Books: The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists

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Two more hours of torture before dinner; and three more hours after
that. And then, thank God, it would be too dark to see to work any
longer.

It would have been much better for them if, instead of being
`Freemen', they had been slaves, and the property, instead of the
hirelings, of Mr Rushton. As it was, HE would not have cared if one
or all of them had become ill or died from the effects of exposure.
It would have made no difference to him. There were plenty of others
out of work and on the verge of starvation who would be very glad to
take their places. But if they had been Rushton's property, such work
as this would have been deferred until it could be done without danger
to the health and lives of the slaves; or at any rate, even if it were
proceeded with during such weather, their owner would have seen to it
that they were properly clothed and fed; he would have taken as much
care of them as he would of his horse.

People always take great care of their horses. If they were to
overwork a horse and make it ill, it would cost something for medicine
and the veterinary surgeon, to say nothing of the animal's board and
lodging. If they were to work their horses to death, they would have
to buy others. But none of these considerations applies to workmen.
If they work a man to death they can get another for nothing at the
corner of the next street. They don't have to buy him; all they have
to do is to give him enough money to provide him with food and
clothing - of a kind - while he is working for them. If they only
make him ill, they will not have to feed him or provide him with
medical care while he is laid up. He will either go without these
things or pay for them himself. At the same time it must be admitted
that the workman scores over both the horse and the slave, inasmuch as
he enjoys the priceless blessing of Freedom. If he does not like the
hirer's conditions he need not accept them. He can refuse to work,
and he can go and starve. There are no ropes on him. He is a Free
man. He is the Heir of all the Ages. He enjoys perfect Liberty. He
has the right to choose freely which he will do - Submit or Starve.
Eat dirt or eat nothing.

The wind blew colder and colder. The sky, which at first had shown
small patches of blue through rifts in the masses of clouds, had now
become uniformly grey. There was every indication of an impending
fall of snow.

The men perceived this with conflicting feelings. If it did commence
to snow, they would not be able to continue this work, and therefore
they found themselves involuntarily wishing that it would snow, or
rain, or hail, or anything that would stop the work. But on the other
hand, if the weather prevented them getting on with the outside, some
of them would have to `stand off', because the inside was practically
finished. None of them wished to lose any time if they could possibly
help it, because there were only ten days more before Christmas.

The morning slowly wore away and the snow did not fall. The hands
worked on in silence, for they were in no mood for talking, and not
only that, but they were afraid that Hunter or Rushton or Crass might
be watching them from behind some bush or tree, or through some of the
windows. This dread possessed them to such an extent that most of
them were almost afraid even to look round, and kept steadily on at
work. None of them wished to spoil his chance of being kept on to
help to do the other house that it was reported Rushton & Co. were
going to `do up' for Mr Sweater.

Twelve o'clock came at last, and Crass's whistle had scarcely ceased
to sound before they all assembled in the kitchen before the roaring
fire. Sweater had sent in two tons of coal and had given orders that
fires were to be lit every day in nearly every room to make the house
habitable by Christmas.

`I wonder if it's true as the firm's got another job to do for old
Sweater?' remarked Harlow as he was toasting a bloater on the end of
the pointed stick.

`True? No!' said the man on the pail scornfully. `It's all bogy. You
know that empty 'ouse as they said Sweater 'ad bought - the one that
Rushton and Nimrod was seen lookin' at?'

`Yes,' replied Harlow. The other men listened with evident interest.
`Well, they wasn't pricing it up after all! T he landlord of that
'ouse is abroad, and there was some plants in the garden as Rushton
thought 'e'd like, and 'e was tellin' Misery which ones 'e wanted.
And afterwards old Pontius Pilate came up with Ned Dawson and a truck.
They made two or three journeys and took bloody near everything in the
garden as was worth takin'. What didn't go to Rushton's place went to
'Unter's.'

The disappointment of their hopes for another job was almost forgotten
in their interest in this story.

`Who told you about it?' said Harlow.

`Ned Dawson 'imself. It's right enough what I say. Ask 'im.'

Ned Dawson, usually called `Bundy's mate', had been away from the
house for a few days down at the yard doing odd jobs, and had only
come back to the `Cave' that morning. On being appealed to, he
corroborated Dick Wantley's statement.

`They'll be gettin' theirselves into trouble if they ain't careful,'
remarked Easton.

`Oh, no they won't, Rushton's too artful for that. It seems the agent
is a pal of 'is, and they worked it between 'em.'

`Wot a bloody cheek, though!' exclaimed Harlow.

`Oh, that's nothing to some of the things I've known 'em do before
now,' said the man on the pail. `Why, don't you remember, back in the
summer, that carved hoak hall table as Rushton pinched out of that
'ouse on Grand Parade?'

`Yes; that was a bit of all right too, wasn't it?' cried Philpot, and
several of the others laughed.

`You know, that big 'ouse we did up last summer - No. 596,' Wantley
continued, for the benefit of those not `in the know'. `Well, it 'ad
bin empty for a long time and we found this 'ere table in a cupboard
under the stairs. A bloody fine table it was too. One of them
bracket tables what you fix to the wall, without no legs. It 'ad a
'arf-round marble top to it, and underneath was a carved hoak figger,
a mermaid, with 'er arms up over 'er 'ead 'oldin' up the table top -
something splendid!' The man on the pail waxed enthusiastic as he
thought of it. `Must 'ave been worth at least five quid. Well, just
as we pulled this 'ere table out, who should come in but Rushton, and
when 'e seen it, 'e tells Crass to cover it over with a sack and not
to let nobody see it. And then 'e clears orf to the shop and sends
the boy down with the truck and 'as it took up to 'is own 'ouse, and
it's there now, fixed in the front 'all. I was sent up there a couple
of months ago to paint and varnish the lobby doors and I seen it
meself. There's a pitcher called "The Day of Judgement" 'angin' on
the wall just over it - thunder and lightning and earthquakes and
corpses gettin' up out o' their graves - something bloody 'orrible!
And underneath the picture is a card with a tex out of the Bible -
"Christ is the 'ead of this 'ouse: the unknown guest at every meal.
The silent listener to every conversation." I was workin' there for
three or four days and I got to know it orf by 'eart.'

`Well, that takes the biskit, don't it?' said Philpot.

`Yes: but the best of it was,' the man on the pail proceeded, `the
best of it was, when ole Misery 'eard about the table, 'e was so
bloody wild because 'e didn't get it 'imself that 'e went upstairs and
pinched one of the venetian blinds and 'ad it took up to 'is own 'ouse
by the boy, and a few days arterwards one of the carpenters 'ad to go
and fix it up in 'is bedroom.'

`And wasn't it never found out?' inquired Easton.

`Well, there was a bit of talk about it. The agent wanted to know
where it was, but Pontius Pilate swore black and white as there 'adn't
been no blind in that room, and the end of it was that the firm got
the order to supply a new one.'

`What I can't understand is, who did the table belong to?' said
Harlow.

`It was a fixture belongin' to the 'ouse,' replied Wantley. `But I
suppose the former tenants had some piece of furniture of their own
that they wanted to put in the 'all where this table was fixed, so
they took it down and stored it away in this 'ere cupboard, and when
they left the 'ouse I suppose they didn't trouble to put it back
again. Anyway, there was the mark on the wall where it used to be
fixed, but when we did the staircase down, the place was papered over,
and I suppose the landlord or the agent never give the table a
thought. Anyhow, Rushton got away with it all right.'

A number of similar stories were related by several others concerning
the doings of different employers they had worked for, but after a
time the conversation reverted to the subject that was uppermost in
their thoughts - the impending slaughter, and the improbability of
being able to obtain another job, considering the large number of men
who were already out of employment.

`I can't make it out, myself,' remarked Easton. `Things seems to get
worse every year. There don't seem to be 'arf the work about that
there used to be, and even what there is is messed up anyhow, as if
the people who 'as it done can't afford to pay for it.'

`Yes,' said Harlow; `that's true enough. Why, just look at the work
that's in one o' them 'ouses on the Grand Parade. People must 'ave
'ad more money to spend in those days, you know; all those massive
curtain cornishes over the drawing- and dining-room winders - gilded
solid! Why, nowadays they'd want all the bloody 'ouse done down right
through - inside and out, for the money it cost to gild one of them.'

`It seems that nearly everybody is more or less 'ard up nowadays,'
said Philpot. `I'm jiggered if I can understand it, but there it is.'

`You should ast Owen to explain it to yer,' remarked Crass with a
jeering laugh. `'E knows all about wot's the cause of poverty, but 'e
won't tell nobody. 'E's been GOIN' to tell us wot it is for a long
time past, but it don't seem to come orf.'

Crass had not yet had an opportunity of producing the Obscurer
cutting, and he made this remark in the hope of turning the
conversation into a channel that would enable him to do so. But Owen
did not respond, and went on reading his newspaper.

`We ain't 'ad no lectures at all lately, 'ave we?' said Harlow in an
injured tone. `I think it's about time Owen explained what the real
cause of poverty is. I'm beginning to get anxious about it.'

The others laughed.

When Philpot had finished eating his dinner he went out of the kitchen
and presently returned with a small pair of steps, which he opened and
placed in a corner of the room, with the back of the steps facing the
audience.

`There you are, me son!' he exclaimed to Owen. `There's a pulpit for
yer.'

`Yes! come on 'ere!' cried Crass, feeling in his waistcoat pocket for
the cutting. `Tell us wot's the real cause of poverty.'

`'Ear, 'ear,' shouted the man on the pail. `Git up into the bloody
pulpit and give us a sermon.'

As Owen made no response to the invitations, the crowd began to hoot
and groan.

`Come on, man,' whispered Philpot, winking his goggle eye persuasively
at Owen. `Come on, just for a bit of turn, to pass the time away.'

Owen accordingly ascended the steps - much to the secret delight of
Crass - and was immediately greeted with a round of enthusiastic
applause.

`There you are, you see,' said Philpot, addressing the meeting. `It's
no use booin' and threatenin', because 'e's one of them lecturers wot
can honly be managed with kindness. If it 'adn't a bin for me, 'e
wouldn't 'ave agreed to speak at all.'

Philpot having been unanimously elected chairman, proposed by Harlow
and seconded by the man on the pail, Owen commenced:

`Mr Chairman and gentlemen:

`Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking, it is with some degree of
hesitation that I venture to address myself to such a large,
distinguished, fashionable, and intelligent looking audience as that
which I have the honour of seeing before me on the present occasion.'
(Applause.)

`One of the finest speakers I've ever 'eard!' remarked the man on the
pail in a loud whisper to the chairman, who motioned him to be silent.

Owen continued:

`In some of my previous lectures I have endeavoured to convince you
that money is in itself of no value and of no real use whatever. In
this I am afraid I have been rather unsuccessful.'

`Not a bit of it, mate,' cried Crass, sarcastically. `We all agrees
with it.'

`'Ear, 'ear,' shouted Easton. `If a bloke was to come in 'ere now and
orfer to give me a quid - I'd refuse it!'

`So would I,' said Philpot.

`Well, whether you agree or not, the fact remains. A man might
possess so much money that, in England, he would be comparatively
rich, and yet if he went to some country where the cost of living is
very high he would find himself in a condition of poverty. Or one
might conceivably be in a place where the necessaries of life could
not be bought for money at all. Therefore it is more conducive to an
intelligent understanding of the subject if we say that to be rich
consists not necessarily in having much money, but in being able to
enjoy an abundance of the things that are made by work; and that
poverty consists not merely in being without money, but in being short
of the necessaries and comforts of life - or in other words in being
short of the Benefits of Civilization, the things that are all,
without exception, produced by work. Whether you agree or not with
anything else that I say, you will all admit that that is our
condition at the present time. We do not enjoy a full share of the
benefits of civilization - we are all in a state of more or less
abject poverty.'

`Question!' cried Crass, and there were loud murmurs of indignant
dissent from several quarters as Owen proceeded:

`How does it happen that we are so short of the things that are made
by work?'

`The reason why we're short of the things that's made by work,'
interrupted Crass, mimicking Owen's manner, `is that we ain't got the
bloody money to buy 'em.'

`Yes,' said the man on the pail; `and as I said before, if all the
money in the country was shared out equal today according to Owen's
ideas - in six months' time it would be all back again in the same
'ands as it is now, and what are you goin' to do then?'

`Share again, of course.'

This answer came derisively from several places at the same instant,
and then they all began speaking at once, vying with each other in
ridiculing the foolishness of `them there Socialists', whom they
called `The Sharers Out'.

Barrington was almost the only one who took no part in the
conversation. He was seated in his customary place and, as usual,
silently smoking, apparently oblivious to his surroundings.

`I never said anything about "sharing out all the money",' said Owen
during a lull in the storm, `and I don't know of any Socialist who
advocates anything of the kind. Can any of you tell me the name of
someone who proposes to do so?'

No one answered, as Owen repeated his inquiry, this time addressing
himself directly to Crass, who had been one of the loudest in
denouncing and ridiculing the `Sharers Out'. Thus cornered, Crass -
who knew absolutely nothing about the subject - for a few moments
looked rather foolish. Then he began to talk in a very loud voice:

`Why, it's a well-known fact. Everybody knows that's what they wants.
But they take bloody good care they don't act up to it theirselves,
though. Look at them there Labour members of Parliament - a lot of
b--rs what's too bloody lazy to work for their livin'! What the
bloody 'ell was they before they got there? Only workin' men, the
same as you and me! But they've got the gift o' the gab and -'

`Yes, we know all about that,' said Owen, `but what I'm asking you is
to tell us who advocates taking all the money in the country and
sharing it out equally?'

`And I say that everybody knows that's what they're after!' shouted
Crass. `And you know it as well as I do. A fine thing!' he added
indignantly. `Accordin' to that idear, a bloody scavenger or a farm
labourer ought to get as much wages as you or me!'

`We can talk about that some other time. What I want to know at
present is - what authority have you for saying that Socialists
believe in sharing out all the money equally amongst all the people?'

`Well, that's what I've always understood they believed in doing,'
said Crass rather lamely.

`It's a well-known fact,' said several others.

`Come to think of it,' continued Crass as he drew the Obscurer cutting
from his waistcoat pocket, `I've got a little thing 'ere that I've
been goin' to read to yer. It's out of the Obscurer. I'd forgotten
all about it.'

Remarking that the print was too small for his own eyes, he passed the
slip of paper to Harlow, who read aloud as follows:

PROVE YOUR PRINCIPLES: OR, LOOK AT BOTH SIDES

`I wish I could open your eyes to the true misery of our
condition: injustice, tyranny and oppression!' said a discontented
hack to a weary-looking cob as they stood side by side in unhired
cabs.

`I'd rather have them opened to something pleasant, thank you,'
replied the cob.

`I am sorry for you. If you could enter into the noble
aspirations -' the hack began.

`Talk plain. What would you have?' said the cob, interrupting
him.

`What would I have? Why, equality, and share and share alike all
over the world,' said the hack.

`You MEAN that?' said the cob.

`Of course I do. What right have those sleek, pampered hunters and
racers to their warm stables and high feed, their grooms and
jockeys? It is really heart-sickening to think of it,' replied
the hack.

`I don't know but you may be right,' said the cob, `and to show
I'm in earnest, as no doubt you are, let me have half the good
beans you have in your bag, and you shall have half the musty oats
and chaff I have in mine. There's nothing like proving one's
principles.'
Original Parables. By Mrs Prosier.

`There you are!' cried several voices.

`What does that mean?' cried Crass, triumphantly. `Why don't you go
and share your wages with the chaps what's out of work?'

`What does it mean?' replied Owen contemptuously. `It means that if
the Editor of the Obscurer put that in his paper as an argument
against Socialism, either he is of feeble intellect himself or else he
thinks that the majority of his readers are. That isn't an argument
against Socialism - it's an argument against the hypocrites who
pretend to be Christians - the people who profess to "Love their
neighbours as themselves" - who pretend to believe in Universal
Brotherhood, and that they do not love the world or the things of the
world and say that they are merely "Pilgrims on their way to a better
land". As for why I don't do it - why should I? I don't pretend to
be a Christian. But you're all "Christians" - why don't you do it?'

`We're not talkin' about religion,' exclaimed Crass, impatiently.

`Then what are you talking about? I never said anything about
"Sharing Out" or "Bearing one another's burdens". I don't profess to
"Give to everyone who asks of me" or to "Give my cloak to the man who
take away my coat". I have read that Christ taught that His followers
must do all these things, but as I do not pretend to be one of His
followers I don't do them. But you believe in Christianity: why don't
you do the things that He said?'

As nobody seemed to know the answer to this question, the lecturer
proceeded:

`In this matter the difference between so-called "Christians" and
Socialists is this: Christ taught the Fatherhood of God and the
Brotherhood of Men. Those who today pretend to be Christ's followers
hypocritically profess to carry out those teachings now. But they
don't . They have arranged "The Battle of Life" system instead!

`The Socialist - very much against his will - finds himself in the
midst of this horrible battle, and he appeals to the other combatants
to cease from fighting and to establish a system of Brotherly Love and
Mutual Helpfulness, but he does not hypocritically pretend to practise
brotherly love towards those who will not agree to his appeal, and who
compel him to fight with them for his very life. He knows that in
this battle he must either fight or go under. Therefore, in
self-defiance, he fights; but all the time he continues his appeal for
the cessation of the slaughter. He pleads for the changing system. He
advocates Co-operation instead of Competition: but how can he
co-operate with people who insist on competing with him? No
individual can practise co-operation by himself! Socialism can only
be practised by the Community - that is the meaning of the word. At
present, the other members of the community - the "Christians" -
deride and oppose the Socialist's appeal.

`It is these pretended Christians who do not practise what they
preach, because, all the time they are singing their songs of
Brotherhood and Love, they are fighting with each other, and
strangling each other and trampling each other underfoot in their
horrible "Battle of Life"!

`No Socialist suggests "Sharing out" money or anything else in the
manner you say. And another thing: if you only had a little more
sense you might be able to perceive that this stock "argument" of
yours is really an argument against the present system, inasmuch as it
proves that Money is in itself of no use whatever. Supposing all the
money was shared out equally; and suppose there was enough of it for
everyone to have ten thousand pounds; and suppose they then all
thought they were rich and none of them would work. What would they
live on? Their money? Could they eat it or drink it or wear it? It
wouldn't take them very long to find out that this wonderful money -
which under the present system is the most powerful thing in existence -
is really of no more use than so much dirt. They would speedily
perish, not from lack of money, but from lack of wealth - that is,
from lack of things that are made by work. And further, it is quite
true that if all the money were distributed equally amongst all the
people tomorrow, it would all be up in heaps again in a very short
time. But that only proves that while the present Money System
remains, it will be impossible to do away with poverty, for heaps in
some places mean little or nothing in other places. Therefore while
the money system lasts we are bound to have poverty and all the evils
it brings in its train.'

`Oh, of course everybody's an idjit except you,' sneered Crass, who
was beginning to feel rather fogged.

`I rise to a pint of order,' said Easton.

`And I rise to order a pint,' cried Philpot.

`Order what the bloody 'ell you like,' remarked Harlow, `so long as I
'aven't got to pay for it.'

`Mine's a pint of porter,' observed the man on the pail.

`The pint is,' proceeded Easton, `when does the lecturer intend to
explain to us what is the real cause of poverty.'

`'Ear, 'ear,' cried Harlow. `That's what I want to know, too.'

`And what I should like to know is, who is supposed to be givin' this
'ere lecture?' inquired the man on the pail.

`Why, Owen, of course,' replied Harlow.

`Well, why don't you try to keep quiet for a few minutes and let 'im
get on with it?'

`The next B--r wot interrupts,' cried Philpot, rolling up his
shirt-sleeves and glaring threateningly round upon the meeting. `The
next b--r wot interrupts goes out through the bloody winder!'

At this, everybody pretended to be very frightened, and edged away as
far as possible from Philpot. Easton, who was sitting next to him,
got up and crossed over to Owen's vacant seat. The man on the pail
was the only one who did not seem nervous; perhaps he felt safer
because he was, as usual, surrounded by a moat.

`Poverty,' resumed the lecturer, consists in a shortage of the
necessaries of life - or rather, of the benefits of civilization.'

`You've said that about a 'undred times before,' snarled Crass.

`I know I have; and I have no doubt I shall have to say it about five
hundred times more before you understand what it means.'

`Get on with the bloody lecture,' shouted the man on the pail. `Never
mind arguin' the point.'

`Well, keep horder, can't you?' cried Philpot, fiercely, `and give the
man a chance.'

`All these things are produced in the same way,' proceeded Owen.
`They are made from the Raw materials by those who work - aided by
machinery. When we inquire into the cause of the present shortage of
these things, the first question we should ask is - Are there not
sufficient of the raw materials in existence to enable us to produce
enough to satisfy the needs of all?

`The answer to this question is - There are undoubtedly more than
sufficient of all the raw materials.

`Insufficiency of raw material is therefore not the cause. We must
look in another direction.