The guv'nor's position was difficult. He was only a small master, and but a few years back had been a working mason. This deserted job was his first for the parish, and by contract he was bound to end it quickly under penalty. Moreover, he much desired something on account that week, and must stand well with the vestry. On the other hand, this was a time of strikes, and the air was electrical. Several large and successful movements had quickened a spirit of restlessness in the neighborhood, and no master was sure of his men. Some slight was fancied, something was not done as it should have been done from the point of view of the workshop, and there was a strike, picketing, and bashing. Now, the worst thing that could have happened to the guv'nor at this moment was one of those tiny, unrecorded strikes that were bursting out weekly and daily about him, with the picketing of his two or three jobs. Furious, therefore, as he was, he dared not discharge every man on the spot. So he stood in the door, and said: "Look here, I won't stand this sort of thing--it's a damn robbery. I'll--" "That's all right, ol' cock," roared Bill Napper, reaching toward the guv'nor. "You come 'an 'ave a tiddley. I'm a bleed'n' millionaire meself now, but I ain't proud. What, you won't?"--for the guv'nor, unenthusiastic, remained at the door. "You're a sulky old bleeder. These 'ere friends o' mine are 'avin' 'arf a day auf at my expense: unnerstand? My expense. I'm a-payin' for their time, if you dock 'em; an' I can give _you_ a bob, me fine feller, if you're 'ard up. See?" The guv'nor addressed himself to the foreman. "What's the meaning o' this, Walker?" he said. "What game d'ye call it?" Bill Napper, whom a succession of pots had made uproarious, slapped the foreman violently on the shoulder. "This 'ere's the gaffer," he shouted. "'E's all right. 'E come 'ere 'cos 'e couldn't 'elp 'isself. I made 'im come, forcible. Don't you bear no spite agin' the gaffer, d'y' ear? 'E's my mate, is the gaffer; an' I could buy you up forty times, s'elp me--but I ain't proud. An' you're a bleed'n' gawblimy slackbaked...." "Well," said the guv'nor to the assembled company, but still ignoring Bill, "don't you think there's been about enough of this?" A few of the men glanced at one another, and one or two rose. "Awright, guv'nor," said one, "we're auf." And two more echoed, "Awright, guv'nor," and began to move away. "Ah!" said Bill Napper, with disgust, as he turned to finish his pot, "you're a blasted nigger-driver, you are. An' a sulky beast," he added as he set the pot down. "Never mind," he pursued, "_I'm_ awright, an' I ain't a 'arf-paid kerb-whacker no more, under you." "You was a damn sight better kerb-whacker than you are a millionaire," the guv'nor retorted, feeling safer now that his men were getting back to work.