They knew that it was impossible to get a job for any other firm.

They knew that this man had the power to deprive them of the means of earning a living; that he possessed the power to deprive their children of bread.
Owen, listening to Hunter over the banisters upstairs, felt that he would like to take him by the throat with one hand and smash his face in with the other.
And then?
Why then he would be sent to gaol, or at the best he would lose his employment: his food and that of his family would be taken away.

That was why he only ground his teeth and cursed and beat the wall with his clenched fist.

So! and so! and so! If it were not for them! Owen's imagination ran riot.
First he would seize him by the collar with his left hand, dig his knuckles into his throat, force him up against the wall and then, with his right fist, smash! smash! smash! until Hunter's face was all cut and covered with blood.
But then, what about those at home?
Was it not braver and more manly to endure in silence?
Owen leaned against the wall, white-faced, panting and exhausted.
Downstairs, Misery was still going to and fro in the house and walking up and down in it.

Presently he stopped to look at Sawkins' work.