Coffee for the Scrubman?

From my kitchen I can hear his argumentative voice echoing through the stairwell. Phoning a friend? Venting to a coworker? Times are hard. People don't pay what's fair. He has to working extra to make ends meet. He scrubs and complains, tossing in a few curse words. And his loud frustration might wake a napping Pippin. Should I interrupt his rant to ask him to quiet down a bit? Probably not. I've been missing the other, older workmen. I'd started to think of them as 'ours' during the weeks that they were in and out, chatting with the awestruck Pippin as they painted and operated the machines outside. It felt like having uncles around when they offered to help me haul the buggy downstairs or complimented my coffee. Their singing (yodeling?) made me smile. But this new guy, with the loud angry voice. Who's to say he wouldn't pause talking on the phone long enough to cuss me out or give me the finger? I'll just ignore him and hope Pippin sleeps thr...