Books: The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists

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'Oh, we'll inwite you to the wedding,
An' we'll 'ave a glorious time!
Where the boys an' girls is a-dancing,
An' we'll all get drunk on wine.'

`'Ere! that's quite enough o' that!' cried the landlord, roughly. `We
don't want that row 'ere.'

The Semi-drunk stopped, and looking stupidly at the Old Dear, sank
abashed on to the seat again.

`Well, we may as well sit as stand - for a few minutes,' remarked
Crass, suiting the action to the word. The others followed his
example.

At frequent intervals the bar was entered by fresh customers, most of
them working men on their way home, who ordered and drank their pint
or half-pint of ale or porter and left at once. Bundy began reading
the advertisement of the circus and menageries and a conversation
ensued concerning the wonderful performances of the trained animals.
The Old Dear said that some of them had as much sense as human beings,
and the manner with which he made this statement implied that he
thought it was a testimonial to the sagacity of the brutes. He
further said that he had heard - a little earlier in the evening - a
rumour that one of the wild animals, a bear or something, had broken
loose and was at present at large. This was what he had heard - he
didn't know if it were true or not. For his own part he didn't
believe it, and his hearers agreed that it was highly improbable.
Nobody ever knew how these silly yarns got about.

Presently the Besotted Wretch got up and, taking the india-rubber
rings out of the net with a trembling hand, began throwing them one at
a time at the hooks on the. board. The rest of the company watched
him with much interest, laughing when he made a very bad shot and
applauding when he scored.

`'E's a bit orf tonight,' remarked Philpot aside to Easton, 'but as a
rule 'e's a fair knockout at it. Throws a splendid ring.'

The Semidrunk regarded the proceedings of the Besotted Wretch with an
expression of profound contempt.

`You can't play for nuts,' he said scornfully.

`Can't I? I can play you, anyway.'

`Right you are! I'll play you for drinks round!' cried the
Semi-drunk.

For a moment the Besotted Wretch hesitated. He had not money enough
to pay for drinks round. However, feeling confident of winning, he
replied:

`Come on then. What's it to be? Fifty up?'

`Anything you like! Fifty or a 'undred or a bloody million!'

`Better make it fifty for a start.'

`All right!'

`You play first if you like.'

`All right,' agreed the Semi-drunk, anxious to distinguish himself.
Holding the six rings in his left hand, the man stood in the middle of
the floor at a distance of about three yards from the board, with his
right foot advanced. Taking one of the rings between the forefinger
and thumb of his right hand, and closing his left eye, he carefully
`sighted' the centre hook, No. 13; then he slowly extended his arm to
its full length in the direction of the board: then bending his elbow,
he brought his hand back again until it nearly touched his chin, and
slowly extended his arm again. He repeated these movements several
times, whilst the others watched with bated breath. Getting it right
at last he suddenly shot the ring at the board, but it did not go on
No. 13; it went over the partition into the private bar.

This feat was greeted with a roar of laughter. The player stared at
the board in a dazed way, wondering what had become of the ring. When
someone in the next bar threw it over the partition again, he realized
what had happened and, turning to the company with a sickly smile,
remarked:

`I ain't got properly used to this board yet: that's the reason of
it.'

He now began throwing the other rings at the board rather wildly,
without troubling to take aim. One struck the partition to the right
of the board: one to the left: one underneath: one went over the
counter, one on the floor, the other - the last - hit the board, and
amid a shout of applause, caught on the centre hook No. 13, the
highest number it was possible to scare with a single throw.

`I shall be all right now that I've got the range,' observed the Semi-
drunk as he made way for his opponent.

`You'll see something now,' whispered Philpot to Easton. 'This bloke
is a dandy!'

The Besotted Wretch took up his position and with an affectation of
carelessness began throwing the rings. It was really a remarkable
exhibition, for notwithstanding the fact that his hand trembled like
the proverbial aspen leaf, he succeeded in striking the board almost
in the centre every time; but somehow or other most of them failed to
catch on the hooks and fell into the net. When he finished his
innings, he had only scored 4, two of the rings having caught on the
No. 2 hook.

`'Ard lines,' remarked Bundy as he finished his beer and put the glass
down on the counter.

`Drink up and 'ave another,' said Easton as he drained his own glass.

`I don't mind if I do,' replied Crass, pouring what remained of the
pint down his throat.

Philpot's glass had been empty for some time.

`Same again,' said Easton, addressing the Old Dear and putting six
pennies on the counter.

By this time the Semi-drunk had again opened fire on the board, but he
seemed to have lost the range, for none of the rings scored.

They flew all over the place, and he finished his innings without
increasing his total.

The Besotted Wretch now sailed in and speedily piled up 37. Then the
Semi-drunk had another go, and succeeded in getting 8. His case
appeared hopeless, but his opponent in his next innings seemed to go
all to pieces. Twice he missed the board altogether, and when he did
hit it he failed to score, until the very last throw, when he made 1.
Then the Semi-drunk went in again and got 10.

The scores were now:

Besotted Wretch ........................ 42
Semi-drunk ............................. 31

So far it was impossible to foresee the end. It was anybody's game.
Crass became so excited that he absentmindedly opened his mouth and
shot his second pint down into his stomach with a single gulp, and
Bundy also drained his glass and called upon Philpot and Easton to
drink up and have another, which they accordingly did.

While the Semi-drunk was having his next innings, the Besotted Wretch
placed a penny on the counter and called for a half a pint, which he
drank in the hope of steadying his nerves for a great effort. His
opponent meanwhile threw the rings at the board and missed it every
time, but all the same he scored, for one ring, after striking the
partition about a foot above the board, fell down and caught on the
hook.

The other man now began his innings, playing very carefully, and
nearly every ring scored. As he played, the others uttered
exclamations of admiration and called out the result of every throw.

`One!'

`One again!'

`Miss! No! Got 'im! Two!'

`Miss!'

`Miss!'

`Four!'

The Semi-drunk accepted his defeat with a good grace, and after
explaining that he was a bit out of practice, placed a shilling on the
counter and invited the company to give their orders. Everyone asked
for `the same again,' but the landlord served Easton, Bundy and the
Besotted Wretch with pints instead of half-pints as before, so there
was no change out of the shilling.

`You know, there's a great deal in not bein' used to the board,' said
the Semi-drunk.

`There's no disgrace in bein' beat by a man like 'im, mate,' said
Philpot. `'E's a champion!'

`Yes, there's no mistake about it. 'E throws a splendid ring!' said
Bundy.

This was the general verdict. The Semi-drunk, though beaten, was not
disgraced: and he was so affected by the good feeling manifested by
the company that he presently produced a sixpence and insisted on
paying for another half-pint all round.

Crass had gone outside during this conversation, but he returned in a
few minutes. `I feel a bit easier now,' he remarked with a laugh as
he took the half-pint glass that the Semi-drunk passed to him with a
shaking hand. One after the other, within a few minutes, the rest
followed Crass's example, going outside and returning almost
immediately: and as Bundy, who was the last to return, came back he
exclaimed:

`Let's 'ave a game of shove-'a'penny.'

`All right,' said Easton, who was beginning to feel reckless. `But
drink up first, and let's 'ave another.'

He had only sevenpence left, just enough to pay for another pint for
Crass and half a pint for everyone else.

The shove-ha'penny table was a planed mahogany board with a number of
parallel lines scored across it. The game is played by placing the
coin at the end of the board - the rim slightly overhanging the edge -
and striking it with the back part of the palm of the hand, regulating
the force of the blow according to the distance it is desired to drive
the coin.

`What's become of Alf tonight?' inquired Philpot of the landlord
whilst Easton and Bundy were playing. Alf was the barman.

`'E's doing a bit of a job down in the cellar; some of the valves gone
a bit wrong. But the missus is comin' down to lend me a hand
presently. 'Ere she is now.'

The landlady - who at this moment entered through the door at the back
of the bar - was a large woman with a highly-coloured countenance and
a tremendous bust, incased in a black dress with a shot silk blouse.
She had several jewelled gold rings on the fingers of each fat white
hand, and a long gold watch guard hung round her fat neck. She
greeted Crass and Philpot with condescension, smiling affably upon
them.

Meantime the game of shove-ha'penny proceeded merrily, the Semi-drunk
taking a great interest in it and tendering advice to both players
impartially. Bundy was badly beaten, and then Easton suggested that
it was time to think of going home. This proposal - slightly modified -
met with general approval, the modification being suggested by
Philpot, who insisted on standing one final round of drinks before
they went.

While they were pouring this down their throats, Crass took a penny
from his waistcoat pocket and put it in the slot of the polyphone.
The landlord put a fresh disc into it and wound it up and it began to
play `The Boys of the Bulldog Breed.' The Semi-drunk happened to know
the words of the chorus of this song, and when he heard the music he
started unsteadily to his feet and with many fierce looks and gestures
began to roar at the top of his voice:

`They may build their ships, my lads,
And try to play the game,
But they can't build the boys of the Bulldog breed,
Wot made ole Hingland's -'

`'Ere! Stop that, will yer?' cried the Old Dear, fiercely. `I told
you once before that I don't allow that sort of thing in my 'ouse!'

The Semi-drunk stopped in confusion.

`I don't mean no 'arm,' he said unsteadily, appealing to the company.

`I don't want no chin from you!' said the Old Dear with a ferocious
scowl. `If you want to make that row you can go somewheres else, and
the sooner you goes the better. You've been 'ere long enough.'

This was true. The man had been there long enough to spend every
penny he had been possessed of when he first came: he had no money
left now, a fact that the observant and experienced landlord had
divined some time ago. He therefore wished to get rid of the fellow
before the drink affected him further and made him helplessly drunk.
The Semi-drunk listened with indignation and wrath to the landlord's
insulting words.

`I shall go when the bloody 'ell I like!' he shouted. `I shan't ask
you nor nobody else! Who the bloody 'ell are you? You're nobody!
See? Nobody! It's orf the likes of me that you gets your bloody
livin'! I shall stop 'ere as long as I bloody well like, and if you
don't like it you can go to 'ell!'

`Oh! Yer will, will yer?' said the Old Dear. `We'll soon see about
that.' And, opening the door at the back of the bar, he roared out:

`Alf!'

`Yes, sir,' replied a voice, evidently from the basement.

`Just come up 'ere.'

`All right,' replied the voice, and footsteps were heard ascending
some stairs.

`You'll see some fun in a minute,' gleefully remarked Crass to Easton.

The polyphone continued to play 1The Boys of the Bulldog Breed.'

Philpot crossed over to the Semi-drunk. `Look 'ere, old man,' he
whispered, `take my tip and go 'ome quietly. You'll only git the
worse of it, you know.'

`Not me, mate,' replied the other, shaking his head doggedly. `'Ere I
am, and 'ere I'm goin' to bloody well stop.'

`No, you ain't,' replied Philpot coaxingly. `'Look 'ere. I'll tell you
wot we'll do. You 'ave just one more 'arf-pint along of me, and then
we'll both go 'ome together. I'll see you safe 'ome.'

`See me safe 'ome! Wotcher mean?' indignantly demanded the other. 'Do
you think I'm drunk or wot?'

`No. Certainly not,' replied Philpot, hastily. `You're all right, as
right as I am myself. But you know wot I mean. Let's go 'ome. You
don't want to stop 'ere all night, do you?'

By this time Alf had arrived at the door of the back of the bar. He
was a burly young man about twenty-two or twenty-three years of age.

`Put it outside,' growled the landlord, indicating the culprit.

The barman instantly vaulted over the counter, and, having opened wide
the door leading into the street, he turned to the half-drunken man
and, jerking his thumb in the direction of the door, said:

`Are yer goin'?'

`I'm goin' to 'ave 'arf a pint along of this genelman first -'

`Yes. It's all right,' said Philpot to the landlord. `Let's 'ave two
'arf-pints, and say no more about it.'

`You mind your own business,' shouted the landlord, turning savagely
on him. `'E'll get no more 'ere! I don't want no drunken men in my
'ouse. Who asked you to interfere?'

`Now then!' exclaimed the barman to the cause of the trouble,
`Outside!'

`Not me!' said the Semi-drunk firmly. `Not before I've 'ad my 'arf -'

But before he could conclude, the barman had clutched him by the
collar, dragged him violently to the door and shot him into the middle
of the road, where he fell in a heap almost under the wheels of a
brewer's dray that happened to be passing. This accomplished, Alf
shut the door and retired behind the counter again.

`Serve 'im bloody well right,' said Crass.

`I couldn't 'elp laughin' when I seen 'im go flyin' through the bloody
door,' said Bundy.

`You oughter 'ave more sense than to go interferin' like that,' said
Crass to Philpot. `It was nothing to do with you.'

Philpot made no reply. He was standing with his back to the others,
peeping out into the street over the top of the window casing. Then
he opened the door and went out into the street. Crass and the others
- through the window - watched him assist the Semi-drunk to his feet
and rub some of the dirt off his clothes, and presently after some
argument they saw the two go away together arm in arm.

Crass and the others laughed, and returned to their half-finished
drinks.

`Why, old Joe ain't drunk 'ardly 'arf of 'is!' cried Easton, seeing
Philpot's porter on the counter. 'Fancy going away like that!'

`More fool 'im,' growled Crass. `There was no need for it: the man's
all right.'

The Besotted Wretch gulped his beer down as quickly as he could, with
his eyes fixed greedily on Philpot's glass. He had just finished his
own and was about to suggest that it was a pity to waste the porter
when Philpot unexpectedly reappeared.

`Hullo! What 'ave you done with 'im?' inquired Crass.

`I think 'e'll be all right,' replied Philpot. `He wouldn't let me go
no further with 'im: said if I didn't go away, 'e'd go for me! But I
believe 'e'll be all right. I think the fall sobered 'im a bit.'

`Oh, 'e's all right,' said Crass offhandedly. `There's nothing the
matter with 'im.'

Philpot now drank his porter, and bidding `good night' to the Old
Dear, the landlady and the Besotted Wretch, they all set out for home.
As they went along the dark and lonely thoroughfare that led over the
hill to Windley, they heard from time to time the weird roaring of the
wild animals in the menagerie that was encamped in the adjacent field.
Just as they reached a very gloomy and deserted part, they suddenly
observed a dark object in the middle of the road some distance in
front of them. It seemed to be a large animal of some kind and was
coming slowly and stealthily towards them.

They stopped, peering in a half-frightened way through the darkness.
The animal continued to approach. Bundy stooped down to the ground,
groping about in search of a stone, and - with the exception of Crass,
who was too frightened to move - the others followed his example.
They found several large stones and stood waiting for the creature -
whatever it was - to come a little nearer so as to get a fair shot at
it. They were about to let fly when the creature fell over on its
side and moaned as if in pain. Observing this, the four men advanced
cautiously towards it. Bundy struck a match and held it over the
prostrate figure. It was the Semi-drunk.

After parting from Philpot, the poor wretch had managed to walk all
right for some distance. As Philpot had remarked, the fall had to
some extent sobered him; but he had not gone very far before the drink
he had taken began to affect him again and he had fallen down.
Finding it impossible to get up, he began crawling along on his hands
and knees, unconscious of the fact that he was travelling in the wrong
direction. Even this mode of progression failed him at last, and he
would probably have been run over if they had not found him. They
raised him up, and Philpot, exhorting him to `pull himself together'
inquired where he lived. The man had sense enough left to be able to
tell them his address, which was fortunately at Windley, where they
all resided.

Bundy and Philpot took him home, separating from Crass and Easton at
the corner of the street where both the latter lived.

Crass felt very full and satisfied with himself. He had had six and a
half pints of beer, and had listened to two selections on the
polyphone at a total cost of one penny.

Easton had but a few yards to go before reaching his own house after
parting from Crass, but he paused directly he heard the latter's door
close, and leaning against a street lamp yielded to the feeling of
giddiness and nausea that he had been fighting against all the way
home. All the inanimate objects around him seemed to be in motion.
The lights of the distant street lamps appeared to be floating about
the pavement and the roadway rose and fell like the surface of a
troubled sea. He searched his pockets for his handkerchief and having
found it wiped his mouth, inwardly congratulating himself that Crass
was not there to see him. Resuming his walk, after a few minutes he
reached his own home. As he passed through, the gate closed of itself
after him, clanging loudly. He went rather unsteadily up the narrow
path that led to his front door and entered.

The baby was asleep in the cradle. Slyme had gone up to his own room,
and Ruth was sitting sewing by the fireside. The table was still set
for two persons, for she had not yet taken her tea.

Easton lurched in noisily. `'Ello, old girl!' he cried, throwing his
dinner basket carelessly on the floor with an affectation of joviality
and resting his hands on the table to support himself. `I've come at
last, you see.'

Ruth left off sewing, and, letting her hands fall into her lap, sat
looking at him. She had never seen him like this before. His face
was ghastly pale, the eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed, the lips
tremulous and moist, and the ends of the hair of his fair moustache,
stuck together with saliva and stained with beer, hung untidily round
his mouth in damp clusters.

Perceiving that she did not speak or smile, Easton concluded that she
was angry and became grave himself.

`I've come at last, you see, my dear; better late than never.'

He found it very difficult to speak plainly, for his lips trembled and
refused to form the words.

`I don't know so much about that,' said Ruth, inclined to cry and
trying not to let him see the pity she could not help feeling for him.
`A nice state you're in. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.'

Easton shook his head and laughed foolishly. `Don't be angry, Ruth.
It's no good, you know.'

He walked clumsily towards her, still leaning on the table to steady
himself.

`Don't be angry,' he mumbled as he stooped over her, putting his arm
round her neck and his face close to hers. `It's no good being angry,
you know, dear.'

She shrank away, shuddering with involuntary disgust as he pressed his
wet lips and filthy moustache upon her mouth. His fetid breath, foul
with the smell of tobacco and beer, and the odour of the stale tobacco
smoke that exuded from his clothes filled her with loathing. He
kissed her repeatedly and when at last he released her she hastily
wiped her face with her handkerchief and shivered.

Easton said he did not want any tea, and went upstairs to bed almost
immediately. Ruth did not want any tea either now, although she had
been very hungry before he came home. She sat up very late, sewing,
and when at length she did go upstairs she found him lying on his
back, partly undressed on the outside of the bedclothes, with his
mouth wide open, breathing stertorously.

Chapter 20

The Forty Thieves. The Battle: Brigands versus Bandits

This is an even more unusually dull and uninteresting chapter, and
introduces several matters that may appear to have nothing to do with
the case. The reader is nevertheless entreated to peruse it, because
it contains certain information necessary to an understanding of this
history.

The town of Mugsborough was governed by a set of individuals called
the Municipal Council. Most of these `representatives of the people'
were well-to-do or retired tradesmen. In the opinion of the
inhabitants of Mugsborough, the fact that a man had succeeded in
accumulating money in business was a clear demonstration of his
fitness to be entrusted with the business of the town.

Consequently, when that very able and successful man of business Mr
George Rushton was put up for election to the Council he was returned
by a large majority of the votes of the working men who thought him an
ideal personage ...

These Brigands did just as they pleased. No one ever interfered with
them. They never consulted the ratepayers in any way. Even at
election time they did not trouble to hold meetings: each one of them
just issued a kind of manifesto setting forth his many noble qualities
and calling upon the people for their votes: and the latter never
failed to respond. They elected the same old crew time after time ...

The Brigands committed their depredations almost unhindered, for the
voters were engaged in the Battle of Life. Take the public park for
instance. Like so many swine around a trough - they were so busily
engaged in this battle that most of them had no time to go to the
park, or they might have noticed that there were not so many costly
plants there as there should have been. And if they had inquired
further they would have discovered that nearly all the members of the
Town Council had very fine gardens. There was reason for these
gardens being so grand, for the public park was systematically robbed
of its best to make them so.

There was a lake in the park where large numbers of ducks and geese
were kept at the ratepayers' expense. In addition to the food
provided for these fowl with public money, visitors to the park used
to bring them bags of biscuits and bread crusts. When the ducks and
geese were nicely fattened the Brigands used to carry them off and
devour them at home. When they became tired of eating duck or goose,
some of the Councillors made arrangements with certain butchers and
traded away the birds for meat.

One of the most energetic members of the Band was Mr Jeremiah Didlum,
the house-furnisher, who did a large hire system trade. He had an
extensive stock of second-hand furniture that he had resumed
possession of when the unfortunate would-be purchasers failed to pay
the instalments regularly. Other of the second-hand things had been
purchased for a fraction of their real value at Sheriff's sales or
from people whom misfortune or want of employment had reduced to the
necessity of selling their household possessions.

Another notable member of the Band was Mr Amos Grinder, who had
practically monopolized the greengrocery trade and now owned nearly
all the fruiterers' shops in the town. As for the other shops, if
they did not buy their stocks from him - or, rather, the company of
which he was managing director and principal shareholder - if these
other fruiterers and greengrocers did not buy their stuff from his
company, he tried to smash them by opening branches in their
immediate neighbourhood and selling below cost. He was a self-made
man: an example of what may be accomplished by cunning and
selfishness.

Then there was the Chief of the Band - Mr Adam Sweater, the Mayor. He
was always the Chief, although he was not always Mayor, it being the
rule that the latter `honour' should be enjoyed by all the members of
the Band in turn. A bright `honour', forsooth! to be the first
citizen in a community composed for the most part of ignorant
semi-imbeciles, slaves, slave-drivers and psalm-singing hypocrites.
Mr Sweater was the managing director and principal shareholder of a
large drapery business in which he had amassed a considerable fortune.
This was not very surprising, considering that he paid none of his
workpeople fair wages and many of them no wages at all. He employed a
great number of girls and young women who were supposed to be learning
dressmaking, mantle-making or millinery. These were all indentured
apprentices, some of whom had paid premiums of from five to ten
pounds. They were `bound' for three years. For the first two years
they received no wages: the third year they got a shilling or
eightpence a week. At the end of the third year they usually got the
sack, unless they were willing to stay on as improvers at from three
shillings to four and sixpence per week.