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

done a week’s work, you shall have your money.’

 

The Working Classes accordingly set to work, and the Capitalist class

sat down and watched them. As soon as they had finished, they passed

the nine little blocks to Owen, who placed them on a piece of paper by

his side and paid the workers their wages.

 

`These blocks represent the necessaries of life. You can’t live

without some of these things, but as they belong to me, you will have

to buy them from me: my price for these blocks is - one pound each.’

 

As the working classes were in need of the necessaries of life and as

they could not eat, drink or wear the useless money, they were

compelled to agree to the kind Capitalist’s terms. They each bought

back and at once consumed one-third of the produce of their labour.

The capitalist class also devoured two of the square blocks, and so

the net result of the week’s work was that the kind capitalist had

consumed two pounds worth of the things produced by the labour of the

others, and reckoning the squares at their market value of one pound

each, he had more than doubled his capital, for he still possessed the

three pounds in money and in addition four pounds worth of goods. As

for the working classes, Philpot, Harlow and Easton, having each

consumed the pound’s worth of necessaries they had bought with their

wages, they were again in precisely the same condition as when they

started work - they had nothing.

 

This process was repeated several times: for each week’s work the

producers were paid their wages. They kept on working and spending

all their earnings. The kind-hearted capitalist consumed twice as

much as any one of them and his pile of wealth continually increased.

In a little while - reckoning the little squares at their market value

of one pound each - he was worth about one hundred pounds, and the

working classes were still in the same condition as when they began,

and were still tearing into their work as if their lives depended upon

it.

 

After a while the rest of the crowd began to laugh, and their

merriment increased when the kind-hearted capitalist, just after

having sold a pound’s worth of necessaries to each of his workers,

suddenly took their tools - the Machinery of Production - the knives

away from them, and informed them that as owing to Over Production all

his store-houses were glutted with the necessaries of life, he had

decided to close down the works.

 

`Well, and wot the bloody ‘ell are we to do now?’ demanded Philpot.

 

`That’s not my business,’ replied the kind-hearted capitalist. `I’ve

paid you your wages, and provided you with Plenty of Work for a long

time past. I have no more work for you to do at present. Come round

again in a few months’ time and I’ll see what I can do for you.’

 

`But what about the necessaries of life?’ demanded Harlow. `We must

have something to eat.’

 

`Of course you must,’ replied the capitalist, affably; `and I shall be

very pleased to sell you some.’

 

`But we ain’t got no bloody money!’

 

`Well, you can’t expect me to give you my goods for nothing! You

didn’t work for me for nothing, you know. I paid you for your work

and you should have saved something: you should have been thrifty like

me. Look how I have got on by being thrifty!’

 

The unemployed looked blankly at each other, but the rest of the crowd

only laughed; and then the three unemployed began to abuse the

kind-hearted Capitalist, demanding that he should give them some of

the necessaries of life that he had piled up in his warehouses, or to

be allowed to work and produce some more for their own needs; and even

threatened to take some of the things by force if he did not comply

with their demands. But the kind-hearted Capitalist told them not to

be insolent, and spoke to them about honesty, and said if they were

not careful he would have their faces battered in for them by the

police, or if necessary he would call out the military and have them

shot down like dogs, the same as he had done before at Featherstone

and Belfast.

 

`Of course,’ continued the kind-hearted capitalist, `if it were not

for foreign competition I should be able to sell these things that you

have made, and then I should be able to give you Plenty of Work again:

but until I have sold them to somebody or other, or until I have used

them myself, you will have to remain idle.’

 

`Well, this takes the bloody biskit, don’t it?’ said Harlow.

 

`The only thing as I can see for it,’ said Philpot mournfully, `is to

‘ave a unemployed procession.’

 

`That’s the idear,’ said Harlow, and the three began to march about

the room in Indian file, singing:

 

`We’ve got no work to do-oo-oo’

We’ve got no work to do-oo-oo!

Just because we’ve been workin’ a dam sight too hard,

Now we’ve got no work to do.’

 

As they marched round, the crowd jeered at them and made offensive

remarks. Crass said that anyone could see that they were a lot of

lazy, drunken loafers who had never done a fair day’s work in their

lives and never intended to.

 

`We shan’t never get nothing like this, you know,’ said Philpot.

`Let’s try the religious dodge.’

 

`All right,’ agreed Harlow. `What shall we give ‘em?’

 

`I know!’ cried Philpot after a moment’s deliberation. `“Let my lower

lights be burning.” That always makes ‘em part up.’

 

The three unemployed accordingly resumed their march round the room,

singing mournfully and imitating the usual whine of street-singers:

 

`Trim your fee-bil lamp me brither-in,

Some poor sail-er tempest torst,

Strugglin’ ‘ard to save the ‘arb-er,

Hin the dark-niss may be lorst,

So let try lower lights be burning,

Send ‘er gleam acrost the wave,

Some poor shipwrecked, struggling seaman,

You may rescue, you may save.’

 

`Kind frens,’ said Philpot, removing his cap and addressing the crowd,

`we’re hall honest British workin’ men, but we’ve been hout of work

for the last twenty years on account of foreign competition and

over-production. We don’t come hout ‘ere because we’re too lazy to

work; it’s because we can’t get a job. If it wasn’t for foreign

competition, the kind’earted Hinglish capitalists would be able to

sell their goods and give us Plenty of Work, and if they could, I

assure you that we should hall be perfectly willing and contented to

go on workin’ our bloody guts out for the benefit of our masters for

the rest of our lives. We’re quite willin’ to work: that’s hall we

arst for - Plenty of Work - but as we can’t get it we’re forced to

come out ‘ere and arst you to spare a few coppers towards a crust of

bread and a night’s lodgin’.’

 

As Philpot held out his cap for subscriptions, some of them attempted

to expectorate into it, but the more charitable put in pieces of cinder

or dirt from the floor, and the kind-hearted capitalist was so

affected by the sight of their misery that he gave them one of the

sovereigns he had in us pocket: but as this was of no use to them they

immediately returned it to him in exchange for one of the small

squares of the necessaries of life, which they divided and greedily

devoured. And when they had finished eating they gathered round the

philanthropist and sang, `For he’s a jolly good fellow,’ and

afterwards Harlow suggested that they should ask him if he would allow

them to elect him to Parliament.