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

not work all that time without something to eat,

but Crass’s suggestion seemed a much better way, and it was adopted.

 

When the other masters in Mugsborough heard of this great reform they

all followed suit, and it became the rule in that town, whenever it

was necessary to work overtime, for the men to stay till eight instead

of half past seven as formerly, and they got no more pay than before.

 

Previous to this summer it had been the almost invariable rule to have

two men in each room that was being painted, but Crass pointed out to

Misery that under such circumstances they wasted time talking to each

other, and they also acted as a check on one another: each of them

regulated the amount of work he did by the amount the other did, and

if the `job’ took too long it was always difficult to decide which of

the two was to blame: but if they were made to work alone, each of

them would be on his mettle; he would not know how much the others

were doing, and the fear of being considered slow in comparison with

others would make them all tear into it all they could.

 

Misery thought this a very good idea, so the solitary system was

introduced, and as far as practicable, one room, one man became the

rule.

 

They even tried to make the men distemper large ceilings

single-handed, and succeeded in one or two cases, but after several

ceilings had been spoilt and had to be washed off and done over again,

they gave that up: but nearly all the other work was now arranged on

the `solitary system’, and it worked splendidly: each man was

constantly in a state of panic as to whether the others were doing

more work than himself.

 

Another suggestion that Crass made to Misery was that the sub-foremen

should be instructed never to send a man into a room to prepare it for

painting.

 

`If you sends a man into a room to get it ready,’ said Crass, `‘e

makes a meal of it! ‘E spends as much time messin’ about rubbin’ down

and stoppin’ up as it would take to paint it. But,’ he added, with a

cunning leer, `give ‘em a bit of putty and a little bit of glasspaper,

and the paint at the stand, and then ‘e gits it in ‘is mind as ‘e’s

going in there to paint it! And ‘e doesn’t mess about much over the

preparing of it’.

 

These and many other suggestions - all sorts of devices for scamping

and getting over the work - were schemed out by Crass and the other

sub-foremen, who put them into practice and showed them to Misery and

Rushton in the hope of currying favour with them and being `kept on’.

And between the lot of them they made life a veritable hell for

themselves, and the hands, and everybody else around them. And the

mainspring of it all was - the greed and selfishness of one man, who

desired to accumulate money! For this was the only object of all the

driving and bullying and hatred and cursing and unhappiness - to make

money for Rushton, who evidently considered himself a deserving case.

 

It is sad and discreditable, but nevertheless true, that some of the

more selfish of the philanthropists often became weary of well-doing,

and lost all enthusiasm in the good cause. At such times they used to

say that they were `Bloody well fed up’ with the whole business and

`Tired of tearing their bloody guts out for the benefit of other

people’ and every now and then some of these fellows would `chuck up’

work, and go on the booze, sometimes stopping away for two or three

days or a week at a time. And then, when it was all over, they came

back, very penitent, to ask for another `start’, but they generally

found that their places had been filled.

 

If they happened to be good `sloggers’ - men who made a practice of

`tearing their guts out’ when they did work - they were usually

forgiven, and after being admonished by Misery, permitted to resume

work, with the understanding that if ever it occurred again they would

get the `infernal’ - which means the final and irrevocable - sack.

 

There was once a job at a shop that had been a high-class restaurant

kept by a renowned Italian chef. It had been known as

 

`MACARONI’S ROYAL ITALIAN CAFE’

 

Situated on the Grand Parade, it was a favourite resort of the

`Elite’, who frequented it for afternoon tea and coffee and for little

suppers after the theatre.

 

It had plate-glass windows, resplendent with gilding, marble-topped

tables with snow white covers, vases of flowers, and all the other

appurtenances of glittering cut glass and silver. The obsequious

waiters were in evening dress, the walls were covered with lofty

plate-glass mirrors in carved and gilded frames, and at certain hours

of the day and night an orchestra consisting of two violins and a harp

discoursed selections of classic music.

 

But of late years the business had not been paying, and finally the

proprietor went bankrupt and was sold out. The place was shut up for

several months before the shop was let to a firm of dealers in fancy

articles, and the other part was transformed into flats.

 

Rushton had the contract for the work. When the men went there to `do

it up’ they found the interior of the house in a state of

indescribable filth: the ceilings discoloured with smoke and hung with

cobwebs, the wallpapers smeared and black with grease, the handrails

and the newel posts of the staircase were clammy with filth, and the

edges of the doors near the handles were blackened with greasy dirt

and fingermarks. The tops of the skirtings, the mouldings of the

doors, the sashes of the windows and the corners of the floors were

thick with the accumulated dust of years.

 

In one of the upper rooms which had evidently been used as a nursery

or playroom for the children of the renowned chef, the wallpaper for

about two feet above the skirting was blackened with grease and

ornamented with childish drawings made with burnt sticks and blacklead

pencils, the door being covered with similar artistic efforts, to say

nothing of some rude attempts at carving, evidently executed with an

axe or a hammer. But all this filth was nothing compared with the

unspeakable condition of the kitchen and scullery, a detailed

description of which would cause the blood of the reader to curdle,

and each particular hair of his head to stand on end.

 

Let it suffice to say that the walls, the ceiling, the floor, the

paintwork, the gas-stove, the kitchen range, the dresser and

everything else were uniformly absolutely and literally - black. And

the black was composed of soot and grease.

 

In front of the window there was a fixture � a kind of bench or table,

deeply scored with marks of knives like a butcher’s block. The sill

of the window was about six inches lower than the top of the table, so

that between the glass of the lower sash of the window, which had

evidently never been raised, and the back of the table, there was a

long narrow cavity or trough, about six inches deep, four inches wide

and as long as the width of the window, the sill forming the bottom of

the cavity.

 

This trough was filled with all manner of abominations: fragments of

fat and decomposed meat, legs of rabbits and fowls, vegetable matter,

broken knives and forks, and hair: and the glass of the window was

caked with filth of the same description.

 

This job was the cause of the sacking of the Semidrunk and another

man named Bill Bates, who were sent into the kitchen to clean it down

and prepare it for painting and distempering.

 

They commenced to do it, but it made them feel so ill that they went

out and had a pint each, and after that they made another start at it.

But it was not long before they felt that it was imperatively

necessary to have another drink. So they went over to the pub, and

this time they had two pints each. Bill paid for the first two and

then the Semidrunk refused to return to work unless Bill would

consent to have another pint with him before going back. When they

had drunk the two pints, they decided - in order to save themselves

the trouble and risk of coming away from the job - to take a couple of

quarts back with them in two bottles, which the landlord of the pub

lent them, charging twopence on each bottle, to be refunded when they

were returned.

 

When they got back to the job they found the `coddy’ in the kitchen,

looking for them and he began to talk and grumble, but the Semidrunk

soon shut him up: he told him he could either have a drink out of one

of the bottles or a punch in the bloody nose - whichever he liked! Or

if he did not fancy either of these alternatives, he could go to hell!

 

As the `coddy’ was a sensible man he took the beer and advised them to

pull themselves together and try to get some work done before Misery

came, which they promised to do.

 

When the `coddy’ was gone they made another attempt at the work.

Misery came a little while afterwards and began shouting at them

because he said he could not see what they had done. It looked as if

they had been asleep all the morning: Here it was nearly ten o’clock,

and as far as he could see, they had done Nothing!

 

When he was gone they drank the rest of the beer and then they began

to feel inclined to laugh. What did they care for Hunter or Rushton

either? To hell with both of ‘em! They left off scraping and

scrubbing, and began throwing buckets of water over the dresser and

the walls, laughing uproariously all the time.

 

`We’ll show the b—s how to wash down paintwork!’ shouted the

Semidrunk, as he stood in the middle of the room and hurled a pailful

of water over the door of the cupboard. `Bring us another bucket of

water, Bill.’

 

Bill was out in the scullery filling his pail under the tap, and

laughing so much that he could scarcely stand. As soon as it was full

he passed it to the Semidrunk, who threw it bodily, pail and all, on

to the bench in front of the window, smashing one of the panes of

glass. The water poured off the table and all over the floor.

 

Bill brought the next pailful in and threw it at the kitchen door,

splitting one of the panels from top to bottom, and then they threw

about half a dozen more pailfuls over the dresser.

 

`We’ll show the b—rs how to clean paintwork,’ they shouted, as they

hurled the buckets at the walls and doors.

 

By this time the floor was deluged with water, which mingled with the

filth and formed a sea of mud.

 

They left the two taps running in the scullery and as the waste pipe

of the sink was choked up with dirt, the sink filled up and overflowed

like a miniature Niagara.

 

The water ran out under the doors into the back-yard, and along the

passage out to the front door. But Bill Bates and the Semidrunk

remained in the kitchen, smashing the pails at the walls and doors and

the dresser, and cursing and laughing hysterically.