Books: The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists

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This was the conclusion reached by Crass and such of his mates who
thought they were Conservatives - the majority of them could not have
read a dozen sentences aloud without stumbling - it was not necessary
to think or study or investigate anything. It was all as clear as
daylight. The foreigner was the enemy, and the cause of poverty and
bad trade.

When the storm had in some degree subsided,

`Some of you seem to think,' said Owen, sneeringly, `that it was a
great mistake on God's part to make so many foreigners. You ought to
hold a mass meeting about it: pass a resolution something like this:
"This meeting of British Christians hereby indignantly protests
against the action of the Supreme Being in having created so many
foreigners, and calls upon him to forthwith rain down fire, brimstone
and mighty rocks upon the heads of all those Philistines, so that they
may be utterly exterminated from the face of the earth, which rightly
belongs to the British people".'

Crass looked very indignant, but could think of nothing to say in
answer to Owen, who continued:

`A little while ago you made the remark that you never trouble
yourself about what you call politics, and some of the rest agreed
with you that to do so is not worth while. Well, since you never
"worry" yourself about these things, it follows that you know nothing
about them; yet you do not hesitate to express the most decided
opinions concerning matters of which you admittedly know nothing.
Presently, when there is an election, you will go and vote in favour
of a policy of which you know nothing. I say that since you never
take the trouble to find out which side is right or wrong you have no
right to express any opinion. You are not fit to vote. You should
not be allowed to vote.'

Crass was by this time very angry.

`I pays my rates and taxes,' he shouted, `an' I've got as much right
to express an opinion as you 'ave. I votes for who the bloody 'ell I
likes. I shan't arst your leave nor nobody else's! Wot the 'ell's it
got do with you who I votes for?'

`It has a great deal to do with me. If you vote for Protection you
will be helping to bring it about, and if you succeed, and if
Protection is the evil that some people say is is, I shall be one of
those who will suffer. I say you have no right to vote for a policy
which may bring suffering upon other people, without taking the
trouble to find out whether you are helping to make things better or
worse.'

Owen had risen from his seat and was walking up and down the room
emphasizing his words with excited gestures.

`As for not trying to find out wot side is right,' said Crass,
somewhat overawed by Owen's manner and by what he thought was the
glare of madness in the latter's eyes, `I reads the Ananias every
week, and I generally takes the Daily Chloroform, or the Hobscurer,
so I ought to know summat about it.'

`Just listen to this,' interrupted Easton, wishing to create a
diversion and beginning to read from the copy of the Obscurer which he
still held in his hand:

`GREAT DISTRESS IN MUGSBOROUGH.
HUNDREDS OUT OF EMPLOYMENT.
WORK OF THE CHARITY SOCIETY.
789 CASES ON THE BOOKS.

`Great as was the distress among the working classes last year,
unfortunately there seems every prospect that before the winter
which has just commenced is over the distress will be even more
acute.

Already the Charity Society and kindred associations are relieving
more cases than they did at the corresponding time last year.
Applications to the Board of Guardians have also been much more
numerous, and the Soup Kitchen has had to open its doors on Nov. 7th
a fortnight earlier than usual. The number of men, women and
children provided with meals is three or four times greater than
last year.'

Easton stopped: reading was hard work to him.

`There's a lot more,' he said, `about starting relief works: two
shillings a day for married men and one shilling for single and
something about there's been 1,572 quarts of soup given to poor
families wot was not even able to pay a penny, and a lot more. And
'ere's another thing, an advertisement:

`THE SUFFERING POOR

Sir: Distress among the poor is so acute that I earnestly ask you
for aid for The Salvation Army's great Social work on their behalf.
Some 600 are being sheltered nightly. Hundreds are found work
daily. Soup and bread are distributed in the midnight hours to
homeless wanderers in London. Additional workshops for the
unemployed have been established. Our Social Work for men, women
and children, for the characterless and the outcast, is the largest
and oldest organized effort of its kind in the country, and greatly
needs help. £10,000 is required before Christmas Day. Gifts may be
made to any specific section or home, if desired. Can you please
send us something to keep the work going? Please address cheques,
crossed Bank of England (Law Courts Branch), to me at 101, Queen
Victoria Street, EC. Balance Sheets and Reports upon application.
`BRAMWELL BOOTH.'

`Oh, that's part of the great 'appiness an' prosperity wot Owen makes
out Free Trade brings,' said Crass with a jeering laugh.

`I never said Free Trade brought happiness or prosperity,' said Owen.

`Well, praps you didn't say exactly them words, but that's wot it
amounts to.'

`I never said anything of the kind. We've had Free Trade for the last
fifty years and today most people are living in a condition of more or
less abject poverty, and thousands are literally starving. When we
had Protection things were worse still. Other countries have
Protection and yet many of their people are glad to come here and work
for starvation wages. The only difference between Free Trade and
Protection is that under certain circumstances one might be a little
worse that the other, but as remedies for Poverty, neither of them are
of any real use whatever, for the simple reason that they do not deal
with the real causes of Poverty.'

`The greatest cause of poverty is hover-population,' remarked Harlow.

`Yes,' said old Joe Philpot. `If a boss wants two men, twenty goes
after the job: ther's too many people and not enough work.'

`Over-population!' cried Owen, `when there's thousands of acres of
uncultivated land in England without a house or human being to be
seen. Is over-population the cause of poverty in France? Is
over-population the cause of poverty in Ireland? Within the last
fifty years the population of Ireland has been reduced by more than
half. Four millions of people have been exterminated by famine or got
rid of by emigration, but they haven't got rid of poverty. P'raps you
think that half the people in this country ought to be exterminated as
well.'

Here Owen was seized with a violent fit of coughing, and resumed his
seat. When the cough had ceased he say wiping his mouth with his
handkerchief and listening to the talk that ensued.

`Drink is the cause of most of the poverty,' said Slyme.

This young man had been through some strange process that he called
`conversion'. He had had a `change of 'art' and looked down with
pious pity upon those he called `worldly' people. He was not
`worldly', he did not smoke or drink and never went to the theatre.
He had an extraordinary notion that total abstinence was one of the
fundamental principles of the Christian religion. It never occurred
to what he called his mind, that this doctrine is an insult to the
Founder of Christianity.

`Yes,' said Crass, agreeing with Slyme, `an' thers plenty of 'em wot's
too lazy to work when they can get it. Some of the b--s who go about
pleading poverty 'ave never done a fair day's work in all their bloody
lives. Then thers all this new-fangled machinery,' continued Crass.
`That's wot's ruinin' everything. Even in our trade ther's them
machines for trimmin' wallpaper, an' now they've brought out a
paintin' machine. Ther's a pump an' a 'ose pipe, an' they reckon two
men can do as much with this 'ere machine as twenty could without it.'

`Another thing is women,' said Harlow, `there's thousands of 'em
nowadays doin' work wot oughter be done by men.'

`In my opinion ther's too much of this 'ere eddication, nowadays,'
remarked old Linden. `Wot the 'ell's the good of eddication to the
likes of us?'

`None whatever,' said Crass, `it just puts foolish idears into
people's 'eds and makes 'em too lazy to work.'

Barrington, who took no part in the conversation, still sat silently
smoking. Owen was listening to this pitiable farrago with feelings of
contempt and wonder. Were they all hopelessly stupid? Had their
intelligence never developed beyond the childhood stage? Or was he
mad himself?

`Early marriages is another thing,' said Slyme: `no man oughtn't to be
allowed to get married unless he's in a position to keep a family.'

`How can marriage be a cause of poverty?' said Owen, contemptuously.
`A man who is not married is living an unnatural life. Why don't you
continue your argument a little further and say that the practice of
eating and drinking is the cause of poverty or that if people were to
go barefoot and naked there would be no poverty? The man who is so
poor that he cannot marry is in a condition of poverty already.'

`Wot I mean,' said Slyme, `is that no man oughtn't to marry till he's
saved up enough so as to 'ave some money in the bank; an' another
thing, I reckon a man oughtn't to get married till 'e's got an 'ouse
of 'is own. It's easy enough to buy one in a building society if
you're in reg'lar work.'

At this there was a general laugh.

`Why, you bloody fool,' said Harlow, scornfully, `most of us is
walkin' about 'arf our time. It's all very well for you to talk;
you've got almost a constant job on this firm. If they're doin'
anything at all you're one of the few gets a show in. And another
thing,' he added with a sneer, `we don't all go to the same chapel as
old Misery,'

`Old Misery' was Ruston & Co.'s manager or walking foreman. `Misery'
was only one of the nicknames bestowed upon him by the hands: he was
also known as `Nimrod' and `Pontius Pilate'.

`And even if it's not possible,' Harlow continued, winking at the
others, `what's a man to do during the years he's savin' up?'

`Well, he must conquer hisself,' said Slyme, getting red.

`Conquer hisself is right!' said Harlow and the others laughed again.

`Of course if a man tried to conquer hisself by his own strength,'
replied Slyme, `'e would be sure to fail, but when you've got the
Grace of God in you it's different.'

`Chuck it, fer Christ's sake!' said Harlow in a tone of disgust.
`We've only just 'ad our dinner!'

`And wot about drink?' demanded old Joe Philpot, suddenly.

`'Ear, 'ear,' cried Harlow. `That's the bleedin' talk. I wouldn't
mind 'avin 'arf a pint now, if somebody else will pay for it.'

Joe Philpot - or as he was usually called, `Old Joe' - was in the
habit of indulging freely in the cup that inebriates. He was not very
old, being only a little over fifty, but he looked much older. He had
lost his wife some five years ago and was now alone in the world, for
his three children had died in their infancy. Slyme's reference to
drink had roused Philpot's indignation; he felt that it was directed
against himself. The muddled condition of his brain did not permit
him to take up the cudgels in his own behalf, but he knew that
although Owen was a tee-totaller himself, he disliked Slyme.

`There's no need for us to talk about drink or laziness,' returned
Owen, impatiently, `because they have nothing to do with the matter.
The question is, what is the cause of the lifelong poverty of the
majority of those who are not drunkards and who DO work? Why, if all
the drunkards and won't-works and unskilled or inefficient workers
could be by some miracle transformed into sober, industrious and
skilled workers tomorrow, it would, under the present conditions, be
so much the worse for us, because there isn't enough work for all NOW
and those people by increasing the competition for what work there is,
would inevitably cause a reduction of wages and a greater scarcity of
employment. The theories that drunkenness, laziness or inefficiency
are the causes of poverty are so many devices invented and fostered by
those who are selfishly interested in maintaining the present states
of affairs, for the purpose of preventing us from discovering the real
causes of our present condition.'

`Well, if we're all wrong,' said Crass, with a sneer, `praps you can
tell us what the real cause is?'

`An' praps you think you know how it's to be altered,' remarked
Harlow, winking at the others.

`Yes; I do think I know the cause,' declared Owen, `and I do think I
know how it could be altered -'

`It can't never be haltered,' interrupted old Linden. `I don't see no
sense in all this 'ere talk. There's always been rich and poor in the
world, and there always will be.'

`Wot I always say is there 'ere,' remarked Philpot, whose principal
characteristic - apart from thirst - was a desire to see everyone
comfortable, and who hated rows of any kind. `There ain't no use in
the likes of us trubblin our 'eds or quarrelin about politics. It
don't make a dam bit of difference who you votes for or who gets in.
They're hall the same; workin the horicle for their own benefit. You
can talk till you're black in the face, but you won't never be able to
alter it. It's no use worrying. The sensible thing is to try and
make the best of things as we find 'em: enjoy ourselves, and do the
best we can for each other. Life's too short to quarrel and we'll
hall soon be dead!'

At the end of this lengthy speech, the philosophic Philpot
abstractedly grasped a jam-jar and raised it to his lips; but suddenly
remembering that it contained stewed tea and not beer, set it down
again without drinking.

`Let us begin at the beginning,' continued Owen, taking no notice of
these interruptions. `First of all, what do you mean by Poverty?'

`Why, if you've got no money, of course,' said Crass impatiently.

The others laughed disdainfully. It seemed to them such a foolish
question.

`Well, that's true enough as far as it goes,' returned Owen, `that is,
as things are arranged in the world at present. But money itself is
not wealth: it's of no use whatever.'

At this there was another outburst of jeering laughter.

`Supposing for example that you and Harlow were shipwrecked on a
desolate island, and YOU had saved nothing from the wreck but a bag
containing a thousand sovereigns, and he had a tin of biscuits and a
bottle of water.'

`Make it beer!' cried Harlow appealingly.

`Who would be the richer man, you or Harlow?'

`But then you see we ain't shipwrecked on no dissolute island at all,'
sneered Crass. `That's the worst of your arguments. You can't never
get very far without supposing some bloody ridclus thing or other.
Never mind about supposing things wot ain't true; let's 'ave facts and
common sense.'

`'Ear, 'ear,' said old Linden. `That's wot we want - a little common
sense.'

`What do YOU mean by poverty, then?' asked Easton.

`What I call poverty is when people are not able to secure for
themselves all the benefits of civilization; the necessaries,
comforts, pleasures and refinements of life, leisure, books, theatres,
pictures, music, holidays, travel, good and beautiful homes, good
clothes, good and pleasant food.'

Everybody laughed. It was so ridiculous. The idea of the likes of
THEM wanting or having such things! Any doubts that any of them had
entertained as to Owen's sanity disappeared. The man was as mad as a
March hare.

`If a man is only able to provide himself and his family with the bare
necessaries of existence, that man's family is living in poverty.
Since he cannot enjoy the advantages of civilization he might just as
well be a savage: better, in fact, for a savage knows nothing of what
he is deprived. What we call civilization - the accumulation of
knowledge which has come down to us from our forefathers - is the
fruit of thousands of years of human thought and toil. It is not the
result of the labour of the ancestors of any separate class of people
who exist today, and therefore it is by right the common heritage of
all. Every little child that is born into the world, no matter
whether he is clever or full, whether he is physically perfect or
lame, or blind; no matter how much he may excel or fall short of his
fellows in other respects, in one thing at least he is their equal -
he is one of the heirs of all the ages that have gone before.'

Some of them began to wonder whether Owen was not sane after all. He
certainly must be a clever sort of chap to be able to talk like this.
It sounded almost like something out of a book, and most of them could
not understand one half of it.

`Why is it,' continued Owen, `that we are not only deprived of our
inheritance - we are not only deprived of nearly all the benefits of
civilization, but we and our children and also often unable to obtain
even the bare necessaries of existence?'

No one answered.

`All these things,' Owen proceeded, `are produced by those who work.
We do our full share of the work, therefore we should have a full
share of the things that are made by work.'

The others continued silent. Harlow thought of the over-population
theory, but decided not to mention it. Crass, who could not have
given an intelligent answer to save his life, for once had sufficient
sense to remain silent. He did think of calling out the patent
paint-pumping machine and bringing the hosepipe to bear on the
subject, but abandoned the idea; after all, he thought, what was the
use of arguing with such a fool as Owen?

Sawkins pretended to be asleep.

Philpot, however, had suddenly grown very serious.

`As things are now,' went on Owen, `instead of enjoying the advantages
of civilization we are really worse off than slaves, for if we were
slaves our owners in their own interest would see to it that we always
had food and -'

`Oh, I don't see that,' roughly interrupted old Linden, who had been
listening with evident anger and impatience. `You can speak for
yourself, but I can tell yer I don't put MYSELF down as a slave.'

`Nor me neither,' said Crass sturdily. `Let them call their selves
slaves as wants to.'

At this moment a footstep was heard in the passage leading to the
kitchen. Old Misery! or perhaps the bloke himself! Crass hurriedly
pulled out his watch.

`Jesus Christ!' he gasped. `It's four minutes past one!'

Linden frantically seized hold of a pair of steps and began wandering
about the room with them.

Sawkins scrambled hastily to his feet and, snatching a piece of
sandpaper from the pocket of his apron, began furiously rubbing down
the scullery door.

Easton threw down the copy of the Obscurer and scrambled hastily to
his feet.

The boy crammed the Chronicles of Crime into his trousers pocket.

Crass rushed over to the bucket and began stirring up the stale
whitewash it contained, and the stench which it gave forth was simply
appalling.

Consternation reigned.

They looked like a gang of malefactors suddenly interrupted in the
commission of a crime.

The door opened. It was only Bundy returning from his mission to the
Bookie.

Chapter 2:

Nimrod: a Mighty Hunter before the Lord

Mr Hunter, as he was called to his face and as he was known to his
brethren at the Shining Light Chapel, where he was superintendant of
the Sunday School, or `Misery' or `Nimrod'; as he was named behind his
back by the workmen over whom he tyrannized, was the general or
walking foreman of `manager' of the firm whose card is herewith
presented to the reader:

RUSHTON & CO.
MUGSBOROUGH
-------
Builders, Decorators, and General Contractors
FUNERALS FURNISHED
Estimates given for General Repairs to House Property
First-class Work only at Moderate Charges

There were a number of sub-foremen or `coddies', but Hunter was THE
foreman.

He was a tall, thin man whose clothes hung loosely on the angles of
his round-shouldered, bony form. His long, thin legs, about which the
baggy trousers draped in ungraceful folds, were slightly knock-kneed
and terminated in large, flat feet. His arms were very long even for
such a tall man, and the huge, bony hands were gnarled and knotted.
When he removed his bowler hat, as he frequently did to wipe away with
a red handkerchief the sweat occasioned by furious bicycle riding, it
was seen that his forehead was high, flat and narrow. His nose was a
large, fleshy, hawklike beak, and from the side of each nostril a deep
indentation extended downwards until it disappeared in the dropping
moustache that concealed his mouth, the vast extent of which was
perceived only when he opened it to bellow at the workmen his
exhortations to greater exertions. His chin was large and
extraordinarily long. The eyes were pale blue, very small and close
together, surmounted by spare, light-coloured, almost invisible
eyebrows, with a deep vertical cleft between them over the nose. His
head, covered with thick, coarse brown hair, was very large at the
back; the ears were small and laid close to the head. If one were to
make a full-face drawing of his cadaverous visage it would be found
that the outline resembled that of the lid of a coffin.

This man had been with Rushton - no one had ever seen the `Co.' - for
fifteen years, in fact almost from the time when the latter commenced
business. Rushton had at that period realized the necessity of having
a deputy who could be used to do all the drudgery and running about so
that he himself might be free to attend to the more pleasant or
profitable matters. Hunter was then a journeyman, but was on the
point of starting on his own account, when Rushton offered him a
constant job as foreman, two pounds a week, and two and a half per
cent of the profits of all work done. On the face of it this appeared
a generous offer. Hunter closed with it, gave up the idea of starting
for himself, and threw himself heart and mind into the business. When
an estimate was to be prepared it was Hunter who measured up the work
and laboriously figured out the probably cost. When their tenders
were accepted it was he who superintended the work and schemed how to
scamp it, where possible, using mud where mortar was specified, mortar
where there ought to have been cement, sheet zinc where they were
supposed to put sheet lead, boiled oil instead of varnish, and three
coats of paint where five were paid for. In fact, scamping the work
was with this man a kind of mania. It grieved him to see anything
done properly. Even when it was more economical to do a thing well,
he insisted from force of habit on having it scamped. Then he was
almost happy, because he felt that he was doing someone down. If
there were an architect superintending the work, Misery would square
him or bluff him. If it were not possible to do either, at least he
had a try; and in the intervals of watching, driving and bullying the
hands, his vulture eye was ever on the look out for fresh jobs. His
long red nose was thrust into every estate agent's office in the town
in the endeavour to smell out what properties had recently changed
hands or been let, in order that he might interview the new owners and
secure the order for whatever alterations or repairs might be
required. He it was who entered into unholy compacts with numerous
charwomen and nurses of the sick, who in return for a small commission
would let him know when some poor sufferer was passing away and would
recommend Rushton & Co. to the bereaved and distracted relatives. By
these means often - after first carefully inquiring into the financial
position of the stricken family - Misery would contrive to wriggle his
unsavoury carcass into the house of sorrow, seeking, even in the
chamber of death, to further the interests of Rushton & Co. and to
earn his miserable two and a half per cent.

It was to make possible the attainment of this object that Misery
slaved and drove and schemed and cheated. It was for this that the
workers' wages were cut down to the lowest possible point and their
offspring went ill clad, ill shod and ill fed, and were driven forth
to labour while they were yet children, because their fathers were
unable to earn enough to support their homes.

Fifteen years!

Hunter realized now that Rushton had had considerably the best of the
bargain. In the first place, it will be seen that the latter had
bought over one who might have proved a dangerous competitor, and now,
after fifteen years, the business that had been so laboriously built
up, mainly by Hunter's energy, industry and unscrupulous cunning,
belonged to Rushton & Co. Hunter was but an employee, liable to
dismissal like any other workman, the only difference being that he
was entitled to a week's notice instead of an hour's notice, and was
but little better off financially than when he started for the firm.