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

half sitting on the floor,

her arms folded on the seat of the chair, and her head resting upon

them. She was crying in a heartbroken helpless way.

 

`I’m sorry I spoke to you like that,’ said Easton, awkwardly. `I

didn’t mean what I said. It’s all my fault. I leave things too much

to you, and it’s more than you can be expected to manage. I’ll help

you to think things out in future; only forgive me, I’m very sorry. I

know you try your best.’

 

She suffered him to draw her to him, laying her head on his shoulder

as he kissed and fondled her, protesting that he would rather be poor

and hungry with her than share riches with anyone else.

 

The child in the cradle - who had been twisting and turning restlessly

all this time - now began to cry loudly. The mother took it from the

cradle and began to hush and soothe it, walking about the room and

rocking it in her arms. The child, however, continued to scream, so

she sat down to nurse it: for a little while the infant refused to

drink, struggling and kicking in its mother’s arms, then for a few

minutes it was quite, taking the milk in a half-hearted, fretful way.

Then it began to scream and twist and struggle.

 

They both looked at it in a helpless manner. Whatever could be the

matter with it? It must be those teeth.

 

Then suddenly as they were soothing and patting him, the child vomited

all over its own and its mother’s clothing a mass of undigested food.

Mingled with the curdled milk were fragments of egg, little bits of

bacon, bread and particles of potato.

 

Having rid his stomach of this unnatural burden, the unfortunate baby

began to cry afresh, his face very pale, his lips colourless, and his

eyes red-rimmed and running with water.

 

Easton walked about with him while Ruth cleaned up the mess and got

ready some fresh clothing. They both agreed that it was the coming

teeth that had upset the poor child’s digestion. It would be a good

job when they were through.

 

This work finished, Easton, who was still convinced in his own mind

that with the aid of a little common sense and judicious management

their affairs might be arranged more satisfactorily, said:

 

`We may as well make a list of all the things we must pay and buy

tomorrow. The great thing is to think out exactly what you are going

to do before you spend anything; that saves you from getting things

you don’t really need and prevents you forgetting the things you MUST

have. Now, first of all, the rent; two weeks, twelve shillings.’

 

He took a fresh piece of paper and wrote this item down.

 

`What else is there that we must pay or buy tomorrow?’

 

`Well, you know I promised the baker and the grocer that I would begin

to pay them directly you got a job, and if I don’t keep my word they

won’t let us have anything another time, so you’d better put down two

shillings each for them.

 

`I’ve got that,’ said Easton.

 

`Two and seven for the butcher. We must pay that. I’m ashamed to

pass the shop, because when I got the meat I promised to pay him the

next week, and it’s nearly three weeks ago now.’

 

`I’ve put that down. What else?’

 

`A hundred of coal: one and six.’

 

`Next?’

 

`The instalment for the furniture and floor-cloth, twelve shillings.’

 

`Next?’

 

`We owe the milkman four weeks; we’d better pay one week on account;

that’s one and two.’

 

`Next?’

 

`The greengrocer; one shilling on account.’

 

`Anything else?’

 

`We shall want a piece of meat of some kind; we’ve had none for nearly

three weeks. You’d better say one and six for that.’

 

`That’s down.’

 

`One and nine for bread; that’s one loaf a day.’

 

`But I’ve got two shillings down for bread already,’ said Easton.

 

`Yes, I know, dear, but that’s to go towards paying off what we owe,

and what you have down for the grocer and milkman’s the same.’

 

`Well, go on, for Christ’s sake, and let’s get it down,’ said Easton,

irritably.

 

`We can’t say less than three shillings for groceries.’

 

Easton looked carefully at his list. This time he felt sure that the

item was already down; but finding he was mistaken he said nothing and

added the amount.

 

`Well, I’ve got that. What else?’

 

`Milk, one and two.’

 

`Next?’

 

`Vegetables, eightpence.’

 

`Yes.’

 

`Paraffin oil and firewood, sixpence.’

 

Again the financier scrutinized the list. He was positive that it was

down already. However, he could not find it, so the sixpence was

added to the column of figures.

 

`Then there’s your boots; you can’t go about with them old things in

this weather much longer, and they won’t stand mending again. You

remember the old man said they were not worth it when you had that

patch put on a few weeks ago.’

 

`Yes. I was thinking of buying a new pair tomorrow. My socks was wet

through tonight. If it’s raining some morning when I’m going out and

I have to work all day with wet feet I shall be laid up.’

 

`At that second-hand shop down in High Street I saw when I was out

this afternoon a very good pair just your size, for two shillings.’

 

Easton did not reply at once. He did not much fancy wearing the

castoff boots of some stranger, who for all he knew might have

suffered from some disease, but then remembering that his old ones

were literally falling off his feet he realized that he had

practically no choice.

 

`If you’re quite sure they’ll fit you’d better get them. It’s better

to do that than for me to catch cold and be laid up for God knows how

long.’

 

So the two shillings were added to the list.

 

`Is there anything else?’

 

`How much does it all come to now?’ asked Ruth.

 

Easton added it all up. When he had finished he remained staring at

the figures in consternation for a long time without speaking.

 

`Jesus Christ!’ he ejaculated at last.

 

`What’s it come to?’ asked Ruth.

 

`Forty-four and tenpence.’

 

`I knew we wouldn’t have enough,’ said Ruth, wearily. `Now if you

think I manage so badly, p’raps you can tell me which of these things

we ought to leave out.’

 

`We’d be all right if it wasn’t for the debts,’ said Easton, doggedly.

 

`When you’re not working, we must either get into debt or starve.’

 

Easton made no answer.

 

`What’ll we do about the rates?’ asked Ruth.

 

`I’m sure I don’t know: there’s nothing left to pawn except my black

coat and vest. You might get something on that.’

 

`It’ll have to be paid somehow,’ said Ruth, `or you’ll be taken off to

jail for a month, the same as Mrs Newman’s husband was last winter.’

 

`Well, you’d better take the coat and vest and see what you can get on

‘em tomorrow.’

 

`Yes,’ said Ruth; `and there’s that brown silk dress of mine - you

know, the one I wore when we was married - I might get something on

that, because we won’t get enough on the coat and vest. I don’t like

parting with the dress, although I never wear it; but we’ll be sure to

be able to get it out again, won’t we?’

 

`Of course,’ said Easton.

 

They remained silent for some time, Easton staring at the list of

debts and the letters. She was wondering if he still thought she

managed badly, and what he would do about it. She knew she had always

done her best. At last she said, wistfully, trying to speak plainly

for there seemed to be a lump in her throat: `And what about tomorrow?

Would you like to spend the money yourself, or shall I manage as I’ve

done before, or will you tell me what to do?’

 

`I don’t know, dear,’ said Easton, sheepishly. `I think you’d better

do as you think best.’

 

`Oh, I’ll manage all right, dear, you’ll see,’ replied Ruth, who

seemed to think it a sort of honour to be allowed to starve herself

and wear shabby clothes.

 

The baby, who had been for some time quietly sitting upon his mother’s

lap, looking wonderingly at the fire - his teeth appeared to trouble

him less since he got rid of the eggs and bacon and potatoes - now

began to nod and doze, which Easton perceiving, suggested that the

infant should not be allowed to go to sleep with an empty stomach,

because it would probably wake up hungry in the middle of the night.

He therefore work him up as much as possible and mashed a little of

the bread and toasted cheese with a little warm milk. Then taking the

baby from Ruth he began to try to induce it to eat. As soon, however,

as the child understood his object, it began to scream at the top of

its voice, closing its lips firmly and turning its head rapidly from

side to side every time the spoon approached its mouth. It made such

a dreadful noise that Easton at last gave in. He began to walk about

the room with it, and presently the child sobbed itself to sleep.

After putting the baby into its cradle Ruth set about preparing

Easton’s breakfast and packing it into his basket. This did not take

very long, there being only bread and butter - or, to be more correct,

margarine.

 

Then she poured what tea was left in the tea-pot into a small saucepan

and placed it on the top of the oven, but away from the fire, cut two

more slices of bread and spread on them all the margarine that was

left; then put them on a plate on the table, covering them with a

saucer to prevent them getting hard and dry during the night. Near

the plate she placed a clean cup and saucer and the milk and sugar.

 

In the morning Easton would light the fire and warm up the tea in

the saucepan so as to have a cup of tea before going out. If Ruth was

awake and he was not pressed for time, he generally took a cup of tea

to her in bed.

 

Nothing now remained to be done but to put some coal and wood ready in

the fender so that there would be no unnecessary delay in the morning.

 

The baby was still sleeping and Ruth did not like to wake him up yet

to dress him for the night. Easton was sitting by the fire smoking,

so everything being done, Ruth sat down at the table and began sewing.

Presently she spoke:

 

`I wish you’d let me try to let that back room upstairs: the woman

next door has got hers let unfurnished to an elderly woman and her

husband for two shillings a week. If we could get someone like that

it would be better than having an empty room in the house.’

 

`And we’d always have them messing about down here, cooking and

washing and one thing and another,’ objected Easton; `they’d be more

trouble than they way worth.’

 

`Well, we might try and furnish it. There’s Mrs Crass across the road

has got two lodgers in one room. They pay her twelve shillings a week

each; board, lodging and washing. That’s one pound four she has

coming in reglar every