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

Chapter 30

The Brigands hold a Council of War

 

It being now what is usually called the festive season - possibly

because at this period of the year a greater number of people are

suffering from hunger and cold than at any other time - the reader

will not be surprised at being invited to another little party which

took place on the day after the one we have just left. The scene was

Mr Sweater’s office. Mr Sweater was seated at his desk, but with his

chair swung round to enable him to face his guests - Messrs Rushton,

Didlum, and Grinder, who were also seated.

 

`Something will ‘ave to be done, and that very soon,’ Grinder was

saying. `We can’t go on much longer as we’re doing at present. For

my part, I think the best thing to do is to chuck up the sponge at

once; the company is practically bankrupt now, and the longer we waits

the worser it will be.’

 

`That’s just my opinion,’ said Didlum dejectedly. `If we could supply

the electric light at the same price as gas, or a little cheaper, we

might have some chance; but we can’t do it. The fact is that the

machinery we’ve got is no dam good; it’s too small and it’s wore out,

consequently the light we supply is inferior to gas and costs more.’

 

`Yes, I think we’re fairly beaten this time,’ said Rushton. `Why,

even if the Gas Coy hadn’t moved their works beyond the borough

boundary, still we shouldn’t ‘ave been hable to compete with ‘em.’

 

`Of course not,’ said Grinder. `The truth of the matter is just wot

Didlum says. Our machinery is too small, it’s worn hout, and good for

nothing but to be throwed on the scrap-heap. So there’s only one

thing left to do and that is - go into liquidation.’

 

`I don’t see it,’ remarked Sweater.

 

`Well, what do you propose, then?’ demanded Grinder. `Reconstruct the

company? Ask the shareholders for more money? Pull down the works

and build fresh, and buy some new machinery? And then most likely not

make a do of it after all? Not for me, old chap! I’ve ‘ad enough.

You won’t catch me chuckin’ good money after bad in that way.’

 

`Nor me neither,’ said Rushton.

 

`Dead orf!’ remarked Didlum, very decidedly.

 

Sweater laughed quietly. `I’m not such a fool as to suggest anything

of that sort,’ he said. `You seem to forget that I am one of the

largest shareholders myself. No. What I propose is that we Sell

Out.’

 

`Sell out!’ replied Grinder with a contemptuous laugh in which the

others joined. `Who’s going to buy the shares of a concern that’s

practically bankrupt and never paid a dividend?’

 

`I’ve tried to sell my little lot several times already,’ said Didlum

with a sickly smile, `but nobody won’t buy ‘em.’

 

`Who’s to buy?’ repeated Sweater, replying to Grinder. `The

municipality of course! The ratepayers. Why shouldn’t Mugsborough go

in for Socialism as well as other towns?’

 

Rushton, Didlum and Grinder fairly gasped for breath: the audacity of

the chief’s proposal nearly paralysed them.

 

`I’m afraid we should never git away with it,’ ejaculated Didlum, as

soon as he could speak. `When the people tumbled to it, there’d be no

hend of a row.’

 

`PEOPLE! ROW!’ replied Sweater, scornfully. `The majority of the

people will never know anything about it! Listen to me -‘

 

`Are you quite sure as we can’t be over’eard?’ interrupted Rushton,

glancing nervously at the door and round the office.

 

`It’s all right,’ answered Sweater, who nevertheless lowered his voice

almost to a whisper, and the others drew their chairs closer and bent

forward to listen.

 

`You know we still have a little money in hand: well, what I propose

is this: At the annual meeting, which, as you know, comes off next

week, we’ll arrange for the Secretary to read a highly satisfactory

report, and we’ll declare a dividend of 15 per cent - we can arrange

it somehow between us. Of course, we’ll have to cook the accounts a

little, but I’ll see that it’s done properly. The other shareholders

are not going to ask any awkward questions, and we all understand each

other.’

 

Sweater paused, and regarded the other three brigands intently. `Do

you follow me?’ he asked.

 

`Yes, yes,’ said Didlum eagerly. `Go on with it.’ And Rushton and

Grinder nodded assent.

 

`Afterwards,’ resumed Sweater, `I’ll arrange for a good report of the

meeting to appear in the Weekly Ananias. I’ll instruct the Editor to

write it himself, and I’ll tell him just what to say. I’ll also get

him to write a leading article about it, saying that electricity is

sure to supersede gas for lighting purposes in the very near future.

Then the article will go on to refer to the huge profits made by the

Gas Coy and to say how much better it would have been if the town had

bought the gasworks years ago, so that those profits might have been

used to reduce the rates, the same as has been done in other towns.

Finally, the article will declare that it’s a great pity that the

Electric Light Supply should be in the hands of a private company, and

to suggest that an effort be made to acquire it for the town.

 

`In the meantime we can all go about - in a very quiet and judicious

way, of course - bragging about what a good thing we’ve got, and

saying we don’t mean to sell. We shall say that we’ve overcome all

the initial expenses and difficulties connected with the installation

of the works - that we are only just beginning to reap the reward of

our industry and enterprise, and so on.

 

`Then,’ continued the Chief, `we can arrange for it to be proposed in

the Council that the Town should purchase the Electric Light Works.’

 

`But not by one of us four, you know,’ said Grinder with a cunning

leer.

 

`Certainly not; that would give the show away at once. There are, as

you know - several members of the Band who are not shareholders in the

company; we’ll get some of them to do most of the talking. We, being

the directors of the company, must pretend to be against selling, and

stick out for our own price; and when we do finally consent we must

make out that we are sacrificing our private interests for the good of

the Town. We’ll get a committee appointed - we’ll have an expert

engineer down from London - I know a man that will suit our purpose

admirably - we’ll pay him a trifle and he’ll say whatever we tell him

to - and we’ll rush the whole business through before you can say

“Jack Robinson”, and before the ratepayers have time to realize

what’s being done. Not that we need worry ourselves much about them.

Most of them take no interest in public affairs, but even if there is

something said, it won’t matter much to us once we’ve got the money.

It’ll be a nine days’ wonder and then we’ll hear no more of it.’

 

As the Chief ceased speaking, the other brigands also remained silent,

speechless with admiration of his cleverness.

 

`Well, what do you think of it?’ he asked.

 

`Think of it!’ cried Grinder, enthusiastically. `I think it’s

splendid! Nothing could be better.