast me, quietly,' Crass added, 'I should be more inclined to say as 'e copied it all out of some book.' 'That's just about the size of it, mate,' agreed Harlow.
'It would be a bit of all right if 'e was to make a bloody mess of it, wouldn't 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.