It grieved him to see anything done properly.

Even when it was more economical to do a thing well, he insisted from force of habit on having it scamped.

Then he was almost happy, because he felt that he was doing someone down.

If there were an architect superintending the work, Misery would square him or bluff him.

If it were not possible to do either, at least he had a try; and in the intervals of watching, driving and bullying the hands, his vulture eye was ever on the look out for fresh jobs.