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

such good things that Sawkins secretly resolved that instead

of taking them to the Destructor he would take them to a second-hand

dealer and sell them.

 

As he was coming away from the house with the things he met Hunter,

who told him that he wanted him for some other work; so he was to take

the truck to the yard and leave it there for the present; he could

take the bedding to the Destructor later on in the day. Sawkins did

as Hunter ordered, and in the meantime Crass, who happened to be

working at the yard painting some venetian blinds, saw the things on

the truck, and, hearing what was to be done with them, he also thought

it was a pity that such good things should be destroyed: so when

Sawkins came in the afternoon to take them away Crass told him he need

not trouble; `I’m goin’ to ‘ave that lot, he said; `they’re too good

to chuck away; there’s nothing wrong with ‘em.’

 

This did not suit Sawkins at all. He said he had been told to take

them to the Destructor, and he was going to do so. He was dragging

the cart out of the yard when Crass rushed up and lifted the bundle

off and carried it into the paintshop. Sawkins ran after him and

they began to curse and swear at each other; Crass accusing Sawkins of

intending to take the things to the marine stores and sell them.

Sawkins seized hold of the bundle with the object of replacing it on

the cart, but Crass got hold of it as well and they had a tussle for

it - a kind of tug of war - reeling and struggling all over the shop.

cursing and swearing horribly all the time. Finally, Sawkins - being

the better man of the two - succeeded in wrenching the bundle away and

put it on the cart again, and then Crass hurriedly put on his coat and

said he was going to the office to ask Mr Rushton if he might have the

things. Upon hearing this, Sawkins became so infuriated that he

lifted the bundle off the cart and, throwing it upon the muddy ground,

right into a pool of dirty water, trampled it underfoot; and then,

taking out his clasp knife, began savagely hacking and ripping the

ticking so that the feathers all came falling out. In a few minutes

he had damaged the things beyond hope of repair, while Crass stood by,

white and trembling, watching the proceedings but lacking the courage

to interfere.

 

`Now go to the office and ask Rushton for ‘em, if you like!’ shouted

Sawkins. `You can ‘ave ‘em now, if you want ‘em.’

 

Crass made no answer and, after a moment’s hesitation, went back to

his work, and Sawkins piled the things on the cart once more and took

them away to the Destructor. He would not be able to sell them now,

but at any rate he had stopped that dirty swine Crass from getting

them.

 

When Crass went back to the paintshop he found there one of the

pillows which had fallen out of the bundle during the struggle. He

took it home with him that evening and slept upon it. It was a fine

pillow, much fuller and softer and more cosy than the one he had been

accustomed to.

 

A few days afterwards when he was working at the room where the woman

died, they gave him some other things that had belonged to her to do

away with, and amongst them was a kind of wrap of grey knitted wool.

Crass kept this for himself: it was just the thing to wrap round one’s

neck when going to work on a cold morning, and he used it for that

purpose all through the winter. In addition to the funerals, there

was a little other work: sometimes a room or two to be painted and

papered and ceilings whitened, and once they had the outside of two

small cottages to paint - doors and windows - two coats. All four of

them worked at this job and it was finished in two days. And so they

went on.

 

Some weeks Crass earned a pound or eighteen shillings; sometimes a

little more, generally less and occasionally nothing at all.

 

There was a lot of jealousy and ill-feeling amongst them about the

work. Slyme and Crass were both aggrieved about Sawkins whenever they

were idle, especially if the latter were painting or whitewashing, and

their indignation was shared by all the others who were `off’. Harlow

swore horribly about it, and they all agreed that it was disgraceful

that a bloody labourer should be employed doing what ought to be

skilled work for fivepence an hour, while properly qualified men were

`walking about’. These other men were also incensed against Slyme and

Crass because the latter were given the preference whenever there was

a little job to do, and it was darkly insinuated that in order to

secure this preference these two were working for sixpence an hour.

There was no love lost between Crass and Slyme either: Crass was

furious whenever it happened that Slyme had a few hours’ work to do if

he himself were idle, and if ever Crass was working while Slyme was

`standing still’ the latter went about amongst the other unemployed

men saying ugly things about Crass, whom he accused of being a

`crawler’. Owen also came in for his share of abuse and blame: most

of them said that a man like him should stick out for higher wages

whether employed on special work or not, and then he would not get any

preference. But all the same, whatever they said about each other

behind each other’s backs, they were all most friendly to each other

when they met face to face.

 

Once or twice Owen did some work - such as graining a door or writing

a sign - for one or other of his fellow workmen who had managed to

secure a little job `on his own’, but putting it all together, the

coffin-plates and other work at Rushton’s and all, his earnings had

not averaged ten shillings a week for the last six weeks. Often they

had no coal and sometimes not even a penny to put into the gas meter,

and then, having nothing left good enough to pawn, he sometimes

obtained a few pence by selling some of his books to second-hand book

dealers. However, bad as their condition was, Owen knew that they

were better off than the majority of the others, for whenever he went

out he was certain to meet numbers of men whom he had worked with at

different times, who said - some of them - that they had been idle for

ten, twelve, fifteen and in some cases for twenty weeks without having

earned a shilling.

 

Owen used to wonder how they managed to continue to exist. Most of

them were wearing other people’s castoff clothes, hats, and boots,

which had in some instances been given to their wives by `visiting

ladies’, or by the people at whose houses their wives went to work,

charing. As for food, most of them lived on such credit as they could

get, and on the scraps of broken victuals and meat that their wives

brought home from the places they worked at. Some of them had

grown-up sons and daughters who still lived with them and whose

earnings kept their homes together, and the wives of some of them eked

out a miserable existence by letting lodgings.

 

The week before old Linden went into the workhouse Owen earned

nothing, and to make matters worse the grocer from whom they usually

bought their things suddenly refused to let them have any more credit.

Owen went to see him, and the man said he was very sorry, but he could

not let them have anything more without the money; he did not mind

waiting a few weeks for what was already owing, but he could not let

the amount get any higher; his books were full of bad debts already.

In conclusion, he said that he hoped Owen would not do as so many

others had done and take his ready money elsewhere. People came and

got credit from him when they were hard up, and afterwards spent their

ready money at the Monopole Company’s stores on the other side of the

street, because their goods were a trifle cheaper, and it was not

fair. Owen admitted that it was not fair, but reminded him that they

always bought their things at his shop. The grocer, however, was

inexorable; he repeated several times that his books were full of bad

debts and his own creditors were pressing him. During their

conversation the shopkeeper’s eyes wandered continually to the big

store on the other side of the street; the huge, gilded letters of the

name `Monopole Stores’ seemed to have an irresistible attraction for

him. Once he interrupted himself in the middle of a sentence to point

out to Owen a little girl who was just coming out of the Stores with a

small parcel in her hand.

 

`Her father owes me nearly thirty shillings,’ he said, `but they spend

their ready money there.’

 

The front of the grocer’s shop badly needed repainting, and the name

on the fascia, `A. Smallman’, was so faded as to be almost

indecipherable. It had been Owen’s intention to offer to do this work -

the cost to go against his account - but the man appeared to be so

harassed that Owen refrained from making the suggestion.

 

They still had credit at the baker’s, but they did not take much

bread: when one has had scarcely anything else but bread to eat for

nearly a month one finds it difficult to eat at all. That same day,

when he returned home after his interview with the grocer, they had a

loaf of beautiful fresh bread, but none of them could eat it, although

they were hungry: it seemed to stick in their throats, and they could

not swallow it even with the help of a drink of tea. But they drank

the tea, which was the one thing that enabled them to go on living.

 

The next week Owen earned eight shillings altogether: a few hours he

put in assisting Crass to wash off and whiten a ceiling and paint a

room, and there was one coffin-plate. He wrote the latter at home,

and while he was doing it he heard Frankie - who was out in the

scullery with Nora - say to her:

 

`Mother, how many more days to you think we’ll have to have only dry

bread and tea?’

 

Owen’s heart seemed to stop as he heard the child’s question and

listened for Nora’s answer, but the question was not to be answered at

all just then, for at that moment they heard someone running up the

stairs and presently the door was unceremoniously thrown open and

Charley Linden rushed into the house, out of breath, hatless, and

crying piteously. His clothes were old and ragged; they had been

patched at the knees and elbows, but the patches were tearing away

from the rotting fabric into which they had been sewn. He had on a

pair of black stockings full of holes through which the skin was

showing. The soles of his boots were worn through at one side right

to the uppers, and as he walked the sides of his bare heels came into

contact with the floor, the front part of the sole of one boot was

separated from the upper, and his bare toes, red with cold and covered

with mud, protruded through the gap. Some sharp substance - a nail