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

the fields beside the sheep and cattle. At intervals, away in the

distance, nestling in the hollows or amid sheltering trees, groups of

farm buildings and stacks of hay; and further on, the square ivy-clad

tower of an ancient church, or perhaps a solitary windmill with its

revolving sails alternately flashing and darkening in the rays of the

sun. Past thatched wayside cottages whose inhabitants came out to

wave their hands in friendly greeting. Past groups of sunburnt,

golden-haired children who climbed on fences and five-barred gates,

and waved their hats and cheered, or ran behind the brakes for the

pennies the men threw down to them.

 

From time to time the men in the brakes made half-hearted attempts at

singing, but it never came to much, because most of them were too

hungry and miserable. They had not had time to take any dinner and

would not have taken any even if they had the time, for they wished to

reserve their appetites for the banquet at the Queen Elizabeth, which

they expected to reach about half past three. However, they cheered

up a little after the first halt - at the Blue Lion, where most of

them got down and had a drink. Some of them, including the

Semidrunk, Ned Dawson, Bill Bates and Joe Philpot - had two or three

drinks, and felt so much happier for them that, shortly after they

started off again, sounds of melody were heard from the brake the

three first named rode in - the one presided over by Crass - but it

was not very successful, and even after the second halt - about five

miles further on - at the Warrior’s Head, they found it impossible to

sing with any heartiness. Fitful bursts of song arose from time to

time from each of the brakes in turn, only to die mournfully away. It

is not easy to sing on an empty stomach even if one has got a little

beer in it; and so it was with most of them. They were not in a mood

to sing, or to properly appreciate the scenes through which they were

passing. They wanted their dinners, and that was the reason why this

long ride, instead of being a pleasure, became after a while, a weary

journey that seemed as if it were never coming to an end.

 

The next stop was at the Bird in Hand, a wayside public house that

stood all by itself in a lonely hollow. The landlord was a fat,

jolly-looking man, and there were several customers in the bar - men

who looked like farm-labourers, but there were no other houses to be

seen anywhere. This extraordinary circumstance exercised the minds of

our travellers and formed the principal topic of conversation until

they arrived at the Dew Drop Inn, about half an hour afterwards. The

first brake, containing Rushton and his friends, passed on without

stopping here. The occupants of the second brake, which was only a

little way behind the first, were divided in opinion whether to stop

or go on. Some shouted out to the driver to pull up, others ordered

him to proceed, and more were undecided which course to pursue - a

state of mind that was not shared by the coachman, who, knowing that

if they stopped somebody or other would be sure to stand him a drink,

had no difficulty whatever in coming to a decision, but drew rein at

the inn, an example that was followed by both the other carriages as

they drove up.

 

It was a very brief halt, not more than half the men getting down at

all, and those who remained in the brakes grumbled so much at the

delay that the others drank their beer as quickly as possible and the

journey was resumed once more, almost in silence. No attempts at

singing, no noisy laughter; they scarcely spoke to each other, but sat

gloomily gazing out over the surrounding country.

 

Instructions had been given to the drivers not to stop again till they

reached the Queen Elizabeth, and they therefore drove past the World

Turned Upside Down without stopping, much to the chagrin of the

landlord of that house, who stood at the door with a sickly smile upon

his face. Some of those who knew him shouted out that they would give

him a call on their way back, and with this he had to be content.

 

They reached the long-desired Queen Elizabeth at twenty minutes to

four, and were immediately ushered into a large room where a round

table and two long ones were set for dinner - and they were set in a

manner worthy of the reputation of the house.

 

The cloths that covered the tables and the serviettes, arranged

fanwise in the drinking glasses, were literally as white as snow, and

about a dozen knives and forks and spoons were laid for each person.

Down the centre of the table glasses of delicious yellow custard and

cut-glass dishes of glistening red and golden jelly alternated with

vases of sweet-smelling flowers.

 

The floor of the dining-room was covered with oilcloth - red flowers

on a pale yellow ground; the pattern was worn off in places, but it

was all very clean and shining. Whether one looked at the walls with

the old-fashioned varnished oak paper, or at the glossy piano standing

across the corner near the white-curtained window, at the shining oak

chairs or through the open casement doors that led into the shady

garden beyond, the dominating impression one received was that

everything was exquisitely clean.

 

The landlord announced that dinner would be served in ten minutes, and

while they were waiting some of them indulged in a drink at the bar -

just as an appetizer - whilst the others strolled in the garden or, by

the landlord’s invitation, looked over the house. Amongst other

places, they glanced into the kitchen, where the landlady was

superintending the preparation of the feast, and in this place, with

its whitewashed walls and red-tiled floor, as in every other part of

the house, the same absolute cleanliness reigned supreme.

 

`It’s a bit differint from the Royal Caff, where we got the sack,

ain’t it?’ remarked the Semidrunk to Bill Bates as they made their

way to the dining-room in response to the announcement that dinner was

ready.

 

`Not arf!’ replied Bill.

 

Rushton, with Didlum and Grinder and his other friends, sat at the

round table near the piano. Hunter took the head of the longer of the

other two tables and Crass the foot, and on either side of Crass were

Bundy and Slyme, who had acted with him as the Committee who had

arranged the Beano. Payne, the foreman carpenter, occupied the head

of the other table.

 

The dinner was all that could be desired; it was almost as good as the

kind of dinner that is enjoyed every day by those persons who are too

lazy to work but are cunning enough to make others work for them.

 

There was soup, several entrees, roast beef, boiled mutton, roast

turkey, roast goose, ham, cabbage, peas, beans and sweets galore, plum

pudding, custard, jelly, fruit tarts, bread and cheese and as much

beer or lemonade as they liked to pay for, the drinks being an extra;

and afterwards the waiters brought in cups of coffee for those who

desired it. Everything was up to the knocker, and although they were

somewhat bewildered by the multitude of knives and forks, they all,

with one or two exceptions, rose to the occasion and enjoyed

themselves famously. The excellent decorum observed being marred only

by one or two regrettable incidents. The first of these occurred

almost as soon as they sat down, when Ned Dawson who, although a big

strong fellow, was not able to stand much beer, not being used to it,

was taken ill and had to be escorted from the room by his mate Bundy

and another man. They left him somewhere outside and he came back

again about ten minutes afterwards, much better but looking rather

pale, and took his seat with the others.

 

The turkeys, the roast beef and the boiled mutton, the peas and beans

and the cabbage, disappeared with astonishing rapidity, which was not

to be wondered at, for they were all very hungry from the long drive,

and nearly everyone made a point of having at least one helping of

everything there was to be had. Some of them went in for two lots of

soup. Then for the next course, boiled mutton and ham or turkey: then

some roast beef and goose. Then a little more boiled mutton with a

little roast beef. Each of the three boys devoured several times his

own weight of everything, to say nothing of numerous bottles of

lemonade and champagne ginger beer.

 

Crass frequently paused to mop the perspiration from his face and neck

with his serviette. In fact everybody had a good time. There was

enough and to spare of everything to eat, the beer was of the best,

and all the time, amid the rattle of the crockery and the knives and

forks, the proceedings were enlivened by many jests and flashes of wit

that continuously kept the table in a roar.

 

`Chuck us over another dollop of that there white stuff, Bob,’ shouted

the Semidrunk to Crass, indicating the blancmange.

 

Crass reached out his hand and took hold of the dish containing the

`white stuff’, but instead of passing it to the Semidrunk, he

proceeded to demolish it himself, gobbling it up quickly directly from

the dish with a spoon.

 

`Why, you’re eating it all yerself, yer bleeder,’ cried the Semidrunk

indignantly, as soon as he realized what was happening.

 

`That’s all right, matey,’ replied Crass affably as he deposited the

empty dish on the table. `It don’t matter, there’s plenty more where

it come from. Tell the landlord to bring in another lot.’

 

Upon being applied to, the landlord, who was assisted by his daughter,

two other young women and two young men, brought in several more lots

and so the Semidrunk was appeased.

 

As for the plum-pudding - it was a fair knockout; just like

Christmas: but as Ned Dawson and Bill Bates had drunk all the sauce

before the pudding was served, they all had to have their first

helping without any. However, as the landlord brought in another lot

shortly afterwards, that didn’t matter either.

 

As soon as dinner was over, Crass rose to make his statement as

secretary. Thirty-seven men had paid five shillings each: that made

nine pounds five shillings. The committee had decided that the three

boys - the painters’ boy, the carpenters’ boy and the front shop boy -

should be allowed to come half-price: that made it nine pounds twelve

and six. In addition to paying the ordinary five-shilling

subscription, Mr Rushton had given one pound ten towards the expenses.

(Loud cheers.) And several other gentlemen had also given something

towards it. Mr Sweater, of the Cave, one pound. (Applause.) Mr

Grinder, ten shillings in addition to the five-shilling subscription.

(Applause.) Mr Lettum, ten shillings, as well as the five-shilling

subscription. (Applause.) Mr Didlum, ten shillings in addition to

the five shillings. (Cheers.) Mr Toonarf, ten shillings as well as

the five-shilling subscription. They had also written to some of the

manufacturers who supplied the firm with materials, and asked them to

give something: some of ‘em had sent half a crown, some five

shillings, some hadn’t answered at all, and two of ‘em had written

back to say that as things is cut so fine nowadays, they didn’t hardly

get no profit on their stuff, so they couldn’t afford to give nothing;

but out of all the firms they wrote to they managed