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,' answered Philpot.

'I was workin' along of Owen for Pushem and Sloggem about two year ago, and I seen 'im do a job down at the Royal 'Otel--the smokin'-room ceilin' it was--and I can tell you it looked a bloody treat!' 'I've heard tell of it,' said Harlow.
'There's no doubt Owen knows 'is work,' remarked Easton, 'although 'e is a bit orf is onion about Socialism.' 'I don't know so much about that, mate,' returned Philpot.

'I agree with a lot that 'e ses.

I've often thought the same things meself, but I can't talk like 'im, 'cause I ain't got no 'ead for it.' 'I agree with some of it too,' said Harlow with a laugh, 'but all the same 'e does say some bloody silly things, you must admit.

For instance, that stuff about money bein' the cause of poverty.' 'Yes.