Ragged Trousered Philanthropists by Robert Tressell (read novel full TXT) đ
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these he was unsuccessful, and after a momentâs hesitation he decided
that it would be quicker to walk than to wait for the next one. He
accordingly resumed his journey, but he had not gone very far when he
saw a small crowd of people on the pavement on the other side of the
road outside an unoccupied house, and although he was in a hurry to
get home he crossed over to see what was the matter. There were about
twenty people standing there, and in the centre close to the railing
there were three or four women whom Slyme could not see although he
could hear their voices.
`Whatâs up?â he inquired of a man on the edge of the crowd.
`Oh, nothing much,â returned the other. `Some young woman; sheâs
either ill, come over faint, or something - or else sheâs had a drop
too much.â
`Quite a respectable-looking young party, too,â said another man.
Several young fellows in the crowd were amusing themselves by making
suggestive jokes about the young woman and causing some laughter by
the expressions of mock sympathy.
`Doesnât anyone know who she is?â said the second man who had spoken
in reply to Slymeâs inquiry.
`No,â said a woman who was standing a little nearer the middle of the
crowd. `And she wonât say where she lives.â
`Sheâll be all right now sheâs had that glass of soda,â said another
man, elbowing his way out of the crowd. As this individual came out,
Slyme managed to work himself a little further into the group of
people, and he uttered an involuntary cry of astonishment as he caught
sight of Ruth, very pale, and looking very ill, as she stood clasping
one of the railings with her left hand and holding the packages of
groceries in the other. She had by this time recovered sufficiently
to feel overwhelmed with shame and confusion before the crowd of
strangers who hemmed her in on every side, and some of whom she could
hear laughing and joking about her. It was therefore with a sensation
of intense relief and gratitude that she saw Slymeâs familiar face and
heard his friendly voice as he forced his way through to her side.
`I can walk home all right now,â she stammered in reply to his anxious
questioning. `If you wouldnât mind carrying some of these things for
me.â
He insisted on taking all the parcels, and the crowd, having jumped to
the conclusion that he was the young womanâs husband began to dwindle
away, one of the jokers remarking `Itâs all over!â in a loud voice as
he took himself off.
It was only about seven minutesâ walk home from there, and as the
streets along which they had to pass were not very brilliantly
lighted, Ruth was able to lean on Slymeâs arm most of the way. When
they arrived home, after she had removed her hat, he made her sit down
in the armchair by the fire, which was burning brightly, and the
kettle was singing on the hob, for she had banked up the fire with
cinders and small coal before she went out.
The baby was still asleep in the cradle, but his slumbers had
evidently not been of the most restful kind, for he had kicked all the
bedclothes off him and was lying all uncovered. Ruth obeyed passively
when Slyme told her to sit down, and, lying back languidly in the
armchair, she watched him through half-closed eyes and with a slight
flush on her face as he deftly covered the sleeping child with the
bedclothes and settled him more comfortably in the cot.
Slyme now turned his attention to the fire, and as he placed the
kettle upon it he remarked: `As soon as the water boils Iâll make you
some strong tea.â
During their walk home she had acquainted Slyme with the cause of her
being in the condition in which he found her in the street, and as she
reclined in the armchair, drowsily watching him, she wondered what
would have happened to her if he had not passed by when he did.
`Are you feeling better?â he asked, looking down at her.
`Yes, thanks. I feel quite well now; but Iâm afraid Iâve given you a
lot of trouble.â
`No, you havenât. Nothing I can do for you is a trouble to me. But
donât you think youâd better take your jacket off? Here, let me help
you.â
It took a very long time to get this jacket off, because whilst he was
helping her, Slyme kissed her repeatedly and passionately as she lay
limp and unresisting in his arms.
The Oblong
During the following week the work at `The Caveâ progressed rapidly
towards completion, although, the hours of daylight being so few, the
men worked only from 8 A.M. till 4 P.M. and they had their breakfasts
before they came. This made 40 hours a week, so that those who were
paid sevenpence an hour earned ïżœ1.3.4. Those who got sixpence-halfpenny drew ïżœ1.1.8. Those whose wages were fivepence an hour were
paid the princely sum of 16/8d. for their weekâs hard labour, and
those whose rate was fourpence-halfpenny `picked upâ 15/-.
And yet there are people who have the insolence to say that Drink is
the cause of poverty.
And many of the persons who say this, spend more money than that on
drink themselves - every day of their useless lives.
By Tuesday night all the inside was finished with the exception of the
kitchen and scullery. The painting of the kitchen had been delayed
owing to the non-arrival of the new cooking range, and the scullery
was still used as the paint shop. The outside work was also nearly
finished: all the first coating was done and the second coating was
being proceeded with. According to the specification, all the outside
woodwork was supposed to have three coats, and the guttering,
rainpipes and other ironwork two coats, but Crass and Hunter had
arranged to make two coats do for most of the windows and woodwork,
and all the ironwork was to be made to do with one coat only. The
windows were painted in two colours: the sashes dark green and the
frames white. All the rest - gables, doors, railings, guttering, etc. -
was dark green; and all the dark green paint was made with boiled
linseed oil and varnish; no turpentine being allowed to be used on
this part of the work.
`This is some bloody fine stuff to âave to use, ainât it?â remarked
Harlow to Philpot on Wednesday morning. `Itâs more like a lot of
treacle than anything else.â
`Yes: and it wonât arf blister next summer when it gets a bit of sun
on it,â replied Philpot with a grin.
`I suppose theyâre afraid that if they was to put a little turps in,
it wouldnât bear out, and theyâd âave to give it another coat.â
`You can bet yer life thatâs the reason,â said Philpot. `But all the
same I mean to pinch a drop to put in mine as soon as Crass is gorn.â
`Gorn where?â
`Why, didnât you know? thereâs another funeral on today? Didnât you
see that corfin plate what Owen was writing in the drorinâ-room last
Saturday morning?â
`No, I wasnât âere. Donât you remember I was sent away to do a
ceilinâ and a bit of painting over at Windley?â
`Oh, of course; I forgot,â exclaimed Philpot.
`I reckon Crass and Slyme must be making a small fortune out of all
these funerals,â said Harlow. `This makes the fourth in the last
fortnight. What is it they gets for âem?â
`A shillinâ for takingâ âome the corfin and liftinâ in the corpse, and
four bob for the funeral - five bob altogether.â
`Thatâs a bit of all right, ainât it?â said Harlow. `A couple of them
in a week besides your weekâs wages, eh? Five bob for two or three
hours work!â
`Yes, the moneyâs all right, mate, but theyâre welcome to it for my
part . I donât want to go messinâ about with no corpses,â replied
Philpot with a shudder.
`Who is this last party whatâs dead?â asked Harlow after a pause.
`Itâs a parson what used to belong to the âShining Lightâ Chapel.
Heâd been abroad for âis âollerdays - to Monte Carlo. It seems âe was
ill before âe went away, but the change did âim a lot of good; in
fact, âe was quite recovered, and âe was coming back again. But while
âe was standinâ on the platform at Monte Carlo Station waitinâ for the
train, a porter runned into âim with a barrer load oâ luggage, and âe
blowed up.â
`Blowed up?â
`Yes,â repeated Philpot. `Blowed up! Busted! Exploded! All into
pieces. But they swepâ âem all up and put it in a corfin and itâs to
be planted this afternoon.â
Harlow maintained an awestruck silence, and Philpot continued:
`I had a drink the other night with a butcher bloke what used to serve
this parson with meat, and we was talkinâ about what a strange sort of
death it was, but âe said âe wasnât at all surprised to âear of it;
the only thing as âe wondered at was that the man didnât blow up long
ago, considerinâ the amount of grub as âe used to make away with. He
ses the quantities of stuff as âeâs took there and seen other
tradesmen take was something chronic. Tons of it!â
`What was the parsonâs name?â asked Harlow.
`Belcher. You must âave noticed âim about the town. A very fat
chap,â replied Philpot. `Iâm sorry you wasnât âere on Saturday to see
the corfin plate. Frank called me in to see the wordinâ when âeâd
finished it. It had on: âJonydab Belcher. Born January 1st, 1849.
Ascended, December 8th, 19âââ
`Oh, I know the bloke now!â cried Harlow. `I remember my youngsters
bringinâ âome a subscription list what theyâd got up at the Sunday
School to send âim away for a âollerday because âe was ill, and I gave
âem a penny each to put on their cards because I didnât want âem to
feel mean before the other young âuns.â
`Yes, itâs the same party. Two or three young âuns asked me to give
âem something to put on at the time. And I see theyâve got another
subscription list on now. I met one of Newmanâs children yesterday
and she showed it to me. Itâs for an entertainment and a Christmas
Tree for all the children what goes to the Sunday School, so I didnât
mind giving just a trifle for anything like that.â âŠ
`Seems to be gettinâ colder, donât it?â
`Itâs enough to freeze the ears orf a brass monkey!â remarked Easton
as he descended from a ladder close by and, placing his pot of paint
on the pound, began to try to warm his hands by rubbing and beating
them together.
He was trembling, and his teeth were chattering with cold.
`I could just do with a nice pint of beer, now,â he said as he stamped
his feet on the pound.
`Thatâs just what I was thinkinâ,â said Philpot, wistfully, âand
whatâs more, I mean to âave one, too, at dinner-time. I shall nip
down to the âCricketersâ. Even if I donât get back till a few minutes
after one, it wonât matter, because Crass and Nimrod will be gorn to
the funeral.â
`Will you bring me a pint back with you, in a
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