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

theorists who prate of the equality of

mankind, for the inhabitants instinctively formed themselves into

groups, the more superior types drawing together, separating

themselves from the inferior, and rising naturally to the top, while

the others gathered themselves into distinct classes, grading

downwards, or else isolated themselves altogether; being refused

admission to the circles they desired to enter, and in their turn

refusing to associate with their inferiors.

 

The most exclusive set consisted of the families of the coal merchant,

the two retired jerry-builders and Mr Trafaim, whose superiority was

demonstrated by the fact that, to say nothing of his French

extraction, he wore - in addition to the top hat aforesaid - a frock

coat and a pair of lavender trousers every day. The coal merchant and

the jerry builders also wore top hats, lavender trousers and frock

coats, but only on Sundays and other special occasions. The estate

agent’s clerk and the insurance agent, though excluded from the higher

circle, belonged to another select coterie from which they excluded in

their turn all persons of inferior rank, such as shop assistants or

barbers.

 

The only individual who was received with equal cordiality by all

ranks, was the tallyman’s traveller. But whatever differences existed

amongst them regarding each other’s social standing they were

unanimous on one point at least: they were indignant at Owen’s

presumption in coming to live in such a refined locality.

 

This low fellow, this common workman, with his paint-bespattered

clothing, his broken boots, and his generally shabby appearance, was a

disgrace to the street; and as for his wife she was not much better,

because although whenever she came out she was always neatly dressed,

yet most of the neighbours knew perfectly well that she had been

wearing the same white straw hat all the time she had been there. In

fact, the only tolerable one of the family was the boy, and they were

forced to admit that he was always very well dressed; so well indeed

as to occasion some surprise, until they found out that all the boy’s

clothes were home-made. Then their surprise was changed into a

somewhat grudging admiration of the skill displayed, mingled with

contempt for the poverty which made its exercise necessary.

 

The indignation of the neighbours was increased when it became known

that Owen and his wife were not Christians: then indeed everyone

agreed that the landlord ought to be ashamed of himself for letting

the top flat to such people.

 

But although the hearts of these disciples of the meek and lowly

Jewish carpenter were filled with uncharitableness, they were

powerless to do much harm. The landlord regarded their opinion with

indifference. All he cared about was the money: although he also was

a sincere Christian, he would not have hesitated to let the top flat

to Satan himself, provided he was certain of receiving the rent

regularly.

 

The only one upon whom the Christians were able to inflict any

suffering was the child. At first when he used to go out into the

street to play, the other children, acting on their parents’

instructions, refused to associate with him, or taunted him with his

parents’ poverty. Occasionally he came home heartbroken and in tears

because he had been excluded from some game.

 

At first, sometimes the mothers of some of the better-class children

used to come out with a comical assumption of superiority and dignity

and compel their children to leave off playing with Frankie and some

other poorly dressed children who used to play in that street. These

females were usually overdressed and wore a lot of jewellery. Most of

them fancied they were ladies, and if they had only had the sense to

keep their mouths shut, other people might possibly have shared the

same delusion.

 

But this was now a rare occurrence, because the parents of the other

children found it a matter of considerable difficulty to prevent their

youngsters from associating with those of inferior rank, for when left

to themselves the children disregarded all such distinctions.

Frequently in that street was to be seen the appalling spectacle of

the ten-year-old son of the refined and fashionable Trafaim dragging

along a cart constructed of a sugar box and an old pair of

perambulator wheels with no tyres, in which reposed the plebeian

Frankie Owen, armed with a whip, and the dowdy daughter of a barber’s

clerk: while the nine-year-old heir of the coal merchant rushed up

behind …

 

Owen’s wife and little son were waiting for him in the living room.

This room was about twelve feet square and the ceiling - which was low

and irregularly shaped, showing in places the formation of the roof -

had been decorated by Owen with painted ornaments.

 

There were three or four chairs, and an oblong table, covered with a

clean white tablecloth, set ready for tea. In the recess at the right

of fireplace - an ordinary open grate - were a number of shelves

filled with a miscellaneous collection of books, most of which had

been bought second-hand.

 

There were also a number of new books, mostly cheap editions in paper

covers.

 

Over the back of a chair at one side of the fire, was hanging an old

suit of Owen’s, and some underclothing, which his wife had placed

there to air, knowing that he would be wet through by the time he

arrived home …

 

The woman was half-sitting, half lying, on a couch by the other side

of the fire. She was very thin, and her pale face bore the traces of

much physical and mental suffering. She was sewing, a task which her

reclining position rendered somewhat difficult. Although she was

really only twenty-eight years of age, she appeared older.

 

The boy, who was sitting on the hearthrug playing with some toys, bore

a strong resemblance to his mother. He also, appeared very fragile

and in his childish face was reproduced much of the delicate

prettiness which she had once possessed. His feminine appearance was

increased by the fact that his yellow hair hung in long curls on his

shoulders. The pride with which his mother regarded this long hair

was by no means shared by Frankie himself, for he was always

entreating her to cut it off.

 

Presently the boy stood up and walking gravely over to the window,

looked down into the street, scanning the pavement for as far as he

could see: he had been doing this at intervals for the last hour.

 

`I wonder wherever he’s got to,’ he said, as he returned to the fire.

 

`I’m sure I don’t know,’ returned his mother. `Perhaps he’s had to

work overtime.’

 

`You know, I’ve been thinking lately,’ observed Frankie, after a

pause, `that it’s a great mistake for Dad to go out working at all. I

believe that’s the very reason why we’re so poor.’

 

`Nearly everyone who works is more or less poor, dear, but if Dad

didn’t go out to work we’d be even poorer than we are now. We should

have nothing to eat.’

 

`But Dad says that the people who do nothing get lots of everything.’

 

`Yes, and it’s quite true that most of the people who never do any

work get lots of everything, but where do they get it from? And how

do they get it?’

 

`I’m sure i don’t know,’ replied Frankie, shaking his head in a

puzzled fashion.

 

`Supposing Dad didn’t go to work, or that he had no work to go to, or

that he was ill and not able to do any work, then we’d have no money

to buy anything. How should we get on then?’

 

`I’m sure I don’t know,’ repeated Frankie, looking round the room in a

thoughtful manner, `The chairs that’s left aren’t good enough to sell,

and we can’t sell the beds, or your sofa, but you might pawn my velvet

suit.’

 

`But even if all the things were good enough to sell, the money we’d

get for them wouldn’t last very long, and what should we do then?’

 

`Well, I suppose we’d have to go without, that’s all, the same as we

did when Dad was in London .’

 

`But how do the people who never do any work manage to get lots of

money then?’ added Frankie.

 

`Oh, there’s lots of different ways. For instance, you remember when

Dad was in London, and we had no food in the house, I had to sell the

easy chair.’

 

Frankie nodded. `Yes,’ he said, `I remember you wrote a note and I

took it to the shop, and afterwards old Didlum came up here and bought

it, and then his cart came and a man took it away.’

 

`And do you remember how much he gave us for it?’

 

`Five shillings,’ replied Frankie, promptly. He was well acquainted

with the details of the transaction, having often heard his father

and mother discuss it.

 

`And when we saw it in his shop window a little while afterwards, what

price was marked on it?’

 

‘Fifteen shillings.’

 

Well, that’s one way of getting money without working.

 

Frankie played with his toys in silence for some minutes. At last he

said:

 

`What other ways?’

 

`Some people who have some money already get more in this way: they

find some people who have no money and say to them, “Come and work for

us.” Then the people who have the money pay the workers just enough

wages to keep them alive whilst they are at work. Then, when the

things that the working people have been making are finished, the

workers are sent away, and as they still have no money, they are soon

starving. In the meantime the people who had the money take all the

things that the workers have made and sell them for a great deal more

money than they gave to the workers for making them. That’s another

way of getting lots of money without doing any useful work.’

 

`But is there no way to get rich without doing such things as that?’

 

`It’s not possible for anyone to become rich without cheating other

people.’

 

`What about our schoolmaster then? He doesn’t do any work.’

 

`Don’t you think it’s useful and and also very hard work teaching all

those boys every day? I don’t think I should like to have to do it.’

 

`Yes, I suppose what he does is some use,’ said Frankie thoughtfully.

`And it must be rather hard too, I should think. I’ve noticed he

looks a bit worried sometimes, and sometimes he gets into a fine old

wax when the boys don’t pay proper attention.’

 

The child again went over to the window, and pulling back the edge of

the blind looked down the deserted rain washed street.

 

`What about the vicar?’ he remarked as he returned.

 

Although Frankie did not go to church or Sunday School, the day school

that he had attended was that attached to the parish church, and the

vicar was in the habit of looking in occasionally.

 

`Ah, he really is one of those who live without doing any necessary

work, and of all the people who do nothing, the vicar is one of the

very worst.’

 

Frankie looked up at his mother with some surprise, not because he

entertained any very high opinion of clergymen in general, for, having

been an attentive listener to many conversations between his parents,

he had of course assimilated their opinions as far as his infant

understanding permitted, but because at the school the scholars were

taught to regard the gentleman in question with the most profound

reverence and respect.

 

`Why, Mum?’ he asked.

 

`For this