By the side of the pail were a number of old jam-jars, mugs, dilapidated tea-cups and one or two empty condensed milk tins.

Each man on the 'job' paid Bert threepence a week for the tea and sugar--they did not have milk--and although they had tea at breakfast-time as well as at dinner, the lad was generally considered to be making a fortune.
Two pairs of steps, laid parallel on their sides at a distance of about eight feet from each other, with a plank laid across, in front of the fire, several upturned pails, and the drawers belonging to the dresser, formed the seating accommodation.

The floor of the room was covered with all manner of debris, dust, dirt, fragments of old mortar and plaster.

A sack containing cement was leaning against one of the walls, and a bucket containing some stale whitewash stood in one corner.
As each man came in he filled his cup, jam-jar or condensed milk tin with tea from the steaming pail, before sitting down.

Most of them brought their food in little wicker baskets which they held on their laps or placed on the floor beside them.
At first there was no attempt at conversation and nothing was heard but the sounds of eating and drinking and the drizzling of the bloater which Easton, one of the painters, was toasting on the end of a pointed stick at the fire.
'I don't think much of this bloody tea,' suddenly remarked Sawkins, one of the labourers.
'Well it oughter be all right,' retorted Bert; 'it's been bilin' ever since 'arf past eleven.' Bert White was a frail-looking, weedy, pale-faced boy, fifteen years of age and about four feet nine inches in height.