'As things are now,' went on Owen, 'instead of enjoying the advantages of civilisation we are really worse off than slaves, for if we were slaves our owners, in their own interest, would see to it that we always had food and——'
'Oh, I don't see that,' roughly interrupted old Linden, who had been listening with evident anger and impatience, 'you can speak for yourself, but I can tell yer I don't put myself down as a slave.'
'Nor me neither,' said Crass, sturdily, 'let them call theirselves slaves as wants to.'
At this moment a footstep was heard in the passage leading to the kitchen.
Old Misery, or perhaps the Bloke himself!
Crass hurriedly pulled out his watch.
'Jesus Christ! 'he gasped,' it's four minutes past one!'
Linden frantically seized hold of a pair of steps and began wandering about the room with them.
Sawkins scrambled hastily to his feet and snatching a piece of sandpaper from the pocket of his apron started furiously rubbing down the scullery door.
​Easton threw down the copy of the 'Obscurer' and scrambled hastily to his feet.
The boy crammed the 'Chronicles of Crime' into his trousers pocket.
Crass rushed over to the bucket and began stirring up the stale white-wash it contained, although the stench which it gave forth was simply appalling.
Consternation reigned.
They looked like a gang of malefactors suddenly interrupted in the commission of a crime.
The door opened. It was only Bundy returning from his mission to the Bookie.
https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Ragged_Trousered_Philanthropists/Chapter_1
#book #RaggedTrouseredPhilanthropists #RobertTressell #1914