Ragged Trousered Philanthropists by Robert Tressell (read novel full TXT) 📖

day. One of their

duties was to incite the crowd to bash anyone who disturbed the

meetings or tried to put awkward questions to the speakers.

 

The hired orator was a tall, slight man with dark hair, beard and

moustache, he might have been called well-looking if it had not been

for a ugly scar upon his forehead, which gave him a rather sinister

appearance. He was an effective speaker; the audience punctuated his

speech with cheers, and when he wound up with an earnest appeal to

them - as working men - to vote for Adam Sweater, their enthusiasm

knew no bounds.

 

`I’ve seen him somewhere before,’ remarked Barrington, who was

standing in the crowd with Harlow, Owen and Easton.

 

`So have I,’ said Owen, with a puzzled expression. `But for the life

of me, I can’t remember where.’

 

Harlow and Easton also thought they had seen the man before, but their

speculations were put an end to by the roar of cheering that heralded

the arrival of the motor car, containing Adam Sweater and his friend,

Lord Ammenegg. Unfortunately, those who had arranged the meeting had

forgotten to provide a pair of steps, so Sweater found it a matter of

considerable difficulty to mount the platform. However, while his

friends were hoisting and pushing him up, the meeting beguiled the

time by singing:

 

`Vote, vote, vote for Adam Sweater.’

 

After a terrible struggle they succeeded in getting him on to the

cart, and while he was recovering his wind, Rushton made a few remarks

to the crowd. Sweater then advanced to the front, but in consequence

of the cheering and singing, he was unable to make himself heard for

several minutes.

 

When at length he was able to proceed, ho made a very clever speech -

it had been specially written for him and had cost ten guineas. A

large part of it consisted of warnings against the dangers of

Socialism. Sweater had carefully rehearsed this speech and he

delivered it very effectively. Some of those Socialists, he said,

were well-meaning but mistaken people, who did not realize the harm

that would result if their extraordinary ideas were ever put into

practice. He lowered his voice to a blood-curdling stage whisper as

he asked:

 

`What is this Socialism that we hear so much about, but which so few

understand? What is it, and what does it mean?’

 

Then, raising his voice till it rang through the air and fell upon the

ears of the assembled multitude like the clanging of a funeral bell,

he continued:

 

`It is madness! Chaos! Anarchy! It means Ruin! Black Ruin for the

rich, and consequently, of course, Blacker Ruin still for the poor!’

 

As Sweater paused, a thrill of horror ran through the meeting. Men

wearing broken boots and with patches upon the seats and knees, and

ragged fringes round the bottoms of the legs of their trousers, grew

pale, and glanced apprehensively at each other. If ever Socialism did

come to pass, they evidently thought it very probable that they would

have to walk about in a sort of prehistoric highland costume, without

any trousers or boots at all.

 

Toil-worn women, most of them dressed in other women’s shabby castoff

clothing - weary, tired-looking mothers who fed their children for the

most part on adulterated tea, tinned skimmed milk and bread and

margarine, grew furious as they thought of the wicked Socialists who

were trying to bring Ruin upon them.

 

It never occurred to any of these poor people that they were in a

condition of Ruin, Black Ruin, already. But if Sweater had suddenly

found himself reduced to the same social condition as the majority of

those he addressed, there is not much doubt that he would have thought

that he was in a condition of Black Ruin.

 

The awful silence that had fallen on the panic-stricken crowd, was

presently broken by a ragged-trousered Philanthropist, who shouted

out:

 

`We knows wot they are, sir. Most of ‘em is chaps wot’s got tired of

workin’ for their livin’, so they wants us to keep ‘em.’

 

Encouraged by numerous expressions of approval from the other

Philanthropists, the man continued:

 

`But we ain’t such fools as they thinks, and so they’ll find out next

Monday. Most of ‘em wants ‘angin’, and I wouldn’t mind lendin’ a ‘and

with the rope myself.’

 

Applause and laughter greeted these noble sentiments, and Sweater

resumed his address, when another man - evidently a Socialist - for he

was accompanied by three or four others who like himself wore red ties -

interrupted and said that he would like to ask him a question. No

notice was taken of this request either by Mr Sweater or the chairman,

but a few angry cries of `Order!’ came from the crowd. Sweater

continued, but the man again interrupted and the cries of the crowd

became more threatening. Rushton started up and said that he could

not allow the speaker to be interrupted, but if the gentleman would

wait till the end of the meeting, he would have an opportunity of

asking his question then.

 

The man said he would wait as desired; Sweater resumed his oration,

and presently the interrupter and his friends found themselves

surrounded by the gang of hired bullies who wore the big rosettes and

who glared menacingly at them.

 

Sweater concluded his speech with an appeal to the crowd to deal a

`Slashing Bow at the Enemy’ next Monday, and then amid a storm of

applause, Lord Ammenegg stepped to the front. He said that he did not

intend to inflict a long speech upon them that evening, and as it was

nomination day tomorrow he would not be able to have the honour of

addressing them again during the election; but even if he had wished

to make a long speech, it would be very difficult after the brilliant

and eloquent address they had just listened to from Mr Sweater, for it

seemed to him (Ammenegg) that Adam Sweater had left nothing for anyone

else to say. But he would like to tell them of a Thought that had

occurred to him that evening. They read in the Bible that the Wise

Men came from the East. Windley, as they all knew, was the East end

of the town. They were the men of the East, and he was sure that next

Monday they would prove that they were the Wise Men of the East, by

voting for Adam Sweater and putting him at the top of the poll with a

`Thumping Majority’.

 

The Wise Men of the East greeted Ammenegg’s remarks with prolonged,

imbecile cheers, and amid the tumult his Lordship and Sweater got into

the motor car and cleared off without giving the man with the red tie

or anyone else who desired to ask questions any opportunity of doing

so. Rushton and the other leaders got into another motor car, and

followed the first to take part in another meeting down-town, which

was to be addressed by the great Sir Featherstone Blood.

 

The crowd now resolved itself into military order, headed by the men

with torches and a large white banner on which was written in huge

black letters, `Our man is Adam Sweater’.

 

They marched down the hill singing, and when they reached the Fountain

on the Grand Parade they saw another crowd holding a meeting there.

These were Tories and they became so infuriated at the sound of the

Liberal songs and by the sight of the banner, that they abandoned

their meeting and charged the processionists. A free fight ensued.

Both sides fought like savages, but as the Liberals were outnumbered

by about three to one, they were driven off the field with great

slaughter; most of the torch poles were taken from them, and the

banner was torn to ribbons. Then the Tories went back to the Fountain

carrying the captured torches, and singing to the tune of `Has anyone

seen a German Band?’

 

`Has anyone seen a Lib’ral Flag,

Lib’ral Flag, Lib’ral Flag?’

 

While the Tories resumed their meeting at the Fountain, the Liberals

rallied in one of the back streets. Messengers were sent in various

directions for reinforcements, and about half an hour afterwards they

emerged from their retreat and swooped down upon the Tory meeting.

They overturned the platform, recaptured their torches, tore the

enemy’s banner to tatters and drove them from their position. Then

the Liberals in their turn paraded the streets singing `Has anyone

seen a Tory Flag?’ and proceeded to the hall where Sir Featherstone

was speaking, arriving as the audience left.

 

The crowd that came pouring out of the hall was worked up to a frenzy

of enthusiasm, for the speech they had just listened to had been a

sort of manifesto to the country.

 

In response to the cheering of the processionists - who, of course,

had not heard the speech, but were cheering from force of habit - Sir

Featherstone Blood stood up in the carriage and addressed the crowd,

briefly outlining the great measures of Social Reform that his party

proposed to enact to improve the condition of the working classes; and

as they listened, the Wise Men grew delirious with enthusiasm. He

referred to Land Taxes and Death Duties which would provide money to

build battleships to protect the property of the rich, and provide

Work for the poor. Another tax was to provide a nice, smooth road for

the rich to ride upon in motor cars - and to provide Work for the

poor. Another tax would be used for Development, which would also

make Work for the poor. And so on. A great point was made of the

fact that the rich were actually to be made to pay something towards

the cost of their road themselves! But nothing was said about how

they would get the money to do it. No reference was made to how the

workers would be sweated and driven and starved to earn Dividends and

Rent and Interest and Profits to put into the pockets of the rich

before the latter would be able to pay for anything at all.

 

These are the things, Gentlemen, that we propose to do for you, and,

at the rate of progress which we propose to adopt, I say without fear

or contradiction, that within the next Five Hundred years we shall so

reform social conditions in this country, that the working classes

will be able to enjoy some of the benefits of civilization.

 

`The only question before you is: Are you willing to wait for Five

Hundred Years?’

 

`Yes, sir,’ shouted the Wise Men with enthusiasm at the glorious

prospect.

 

`Yes, Sir: we’ll wait a thousand years if you like, Sir!’

 

`I’ve been waiting all my life,’ said one poor old veteran, who had

assisted to `carry the “Old Flag” to victory’ times out of number in

the past and who for his share of the spoils of those victories was

now in a condition of abject, miserable poverty, with the portals of

the workhouse yawning open to receive him; `I’ve waited all my life,

hoping and trusting for better conditions so a few more years won’t

make much difference to me.’

 

`Don’t you trouble to ‘urry yourself, Sir,’ shouted another Solomon in

the crowd. `We don’t mind waiting. Take your own time, Sir. You

know better than the likes of us ‘ow long it ought to take.’

 

In conclusion, the great man warned them against being led away by the

Socialists, those foolish, unreasonable, impractical people who wanted

to see an immediate improvement in their condition; and he reminded

them that Rome was not built in a day.

 

The Wise Men applauded lustily. It did not appear to