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

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`You can ‘ave the bloody place all to yerself in about five minutes,’

replied Bundy, as he assisted to lift a sack of cement weighing about

two hundredweight on to Dawson’s buck. `We’re finished now.’

 

When they had cleared away all the dirt and fragments of bricks and

mortar, while Crass and Slyme proceeded with the painting, Bundy and

Dawson loaded up their handcart with the old range and the bags of

unused cement and plaster, which they took back to the yard.

Meantime, Misery was wandering about the house and pounds like an evil

spirit seeking rest and finding none. He stood for some time gloomily

watching the four gardeners, who were busily at work laying strips of

turf, mowing the lawn, rolling the gravel paths and trimming the trees

and bushes. The boy Bert, Philpot, Harlow, Easton and Sawkins were

loading a handcart with ladders and empty paint-pots to return to the

yard. Just as they were setting out, Misery stopped them, remarking

that the cart was not half loaded - he said it would take a month to

get all the stuff away if they went on like that; so by his directions

they placed another long ladder on top of the pile and once more

started on their way, but before they had gone two dozen yards one of

the wheels of the cart collapsed and the load was scattered over the

roadway. Bert was at the same side of the cart as the wheel that

broke and he was thrown violently to the ground, where he lay half

stunned, in the midst of the ladders and planks. When they got him

out they were astonished to find that, thanks to the special

Providence that watches over all small boys, he was almost unhurt -

just a little dazed, that was all; and by the time Sawkins returned

with another cart, Bert was able to help to gather up the fallen

paint-pots and to accompany the men with the load to the yard. At the

corner of the road they paused to take a last look at the `job’.

 

`There it stands!’ said Harlow, tragically, extending his arm towards

the house. `There it stands! A job that if they’d only have let us

do it properly, couldn’t ‘ave been done with the number of ‘ands we’ve

‘ad, in less than four months; and there it is, finished, messed up,

slobbered over and scamped, in nine weeks!’

 

`Yes, and now we can all go to ‘ell,’ said Philpot, gloomily.

 

At the yard they found Bundy and his mate, Ned Dawson, who helped them

to hang up the ladders in their usual places. Philpot was glad to get

out of assisting to do this, for he had contracted a rather severe

attack of rheumatism when working outside at the `Cave’. Whilst the

others were putting the ladders away he assisted Bert to carry the

paint-pots and buckets into the paint shop, and while there he filled

a small medicine bottle he had brought with him for the purpose, with

turpentine from the tank. He wanted this stuff to rub into his

shoulders and legs, and as he secreted the bottle in the inner pocket

of his coat, he muttered: `This is where we gets some of our own

back.’

 

They took the key of the yard to the office and as they separated to

go home Bundy suggested that the best thing they could do would be to

sew their bloody mouths up for a few months, because there was not

much probability of their getting another job until about March.

 

The next morning while Crass and Slyme were finishing inside, Owen

wrote the two gates. On the front entrance `The Cave’ and on the back

`Tradesmens Entrance’, in gilded letters. In the meantime, Sawkins

and Bert made several journeys to the Yard with the handcart.

 

Crass - working in the kitchen with Slyme - was very silent and

thoughtful. Ever since the job was started, every time Mr Sweater had

visited the house to see what progress was being made, Crass had been

grovelling to him in the hope of receiving a tip when the work was

finished. He had been very careful to act upon any suggestions that

Sweater had made from time to time and on several occasions had taken

a lot of trouble to get just the right tints of certain colours,

making up a number of different shades and combinations, and doing

parts of the skirtings or mouldings of rooms in order that Mr Sweater

might see exactly - before they went on with it � what it would look

like when finished. He made a great pretence of deferring to

Sweater’s opinion, and assured him that he did not care how much

trouble he took as long as he - Sweater - was pleased. In fact, it

was no trouble at all: it was a pleasure. As the work neared

completion, Crass began to speculate upon the probable amount of the

donation he would receive as the reward of nine weeks of cringing,

fawning, abject servility. He thought it quite possible that he might

get a quid: it would not be too much, considering all the trouble he

had taken. It was well worth it. At any rate, he felt certain that

he was sure to get ten bob; a gentleman like Mr Sweater would never

have the cheek to offer less. The more he thought about it the more

improbable it appeared that the amount would be less than a quid, and

he made up his mind that whatever he got he would take good care that

none of the other men knew anything about it. HE was the one who had

had all the worry of the job, and he was the only one entitled to

anything there was to be had. Besides, even if he got a quid, by the

time you divided that up amongst a dozen - or even amongst two or

three - it would not be worth having.

 

At about eleven o’clock Mr Sweater arrived and began to walk over the

house, followed by Crass, who carried a pot of paint and a small brush

and made believe to be `touching up’ and finishing off parts of the

work. As Sweater went from one room to another Crass repeatedly

placed himself in the way in the hope of being spoken to, but Sweater

took no notice of him whatever. Once or twice Crass’s heart began to

beat quickly as he furtively watched the great man and saw him thrust

his thumb and finger into his waistcoat pocket, but on each occasion

Sweater withdrew his hand with nothing in it. After a while,

observing that the gentleman was about to depart without having

spoken, Crass determined to break the ice himself.

 

`It’s a little better weather we’re ‘avin’ now, sir.’

 

`Yes,’ replied Sweater.

 

`I was beginnin’ to be afraid as I shouldn’t be hable to git

heverything finished in time for you to move in before Christmas,

sir,’ Crass continued, `but it’s hall done now, sir.’

 

Sweater made no reply.

 

`I’ve kept the fire agoin’ in hall the rooms has you told me, sir,’

resumed Crass after a pause. `I think you’ll find as the place is

nice and dry, sir; the honly places as is a bit damp is the kitchen

and scullery and the other rooms in the basement, sir, but of course

that’s nearly halways the case, sir, when the rooms is partly

hunderground, sir.

 

`But of course it don’t matter so much about the basement, sir,

because it’s honly the servants what ‘as to use it, sir, and even down

there it’ll be hall right hin the summer, sir.’

 

One would scarcely think, from the contemptuous way in which he spoke

of `servants’ that Crass’s own daughter was `in service’, but such was

the case.

 

`Oh, yes, there’s no doubt about that,’ replied Sweater as he moved

towards the door; `there’s no doubt it will be dry enough in the

summer. Good morning.’

 

`Good morning to YOU, sir,’ said Crass, following him. `I ‘opes as

you’re pleased with all the work, sir; everything satisfactory, sir.’

 

`Oh, yes. I think it looks very nice; very nice indeed; I’m very

pleased with it,’ said Sweater affably. `Good morning.’

 

`Good morning, sir,’ replied the foreman with a sickly smile as

Sweater departed.

 

When the other was gone, Crass sat down dejectedly on the bottom step

of the stairs, overwhelmed with the ruin of his hopes and

expectations. He tried to comfort himself with the reflection that

all hope was not lost, because he would have to come to the house

again on Monday and Tuesday to fix the venetian blinds; but all the

same he could not help thinking that it was only a very faint hope,

for he felt that if Sweater had intended giving anything he would have

done so today; and it was very improbable that he would see Sweater on

Monday or Tuesday at all, for the latter did not usually visit the job

in the early part of the week. However, Crass made up his mind to

hope for the best, and, pulling himself together, he presently

returned to the kitchen, where he found Slyme and Sawkins waiting for

him. He had not mentioned his hopes of a tip to either of them, but

they did not need any telling and they were both determined to have

their share of whatever he got. They eyed him keenly as he entered.

 

`What did ‘e give yer?’ demanded Sawkins, going straight to the point.

 

`Give me?’ replied Crass. `Nothing!’

 

Slyme laughed in a sneering, incredulous way, but Sawkins was inclined

to be abusive. He averred that he had been watching Crass and Sweater

and had seen the latter put his thumb and finger into his waistcoat

pocket as he walked into the dining-room, followed by Crass. It took

the latter a long time to convince his two workmates of the truth of

his own account, but he succeeded at last, and they all three agreed

that Old Sweater was a sanguinary rotter, and they lamented over the

decay of the good old-fashioned customs.

 

`Why, at one time o’ day,’ said Crass, `only a few years ago, if you

went to a gentleman’s ‘ouse to paint one or two rooms you could always

be sure of a bob or two when you’d finished.’

 

By half past twelve everything was squared up, and, having loaded up

the handcart with all that remained of the materials, dirty

paint-pots and plant, they all set out together for the yard, to put

all the things away before going to the office for their money.

Sawkins took the handle of the cart, Slyme and Crass walked at one

side and Owen and Bert at the other. There was no need to push, for

the road was downhill most of the way; so much so that they had all to

help to hold back the cart, which travelled so rapidly that Bert found

it difficult to keep pace with the others and frequently broke into a

trot to recover lost ground, and Crass - being fleshy and bloated with

beer, besides being unused to much exertion - began to perspire and

soon appealed to the others not to let it go so fast - there was no

need to get done before one o’clock.