What was to be done?
He would like to get rid of Linden, who was now really too old to be of much use, but as the old man had worked for Rushton on and off for many years, Hunter felt that he could scarcely sack him off hand without some reasonable pretext.

Still, the fellow was really not worth the money he was getting.

Sevenpence an hour was an absurdly large wage for an old man like him.

It was preposterous: he would have to go, excuse or no excuse.
Hunter crawled downstairs again.
Jack Linden was about sixty-seven years old, but like Philpot, and as is usual with working men, he appeared older, because he had had to work very hard all his life, frequently without proper food and clothing.

His life had been passed in the midst of a civilization which he had never been permitted to enjoy the benefits of.