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

sent there to do ‘em next week,’

remarked Harlow.

 

`P’hap’s so. Most likely they’ll ‘ave to be done in a bloody ‘urry at

the last minute.’

 

Presently Harlow - who was very anxious to know what time it was -

went downstairs to ask Slyme. It was twenty minutes to twelve.

 

From the window of the room where Slyme was papering, one could see

into the front garden. Harlow paused a moment to watch Bundy and the

labourers, who were still working in the trenches at the drains, and

as he looked out he saw Hunter approaching the house. Harlow drew

back hastily and returned to his work, and as he went he passed the

word to the other men, warning them of the approach of Misery.

 

Hunter entered ii his usual manner and, after crawling quietly about

the house for about ten minutes, he went into the drawing room.

 

`I see you’re putting the finishing touches on at last,’ he said.

 

`Yes,’ replied Owen. `I’ve only got this bit of outlining to do now.’

 

`Ah, well, it looks very nice, of course,’ said Misery in a voice of

mourning, `but we’ve lost money over it. It’s taken you a week longer

to do than we allowed for; you said three weeks and it’s taken you a

month; and we only allowed for fifteen books of gold, but you’ve been

and used twenty-three.’

 

`You can hardly blame me for that, you know,’ answered Owen. `I could

have got it done in the three weeks, but Mr Rushton told me not to

hurry for the sake of a day or two, because he wanted a good job. He

said he would rather lose a little over it than spoil it; and as for

the extra gold, that was also his order.’

 

`Well, I suppose it can’t be helped,’ whined Misery. `Anyhow, I’m

very glad it’s done, because this kind of work don’t pay. We’ll ‘ave

you back on the brush on Monday morning; we want to get outside done

next week if it keeps fine.’

 

The `brush’ alluded to by Nimrod was the large `pound’ brush used in

ordinary painting.

 

Misery now began wandering about the house, in and out of the rooms,

sometimes standing for several minutes silently watching the hands as

they worked. As he watched them the men became nervous and awkward,

each one dreading that he might be one of those who were to be paid

off at one o’clock.

 

At about five minutes to twelve Hunter went down to the paintshop -

the scullery - where Crass was mixing some colour, and getting ready

some `empties’ to be taken to the yard.

 

`I suppose the b—r’s gone to ask Crass which of us is the least use,’

whispered Harlow to Easton.

 

`I wouldn’t be surprised if it was you and me, for two,’ replied the

latter in the same tone. `You can’t trust Crass you know, for all ‘e

seems so friendly to our faces. You never know what ‘e ses behind our

backs.’

 

`You may be sure it won’t be Sawkins or any of the other

lightweights, because Nimrod won’t want to pay us sixpence ha’penny

for painting guttering and rainpipes when THEY can do it near enough

for fourpence ha’penny and fivepence. They won’t be able to do the

sashes, though, will they?’

 

`I don’t know so much about that,’ replied Easton. `Anything seems to

be good enough for Hunter.’

 

`Look out! Ere ‘e comes!’ said Harlow, and they both relapsed into

silence and busied themselves with their work. Misery stood watching

them for some time without speaking, and then went out of the house.

They crept cautiously to the window of a room that overlooked the

garden and, peeping furtively out, they saw him standing on the brink

of one of the trenches, moodily watching Bundy and his mates as they

toiled at the drains. Then, to their surprise and relief, he turned

and went out of the gate! They just caught sight of one of the wheels

of his bicycle as he rode away.

 

The slaughter was evidently to be put off until next week! It seemed

too good to be true.

 

`P’hap’s ‘e’s left a message for some of us with Crass?’ suggested

Easton. `I don’t think it’s likely, but it’s just possible.’

 

`Well, I’m goin’ down to ask ‘im,’ said Harlow, desperately. `We may

as well know the worst at once.’

 

He returned in a few minutes with the information that Hunter had

decided not to stop anyone that day because he wanted to get the

outside finished during the next week, if possible.

 

The hands received this intelligence with mixed feelings, because

although it left them safe for the present, it meant that nearly

everybody would certainly be stopped next Saturday, if not before;

whereas if a few had been sacked today it would have made it all the

better for the rest. Still, this aspect of the business did not

greatly interfere with the relief that they all felt at knowing that

the immediate danger was over; and the fact that it was Saturday -

pay-day - also served to revive their drooping spirits. They all felt

pretty certain that Misery would return no more that day, and

presently Harlow began to sing the old favourite. `Work! for the

night is coming!’ the refrain of which was soon taken up by nearly

everyone in the house:

 

`Work! for the night is coming,

Work in the morning hours.

Work! for the night is coming,

Work ‘mid springing flowers.

 

`Work while the dew is sparkling,

Work in the noonday sun!

Work! for the night is coming

When man’s work is done!’

 

When this hymn was finished, someone else, imitating the whine of a

street-singer, started, `Oh, where is my wandering boy tonight?’ and

then Harlow - who by some strange chance had a penny - took it out of

his pocket and dropped it on the floor, the ringing of the coin being

greeted with shouts of `Thank you, kind lady,’ from several of the

singers. This little action of Harlow’s was the means of bringing a

most extraordinary circumstance to light. Although it was Saturday

morning, several of the others had pennies or halfpence! and at the

conclusion of each verse they all followed Harlow’s example and the

house resounded with the ringing of falling coins, cries of `Thank

you, kind lady,’ `Thank you, sir,’ and `Gord bless you,’ mingled with

shouts of laughter.

 

`My wandering boy’ was followed by a choice selection of choruses of

well-known music-hall songs, including `Goodbye, my Bluebell’, `The

Honeysuckle and the Bee’, `I’ve got ‘em!’ and `The Church Parade’, the

whole being tastefully varied and interspersed with howls, shrieks,

curses, catcalls, and downward explosions of flatulence.

 

In the midst of the uproar Crass came upstairs.

 

`‘Ere!’ he shouted. `For Christ’s sake make less row! Suppose Nimrod

was to come back!’

 

`Oh, he ain’t comin’ any more today,’ said Harlow, recklessly.

 

`Besides, what if ‘e does come?’ cried Easton. `Oo cares for ‘im?’

 

`Well, we never know; and for that matter Rushton or Sweater might

come at any minit.’

 

With this, Crass went muttering back to the scullery, and the men

relapsed into their usual silence.

 

At ten minutes to one they all ceased work, put away their colours and

locked up the house. There were a number of `empties’ to be taken

away and left at the yard on their way to the office; these Crass

divided amongst the others - carrying nothing himself - and then they

all set out for the office to get their money, cracking jokes as they

went along. Harlow and Easton enlivened the journey by coughing

significantly whenever they met a young woman, and audibly making some

complimentary remark about her personal appearance. If the girl

smiled, each of them eagerly claimed to have `seen her first’, but if

she appeared offended or `stuck up’, they suggested that she was

cross-cut or that she had been eating vinegar with a fork. Now and

then they kissed their hands affectionately to servant-girls whom they

saw looking out of windows. Some of these girls laughed, others

looked indignant, but whichever way they took it was equally amusing

to Crass and the rest, who were like a crowd of boys just let out of

school.

 

It will be remembered that there was a back door to Rushton’s office;

in this door was a small sliding panel or trap-door with a little

shelf at the bottom. The men stood in the road on the pavement

outside the closed door, their money being passed out to them through

the sliding panel. As there was no shelter, when it rained they

occasionally got wet through while waiting to be paid. With some

firms it is customary to call out the names of the men and pay them in

order of seniority or ability, but there was no such system here; the

man who got to the aperture first was paid first, and so on. The

result was that there was always a sort of miniature `Battle of

Life’, the men pushing and struggling against each other as if their

lives depended upon their being paid by a certain time.

 

On the ledge of the little window through which their money was passed

there was always a Hospital collection-box. Every man put either a

penny or twopence into this box. Of course, it was not compulsory to

do so, but they all did, because they felt that any man who omitted to

contribute might be `marked’. They did not all agree with

contributing to the Hospital, for several reasons. They knew that the

doctors at the Hospital made a practice of using the free patients to

make experiments upon, and they also knew that the so-called `free’

patients who contribute so very largely directly to the maintenance of

such institutions, get scant consideration when they apply for the

`free’ treatment, and are plainly given to understand that they are

receiving `charity’. Some of the men thought that, considering the

extent to which they contributed, they should be entitled to attention

as a right.

 

After receiving their wages, Crass, Easton, Bundy, Philpot, Harlow and

a few others adjourned to the Cricketers for a drink. Owen went away

alone, and Slyme also went on by himself. There was no use waiting

for Easton to come out of the public house, because there was no

knowing how long he would be; he might stay half an hour or two hours.

 

On his way home, in accordance with his usual custom, Slyme called at

the Post Office to put some of his wages in the bank. Like most other

`Christians’, he believed in taking thought for the morrow, what he

should eat and drink and wherewithal he was to be clothed. He thought

it wise to layup for himself as much treasure upon earth as possible.

The fact that Jesus said that His disciples were not to do these things

made no more difference to Slyme’s conduct than it does to the conduct

of any other `Christian’. They are all agreed that when Jesus said

this He meant something else: and all the other inconvenient things

that Jesus said are disposed of in the same way. For instance, these

`disciples’ assure us that when Jesus said, `Resist not evil’, `If a

man smite thee upon he right cheek turn unto him also the left’, He

really meant ‘Turn on to him a Maxim gun; disembowel him with a

bayonet or batter in his skull with the butt end of a rifle!’ When He

said, `If one take thy coat, give him thy cloak also,’ the

`Christians’ say that what He really