Books: The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists

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Ruth waited a few minutes longer, and then as Easton took no further
notice of her, she took up the string-bag and the other parcels, and
without staying to say good night to Mrs Crass - who was earnestly
conversing with the interesting Partaker - she with some difficulty
opened the door and went out into the street. The cold night air felt
refreshing and sweet after the foul atmosphere of the public house,
but after a little while she began to feel faint and dizzy, and was
conscious also that she was walking unsteadily, and she fancied that
people stared at her strangely as they passed. The parcels felt very
heavy and awkward to carry, and the string-bag seemed as if it were
filled with lead.

Although under ordinary circumstances it was only about ten minutes'
walk home from here, she resolved to go by one of the trams which
passed by the end of North Street. With this intention, she put down
her bag on the pavement at the stopping-place, and waited, resting her
hand on the iron pillar at the corner of the street, where a little
crowd of people were standing evidently with the same object as
herself. Two trains passed without stopping, for they were already
full of passengers, a common circumstance on Saturday nights. The
next one stopped, and several persons alighted, and then ensued a
fierce struggle amongst the waiting crowd for the vacant seats. Men
and women pushed, pulled and almost fought, shoving their fists and
elbows into each other's sides and breasts and faces. Ruth was
quickly thrust aside and nearly knocked down, and the tram, having
taken aboard as many passengers as it had accommodation for, passed
on. She waited for the next one, and the same scene was enacted with
the same result for her, and then, reflecting that if she had not
stayed for these trains she might have been home by now, she
determined to resume her walk. The parcels felt heavier than ever,
and she had not proceeded very far before she was compelled to put the
bag down again upon the pavement, outside an empty house.

Leaning against the railings, she felt very tired and ill. Everything
around her - the street, the houses, the traffic - seemed vague and
shadowy and unreal. Several people looked curiously at her as they
passed, but by this time she was scarcely conscious of their scrutiny.

Slyme had gone that evening to the usual `open-air' conducted by the
Shining Light Mission. The weather being fine, they had a most
successful meeting, the disciples, including Hunter, Rushton, Sweater,
Didlum, and Mrs Starvem - Ruth's former mistress - assembled in great
force so as to be able to deal more effectively with any infidels or
hired critics or drunken scoffers who might try to disturb the
proceedings; and - possibly as an evidence of how much real faith
there was in them - they had also arranged to have a police officer in
attendance, to protect them from what they called the `Powers of
Darkness'. One might be excused for thinking that - if they really
believed - they would have relied rather upon those powers of Light
which they professed to represent on this planet to protect them
without troubling to call in the aid of such a `worldly' force as the
police. However, it came to pass that on this occasion the only
infidels present were those who were conducting the meeting, but as
these consisted for the most part of members of the chapel, it will be
seen that the infidel fraternity was strongly represented.

On his way home after the meeting Slyme had to pass by the
`Cricketers' and as he drew near the place he wondered if Easton was
there, but he did not like to go and look in, because he was afraid
someone might see him coming away and perhaps think he had been in to
drink. Just as he arrived opposite the house another man opened the
door of the public bar and entered, enabling Slyme to catch a
momentary glimpse of the interior, where he saw Easton and Crass with
a number of others who were strangers to him, laughing and drinking
together.

Slyme hurried away; it had turned very cold, and he was anxious to get
home. As he approached the place where the trams stopped to take up
passengers and saw that there was a tram in sight he resolved to wait
for it and ride home: but when the tram arrived and there were only
one or two seats vacant, and although he did his best to secure one of
these he was unsuccessful, and after a moment's hesitation he decided
that it would be quicker to walk than to wait for the next one. He
accordingly resumed his journey, but he had not gone very far when he
saw a small crowd of people on the pavement on the other side of the
road outside an unoccupied house, and although he was in a hurry to
get home he crossed over to see what was the matter. There were about
twenty people standing there, and in the centre close to the railing
there were three or four women whom Slyme could not see although he
could hear their voices.

`What's up?' he inquired of a man on the edge of the crowd.

`Oh, nothing much,' returned the other. `Some young woman; she's
either ill, come over faint, or something - or else she's had a drop
too much.'

`Quite a respectable-looking young party, too,' said another man.

Several young fellows in the crowd were amusing themselves by making
suggestive jokes about the young woman and causing some laughter by
the expressions of mock sympathy.

`Doesn't anyone know who she is?' said the second man who had spoken
in reply to Slyme's inquiry.

`No,' said a woman who was standing a little nearer the middle of the
crowd. `And she won't say where she lives.'

`She'll be all right now she's had that glass of soda,' said another
man, elbowing his way out of the crowd. As this individual came out,
Slyme managed to work himself a little further into the group of
people, and he uttered an involuntary cry of astonishment as he caught
sight of Ruth, very pale, and looking very ill, as she stood clasping
one of the railings with her left hand and holding the packages of
groceries in the other. She had by this time recovered sufficiently
to feel overwhelmed with shame and confusion before the crowd of
strangers who hemmed her in on every side, and some of whom she could
hear laughing and joking about her. It was therefore with a sensation
of intense relief and gratitude that she saw Slyme's familiar face and
heard his friendly voice as he forced his way through to her side.

`I can walk home all right now,' she stammered in reply to his anxious
questioning. `If you wouldn't mind carrying some of these things for
me.'

He insisted on taking all the parcels, and the crowd, having jumped to
the conclusion that he was the young woman's husband began to dwindle
away, one of the jokers remarking `It's all over!' in a loud voice as
he took himself off.

It was only about seven minutes' walk home from there, and as the
streets along which they had to pass were not very brilliantly
lighted, Ruth was able to lean on Slyme's arm most of the way. When
they arrived home, after she had removed her hat, he made her sit down
in the armchair by the fire, which was burning brightly, and the
kettle was singing on the hob, for she had banked up the fire with
cinders and small coal before she went out.

The baby was still asleep in the cradle, but his slumbers had
evidently not been of the most restful kind, for he had kicked all the
bedclothes off him and was lying all uncovered. Ruth obeyed passively
when Slyme told her to sit down, and, lying back languidly in the
armchair, she watched him through half-closed eyes and with a slight
flush on her face as he deftly covered the sleeping child with the
bedclothes and settled him more comfortably in the cot.

Slyme now turned his attention to the fire, and as he placed the
kettle upon it he remarked: `As soon as the water boils I'll make you
some strong tea.'

During their walk home she had acquainted Slyme with the cause of her
being in the condition in which he found her in the street, and as she
reclined in the armchair, drowsily watching him, she wondered what
would have happened to her if he had not passed by when he did.

`Are you feeling better?' he asked, looking down at her.

`Yes, thanks. I feel quite well now; but I'm afraid I've given you a
lot of trouble.'

`No, you haven't. Nothing I can do for you is a trouble to me. But
don't you think you'd better take your jacket off? Here, let me help
you.'

It took a very long time to get this jacket off, because whilst he was
helping her, Slyme kissed her repeatedly and passionately as she lay
limp and unresisting in his arms.

Chapter 25

The Oblong

During the following week the work at `The Cave' progressed rapidly
towards completion, although, the hours of daylight being so few, the
men worked only from 8 A.M. till 4 P.M. and they had their breakfasts
before they came. This made 40 hours a week, so that those who were
paid sevenpence an hour earned £1.3.4. Those who got sixpence-
halfpenny drew £1.1.8. Those whose wages were fivepence an hour were
paid the princely sum of 16/8d. for their week's hard labour, and
those whose rate was fourpence-halfpenny `picked up' 15/-.

And yet there are people who have the insolence to say that Drink is
the cause of poverty.

And many of the persons who say this, spend more money than that on
drink themselves - every day of their useless lives.

By Tuesday night all the inside was finished with the exception of the
kitchen and scullery. The painting of the kitchen had been delayed
owing to the non-arrival of the new cooking range, and the scullery
was still used as the paint shop. The outside work was also nearly
finished: all the first coating was done and the second coating was
being proceeded with. According to the specification, all the outside
woodwork was supposed to have three coats, and the guttering,
rain-pipes and other ironwork two coats, but Crass and Hunter had
arranged to make two coats do for most of the windows and woodwork,
and all the ironwork was to be made to do with one coat only. The
windows were painted in two colours: the sashes dark green and the
frames white. All the rest - gables, doors, railings, guttering, etc. -
was dark green; and all the dark green paint was made with boiled
linseed oil and varnish; no turpentine being allowed to be used on
this part of the work.

`This is some bloody fine stuff to 'ave to use, ain't it?' remarked
Harlow to Philpot on Wednesday morning. `It's more like a lot of
treacle than anything else.'

`Yes: and it won't arf blister next summer when it gets a bit of sun
on it,' replied Philpot with a grin.

`I suppose they're afraid that if they was to put a little turps in,
it wouldn't bear out, and they'd 'ave to give it another coat.'

`You can bet yer life that's the reason,' said Philpot. `But all the
same I mean to pinch a drop to put in mine as soon as Crass is gorn.'

`Gorn where?'

`Why, didn't you know? there's another funeral on today? Didn't you
see that corfin plate what Owen was writing in the drorin'-room last
Saturday morning?'

`No, I wasn't 'ere. Don't you remember I was sent away to do a
ceilin' and a bit of painting over at Windley?'

`Oh, of course; I forgot,' exclaimed Philpot.

`I reckon Crass and Slyme must be making a small fortune out of all
these funerals,' said Harlow. `This makes the fourth in the last
fortnight. What is it they gets for 'em?'

`A shillin' for taking' 'ome the corfin and liftin' in the corpse, and
four bob for the funeral - five bob altogether.'

`That's a bit of all right, ain't it?' said Harlow. `A couple of them
in a week besides your week's wages, eh? Five bob for two or three
hours work!'

`Yes, the money's all right, mate, but they're welcome to it for my
part . I don't want to go messin' about with no corpses,' replied
Philpot with a shudder.

`Who is this last party what's dead?' asked Harlow after a pause.

`It's a parson what used to belong to the "Shining Light" Chapel.
He'd been abroad for 'is 'ollerdays - to Monte Carlo. It seems 'e was
ill before 'e went away, but the change did 'im a lot of good; in
fact, 'e was quite recovered, and 'e was coming back again. But while
'e was standin' on the platform at Monte Carlo Station waitin' for the
train, a porter runned into 'im with a barrer load o' luggage, and 'e
blowed up.'

`Blowed up?'

`Yes,' repeated Philpot. `Blowed up! Busted! Exploded! All into
pieces. But they swep' 'em all up and put it in a corfin and it's to
be planted this afternoon.'

Harlow maintained an awestruck silence, and Philpot continued:

`I had a drink the other night with a butcher bloke what used to serve
this parson with meat, and we was talkin' about what a strange sort of
death it was, but 'e said 'e wasn't at all surprised to 'ear of it;
the only thing as 'e wondered at was that the man didn't blow up long
ago, considerin' the amount of grub as 'e used to make away with. He
ses the quantities of stuff as 'e's took there and seen other
tradesmen take was something chronic. Tons of it!'

`What was the parson's name?' asked Harlow.

`Belcher. You must 'ave noticed 'im about the town. A very fat
chap,' replied Philpot. `I'm sorry you wasn't 'ere on Saturday to see
the corfin plate. Frank called me in to see the wordin' when 'e'd
finished it. It had on: "Jonydab Belcher. Born January 1st, 1849.
Ascended, December 8th, 19--"'

`Oh, I know the bloke now!' cried Harlow. `I remember my youngsters
bringin' 'ome a subscription list what they'd got up at the Sunday
School to send 'im away for a 'ollerday because 'e was ill, and I gave
'em a penny each to put on their cards because I didn't want 'em to
feel mean before the other young 'uns.'

`Yes, it's the same party. Two or three young 'uns asked me to give
'em something to put on at the time. And I see they've got another
subscription list on now. I met one of Newman's children yesterday
and she showed it to me. It's for an entertainment and a Christmas
Tree for all the children what goes to the Sunday School, so I didn't
mind giving just a trifle for anything like that.' ...

`Seems to be gettin' colder, don't it?'

`It's enough to freeze the ears orf a brass monkey!' remarked Easton
as he descended from a ladder close by and, placing his pot of paint
on the pound, began to try to warm his hands by rubbing and beating
them together.

He was trembling, and his teeth were chattering with cold.

`I could just do with a nice pint of beer, now,' he said as he stamped
his feet on the pound.

`That's just what I was thinkin',' said Philpot, wistfully, 'and
what's more, I mean to 'ave one, too, at dinner-time. I shall nip
down to the "Cricketers". Even if I don't get back till a few minutes
after one, it won't matter, because Crass and Nimrod will be gorn to
the funeral.'

`Will you bring me a pint back with you, in a bottle?' asked Easton.

`Yes, certainly,' said Philpot.

Harlow said nothing. He also would have liked a pint of beer, but, as
was usual with him, he had not the necessary cash. Having restored
the circulation to a certain extent, they now resumed their work, and
only just in time, for a few minutes afterwards they observed Misery
peeping round the corner of the house at them and they wondered how
long he had been there, and whether he had overheard their
conversation.

At twelve o'clock Crass and Slyme cleared off in a great hurry, and a
little while afterwards, Philpot took off his apron and put on his
coat to go to the `Cricketers'. When the others found out where he
was going, several of them asked him to bring back a drink for them,
and then someone suggested that all those who wanted some beer should
give twopence each. This was done: one shilling and fourpence was
collected and given to Philpot, who was to bring back a gallon of beer
in a jar. He promised to get back as soon as ever he could, and some
of the shareholders decided not to drink any tea with their dinners,
but to wait for the beer, although they knew that it would be nearly
time to resume work before he could get back. It would be a quarter
to one at the very earliest.

The minutes dragged slowly by, and after a while the only man on the
job who had a watch began to lose his temper and refused to answer any
more inquiries concerning the time. So presently Bert was sent up to
the top of the house to look at a church clock which was visible
therefrom, and when he came down he reported that it was ten minutes
to one.

Symptoms of anxiety now began to manifest themselves amongst the
shareholders, several of whom went down to the main road to see if
Philpot was yet in sight, but each returned with the same report -
they could see nothing of him.

No one was formally `in charge' of the job during Crass's absence, but
they all returned to their work promptly at one because they feared
that Sawkins or some other sneak might report any irregularity to
Crass or Misery.

At a quarter-past one, Philpot was still missing and the uneasiness of
the shareholders began to develop into a panic. Some of them plainly
expressed the opinion that he had gone on the razzle with the money.
As the time wore on, this became the general opinion. At two o'clock,
all hope of his return having been abandoned, two or three of the
shareholders went and drank some of the cold tea.

Their fears were only too well founded, for they saw no more of
Philpot till the next morning, when he arrived looking very sheepish
and repentant and promised to refund all the money on Saturday. He
also made a long, rambling statement from which it appeared that on
his way to the `Cricketers' he met a couple of chaps whom he knew who
were out of work, and he invited them to come and have a drink. When
they got to the pub, they found there the Semi-drunk and the Besotted
Wretch. One drink led to another, and then they started arguing, and
he had forgotten all about the gallon of beer until he woke up this
morning.

Whilst Philpot was making this explanation they were putting on their
aprons and blouses, and Crass was serving out the lots of colour.
Slyme took no part in the conversation, but got ready as quickly as
possible and went outside to make a start. The reason for this haste
soon became apparent to some of the others, for they noticed that he
had selected and commenced painting a large window that was so
situated as to be sheltered from the keen wind that was blowing.

The basement of the house was slightly below the level of the ground
and there was a sort of a trench or area about three feet deep in
front of the basement windows. The banks of this trench were covered
with rose trees and evergreens, and the bottom was a mass of slimy,
evil-smelling, rain-sodden earth, foul with the excrement of nocturnal
animals. To second-coat these basement windows, Philpot and Harlow
had to get down into and stand in all this filth, which soaked through
the worn and broken soles of their boots. As they worked, the thorns
of the rose trees caught and tore their clothing and lacerated the
flesh of their half-frozen hands.

Owen and Easton were working on ladders doing the windows immediately
above Philpot and Harlow, Sawkins, on another ladder, was painting one
of the gables, and the other men were working at different parts of
the outside of the house. The boy Bert was painting the iron railings
of the front fence. The weather was bitterly cold, the sun was
concealed by the dreary expanse of grey cloud that covered the wintry
sky.

As they stood there working most of the time they were almost
perfectly motionless, the only part of their bodies that were
exercised being their right arms. The work they were now doing
required to be done very carefully and deliberately, otherwise the
glass would be `messed up' or the white paint of the frames would `run
into' the dark green of the sashes, both colours being wet at the same
time, each man having two pots of paint and two sets of brushes. The
wind was not blowing in sudden gusts, but swept by in a strong,
persistent current that penetrated their clothing and left them
trembling and numb with cold. It blew from the right; and it was all
the worse on that account, because the right arm, being in use, left
that side of the body fully exposed. They were able to keep their
left hands in their trousers pockets and the left arm close to the
side most of the time. This made a lot of difference.

Another reason why it is worse when the wind strikes upon one from the
right side is that the buttons on a man's coat are always on the right
side, and consequently the wind gets underneath. Philpot realized
this all the more because some of the buttons on his coat and
waistcoat were missing.

As they worked on, trembling with cold, and with their teeth
chattering, their faces and hands became of that pale violet colour
generally seen on the lips of a corpse. Their eyes became full of
water and the lids were red and inflamed. Philpot's and Harlow's
boots were soon wet through, with the water they absorbed from the
damp ground, and their feet were sore and intensely painful with cold.

Their hands, of course, suffered the most, becoming so numbed that
they were unable to feel the brushes they held; in fact, presently, as
Philpot was taking a dip of colour, the brush fell from his hand into
the pot; and then, finding that he was unable to move his fingers, he
put his hand into his trousers pocket to thaw, and began to walk
about, stamping his feet upon the ground. His example was quickly
followed by Owen, Easton and Harlow, and they all went round the
corner to the sheltered side of the house where Slyme was working, and
began walking up and down, rubbing their hands, stamping their feet
and swinging their arms to warm themselves.

`If I thought Nimrod wasn't comin', I'd put my overcoat on and work in
it,' remarked Philpot, 'but you never knows when to expect the b--r,
and if 'e saw me in it, it would mean the bloody push.'

`It wouldn't interfere with our workin' if we did wear 'em,' said
Easton; `in fact, we'd be able to work all the quicker if we wasn't so
cold.'

`Even if Misery didn't come, I suppose Crass would 'ave something to
say if we did put 'em on,' continued Philpot.

`Well, yer couldn't blame 'im if 'e did say something, could yer?'
said Slyme, offensively. `Crass would get into a row 'imself if
'Unter came and saw us workin' in overcoats. It would look ridiclus.'

Slyme suffered less from the cold than any of them, not only because
he had secured the most sheltered window, but also because he was
better clothed than most of the rest.

`What's Crass supposed to be doin' inside?' asked Easton as he tramped
up and down, with his shoulders hunched up and his hands thrust deep
into the pockets of his trousers.

`Blowed if I know,' replied Philpot. `Messin' about touchin' up or
makin' colour. He never does 'is share of a job like this; 'e knows
'ow to work things all right for 'isself.'

`What if 'e does? We'd be the same if we was in 'is place, and so
would anybody else,' said Slyme, and added sarcastically: `Or p'haps
you'd give all the soft jobs to other people and do all the rough
yerself!'

Slyme knew that, although they were speaking of Crass, they were also
alluding to himself, and as he replied to Philpot he looked slyly at
Owen, who had so far taken no part in the conversation.

`It's not a question of what we would do,' chimed in Harlow. `It's a
question of what's fair. If it's not fair for Crass to pick all the
soft jobs for 'imself and leave all the rough for others, the fact
that we might do the same if we 'ad the chance don't make it right.'

`No one can be blamed for doing the best he can for himself under
existing circumstances,' said Owen in reply to Slyme's questioning
look. That is the principle of the present system - every man for
himself and the devil take the rest. For my own part I don't pretend
to practise unselfishness. I don't pretend to guide my actions by the
rules laid down in the Sermon on the Mount. But it's certainly
surprising to hear you who profess to be a follower of Christ -
advocating selfishness. Or, rather, it would be surprising if it were
not that the name of "Christian" has ceased to signify one who follows
Christ, and has come to mean only liar and hypocrite.'

Slyme made no answer. Possibly the fact that he was a true believer
enabled him to bear this insult with meekness and humility.

`I wonder what time it is?' interposed Philpot.

Slyme looked at his watch. It was nearly ten o'clock.

`Jesus Christ! Is that all?' growled Easton as they returned to work.
`Two hours more before dinner!'

Only two more hours, but to these miserable, half-starved, ill-clad
wretches, standing here in the bitter wind that pierced their clothing
and seemed to be tearing at their very hearts and lungs with icy
fingers, it appeared like an eternity. To judge by the eagerness with
which they longed for dinner-time, one might have thought they had
some glorious banquet to look forward to instead of bread and cheese
and onions, or bloaters - and stewed tea.