Ragged Trousered Philanthropists by Robert Tressell (read novel full TXT) 📖
- Author: Robert Tressell
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whether he is clever or full, whether he is physically perfect or
lame, or blind; no matter how much he may excel or fall short of his
fellows in other respects, in one thing at least he is their equal -
he is one of the heirs of all the ages that have gone before.’
Some of them began to wonder whether Owen was not sane after all. He
certainly must be a clever sort of chap to be able to talk like this.
It sounded almost like something out of a book, and most of them could
not understand one half of it.
`Why is it,’ continued Owen, `that we are not only deprived of our
inheritance - we are not only deprived of nearly all the benefits of
civilization, but we and our children and also often unable to obtain
even the bare necessaries of existence?’
No one answered.
`All these things,’ Owen proceeded, `are produced by those who work.
We do our full share of the work, therefore we should have a full
share of the things that are made by work.’
The others continued silent. Harlow thought of the over-population
theory, but decided not to mention it. Crass, who could not have
given an intelligent answer to save his life, for once had sufficient
sense to remain silent. He did think of calling out the patent
paint-pumping machine and bringing the hosepipe to bear on the
subject, but abandoned the idea; after all, he thought, what was the
use of arguing with such a fool as Owen?
Sawkins pretended to be asleep.
Philpot, however, had suddenly grown very serious.
`As things are now,’ went on Owen, `instead of enjoying the advantages
of civilization we are really worse off than slaves, for if we were
slaves our owners in their own interest would see to it that we always
had food and -‘
`Oh, I don’t see that,’ roughly interrupted old Linden, who had been
listening with evident anger and impatience. `You can speak for
yourself, but I can tell yer I don’t put MYSELF down as a slave.’
`Nor me neither,’ said Crass sturdily. `Let them call their selves
slaves as wants to.’
At this moment a footstep was heard in the passage leading to the
kitchen. Old Misery! or perhaps the bloke himself! Crass hurriedly
pulled out his watch.
`Jesus Christ!’ he gasped. `It’s four minutes past one!’
Linden frantically seized hold of a pair of steps and began wandering
about the room with them.
Sawkins scrambled hastily to his feet and, snatching a piece of
sandpaper from the pocket of his apron, began furiously rubbing down
the scullery door.
Easton threw down the copy of the Obscurer and scrambled hastily to
his feet.
The boy crammed the Chronicles of Crime into his trousers pocket.
Crass rushed over to the bucket and began stirring up the stale
whitewash it contained, and the stench which it gave forth was simply
appalling.
Consternation reigned.
They looked like a gang of malefactors suddenly interrupted in the
commission of a crime.
The door opened. It was only Bundy returning from his mission to the
Bookie.
Nimrod: a Mighty Hunter before the Lord
Mr Hunter, as he was called to his face and as he was known to his
brethren at the Shining Light Chapel, where he was superintendant of
the Sunday School, or `Misery’ or `Nimrod’; as he was named behind his
back by the workmen over whom he tyrannized, was the general or
walking foreman of `manager’ of the firm whose card is herewith
presented to the reader:
RUSHTON & CO.
MUGSBOROUGH
––-
Builders, Decorators, and General Contractors
FUNERALS FURNISHED
Estimates given for General Repairs to House Property
First-class Work only at Moderate Charges
There were a number of sub-foremen or `coddies’, but Hunter was THE
foreman.
He was a tall, thin man whose clothes hung loosely on the angles of
his round-shouldered, bony form. His long, thin legs, about which the
baggy trousers draped in ungraceful folds, were slightly knock-kneed
and terminated in large, flat feet. His arms were very long even for
such a tall man, and the huge, bony hands were gnarled and knotted.
When he removed his bowler hat, as he frequently did to wipe away with
a red handkerchief the sweat occasioned by furious bicycle riding, it
was seen that his forehead was high, flat and narrow. His nose was a
large, fleshy, hawklike beak, and from the side of each nostril a deep
indentation extended downwards until it disappeared in the dropping
moustache that concealed his mouth, the vast extent of which was
perceived only when he opened it to bellow at the workmen his
exhortations to greater exertions. His chin was large and
extraordinarily long. The eyes were pale blue, very small and close
together, surmounted by spare, light-coloured, almost invisible
eyebrows, with a deep vertical cleft between them over the nose. His
head, covered with thick, coarse brown hair, was very large at the
back; the ears were small and laid close to the head. If one were to
make a full-face drawing of his cadaverous visage it would be found
that the outline resembled that of the lid of a coffin.
This man had been with Rushton - no one had ever seen the `Co.’ - for
fifteen years, in fact almost from the time when the latter commenced
business. Rushton had at that period realized the necessity of having
a deputy who could be used to do all the drudgery and running about so
that he himself might be free to attend to the more pleasant or
profitable matters. Hunter was then a journeyman, but was on the
point of starting on his own account, when Rushton offered him a
constant job as foreman, two pounds a week, and two and a half per
cent of the profits of all work done. On the face of it this appeared
a generous offer. Hunter closed with it, gave up the idea of starting
for himself, and threw himself heart and mind into the business. When
an estimate was to be prepared it was Hunter who measured up the work
and laboriously figured out the probably cost. When their tenders
were accepted it was he who superintended the work and schemed how to
scamp it, where possible, using mud where mortar was specified, mortar
where there ought to have been cement, sheet zinc where they were
supposed to put sheet lead, boiled oil instead of varnish, and three
coats of paint where five were paid for. In fact, scamping the work
was with this man a kind of mania. It grieved him to see anything
done properly. Even when it was more economical to do a thing well,
he insisted from force of habit on having it scamped. Then he was
almost happy, because he felt that he was doing someone down. If
there were an architect superintending the work, Misery would square
him or bluff him. If it were not possible to do either, at least he
had a try; and in the intervals of watching, driving and bullying the
hands, his vulture eye was ever on the look out for fresh jobs. His
long red nose was thrust into every estate agent’s office in the town
in the endeavour to smell out what properties had recently changed
hands or been let, in order that he might interview the new owners and
secure the order for whatever alterations or repairs might be
required. He it was who entered into unholy compacts with numerous
charwomen and nurses of the sick, who in return for a small commission
would let him know when some poor sufferer was passing away and would
recommend Rushton & Co. to the bereaved and distracted relatives. By
these means often - after first carefully inquiring into the financial
position of the stricken family - Misery would contrive to wriggle his
unsavoury carcass into the house of sorrow, seeking, even in the
chamber of death, to further the interests of Rushton & Co. and to
earn his miserable two and a half per cent.
It was to make possible the attainment of this object that Misery
slaved and drove and schemed and cheated. It was for this that the
workers’ wages were cut down to the lowest possible point and their
offspring went ill clad, ill shod and ill fed, and were driven forth
to labour while they were yet children, because their fathers were
unable to earn enough to support their homes.
Fifteen years!
Hunter realized now that Rushton had had considerably the best of the
bargain. In the first place, it will be seen that the latter had
bought over one who might have proved a dangerous competitor, and now,
after fifteen years, the business that had been so laboriously built
up, mainly by Hunter’s energy, industry and unscrupulous cunning,
belonged to Rushton & Co. Hunter was but an employee, liable to
dismissal like any other workman, the only difference being that he
was entitled to a week’s notice instead of an hour’s notice, and was
but little better off financially than when he started for the firm.
Fifteen years!
Hunter knew now that he had been used, but he also knew that it was
too late to turn back. He had not saved enough to make a successful
start on his own account even if he had felt mentally and physically
capable of beginning all over again, and if Rushton were to discharge
him right now he was too old to get a job as a journeyman. Further,
in his zeal for Rushton & Co. and his anxiety to earn his commission,
he had often done things that had roused the animosity of rival firms
to such an extent that it was highly improbable that any of them would
employ him, and even if they would, Misery’s heart failed him at the
thought of having to meet on an equal footing those workmen whom he
had tyrannized over and oppressed. It was for these reasons that
Hunter was as terrified of Rushton as the hands were of himself.
Over the men stood Misery, ever threatening them with dismissal and
their wives and children with hunger. Behind Misery was Rushton, ever
bullying and goading him on to greater excuses and efforts for the
furtherance of the good cause - which was to enable the head of the
firm to accumulate money.
Mr Hunter, at the moment when the reader first makes his acquaintance
on the afternoon of the day when the incidents recorded in the first
chapter took place, was executing a kind of strategic movement in the
direction of the house where Crass and his mates were working. He
kept to one side of the road because by so doing he could not be
perceived by those within the house until the instant of his arrival.
When he was within about a hundred yards of the gate he dismounted
from his bicycle, there being a sharp rise in the road just there, and
as he toiled up, pushing the bicycle in front, his breath showing in
white clouds in the frosty air, he observed a number of men hanging
about. Some of them he knew; they had worked for him at various
times, but where now out of a job . There were five men altogether;
three of them were standing in a group, the other two stood each by
himself, being apparently strangers to each other and the first three.
The three men who stood together were nearest to Hunter and as the
latter approached, one of them advanced to meet him.
`Good afternoon, sir.’
Hunter replied by
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