Books: The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists

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Bert continued to turn the handles of the rollers and a long
succession of pictures passed across the stage, to the delight of the
children, who cheered and sang as occasion demanded, but the most
enthusiastic outburst of all greeted the appearance of the final
picture, which was a portrait of the King. Directly the children saw
it - without waiting for the band - they gave three cheers and began
to sing the chorus of the National Anthem.

A round of applause for Bert concluded the Pandorama performance; the
lamp and the candles of the Christmas tree were relit - for although
all the toys had been taken off, the tree still made a fine show with
the shining glass ornaments - and then they had some more games; blind
man's buff, a tug-of-war - in which Philpot was defeated with great
laughter - and a lot of other games. And when they were tired of
these, each child `said a piece' or sung a song, learnt specially for
the occasion. The only one who had not come prepared in this respect
was little Rosie, and even she - so as to be the same as the others -
insisted on reciting the only piece she knew. Kneeling on the
hearthrug, she put her hands together, palm to palm, and shutting her
eyes very tightly she repeated the verse she always said every night
before going to bed:

`Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,
Look on me, a little child.
Pity my simplicity,
Suffer me to come to Thee.'

Then she stood up and kissed everyone in turn, and Philpot crossed
over and began looking out of the window, and coughed, and blew his
nose, because a nut that he had been eating had gone down the wrong
way.

Most of them were by this time quite tired out, so after some supper
the party broke up. Although they were nearly all very sleepy, none
of them were very willing to go, but they were consoled by the thought
of another entertainment to which they were going later on in the
week - the Band of Hope Tea and Prize Distribution at the Shining
Light Chapel.

Bert undertook to see Elsie and Charley safely home, and Philpot
volunteered to accompany Nellie and Tommy Newman, and to carry Rosie,
who was so tired that she fell asleep on his shoulder before they left
the house.

As they were going down the stairs Frankie held a hurried consultation
with his mother, with the result that he was able to shout after them
an invitation to come again next Christmas.

Chapter 30

The Brigands hold a Council of War

It being now what is usually called the festive season - possibly
because at this period of the year a greater number of people are
suffering from hunger and cold than at any other time - the reader
will not be surprised at being invited to another little party which
took place on the day after the one we have just left. The scene was
Mr Sweater's office. Mr Sweater was seated at his desk, but with his
chair swung round to enable him to face his guests - Messrs Rushton,
Didlum, and Grinder, who were also seated.

`Something will 'ave to be done, and that very soon,' Grinder was
saying. `We can't go on much longer as we're doing at present. For
my part, I think the best thing to do is to chuck up the sponge at
once; the company is practically bankrupt now, and the longer we waits
the worser it will be.'

`That's just my opinion,' said Didlum dejectedly. `If we could supply
the electric light at the same price as gas, or a little cheaper, we
might have some chance; but we can't do it. The fact is that the
machinery we've got is no dam good; it's too small and it's wore out,
consequently the light we supply is inferior to gas and costs more.'

`Yes, I think we're fairly beaten this time,' said Rushton. `Why,
even if the Gas Coy hadn't moved their works beyond the borough
boundary, still we shouldn't 'ave been hable to compete with 'em.'

`Of course not,' said Grinder. `The truth of the matter is just wot
Didlum says. Our machinery is too small, it's worn hout, and good for
nothing but to be throwed on the scrap-heap. So there's only one
thing left to do and that is - go into liquidation.'

`I don't see it,' remarked Sweater.

`Well, what do you propose, then?' demanded Grinder. `Reconstruct the
company? Ask the shareholders for more money? Pull down the works
and build fresh, and buy some new machinery? And then most likely not
make a do of it after all? Not for me, old chap! I've 'ad enough.
You won't catch me chuckin' good money after bad in that way.'

`Nor me neither,' said Rushton.

`Dead orf!' remarked Didlum, very decidedly.

Sweater laughed quietly. `I'm not such a fool as to suggest anything
of that sort,' he said. `You seem to forget that I am one of the
largest shareholders myself. No. What I propose is that we Sell
Out.'

`Sell out!' replied Grinder with a contemptuous laugh in which the
others joined. `Who's going to buy the shares of a concern that's
practically bankrupt and never paid a dividend?'

`I've tried to sell my little lot several times already,' said Didlum
with a sickly smile, `but nobody won't buy 'em.'

`Who's to buy?' repeated Sweater, replying to Grinder. `The
municipality of course! The ratepayers. Why shouldn't Mugsborough go
in for Socialism as well as other towns?'

Rushton, Didlum and Grinder fairly gasped for breath: the audacity of
the chief's proposal nearly paralysed them.

`I'm afraid we should never git away with it,' ejaculated Didlum, as
soon as he could speak. `When the people tumbled to it, there'd be no
hend of a row.'

`PEOPLE! ROW!' replied Sweater, scornfully. `The majority of the
people will never know anything about it! Listen to me -'

`Are you quite sure as we can't be over'eard?' interrupted Rushton,
glancing nervously at the door and round the office.

`It's all right,' answered Sweater, who nevertheless lowered his voice
almost to a whisper, and the others drew their chairs closer and bent
forward to listen.

`You know we still have a little money in hand: well, what I propose
is this: At the annual meeting, which, as you know, comes off next
week, we'll arrange for the Secretary to read a highly satisfactory
report, and we'll declare a dividend of 15 per cent - we can arrange
it somehow between us. Of course, we'll have to cook the accounts a
little, but I'll see that it's done properly. The other shareholders
are not going to ask any awkward questions, and we all understand each
other.'

Sweater paused, and regarded the other three brigands intently. `Do
you follow me?' he asked.

`Yes, yes,' said Didlum eagerly. `Go on with it.' And Rushton and
Grinder nodded assent.

`Afterwards,' resumed Sweater, `I'll arrange for a good report of the
meeting to appear in the Weekly Ananias. I'll instruct the Editor to
write it himself, and I'll tell him just what to say. I'll also get
him to write a leading article about it, saying that electricity is
sure to supersede gas for lighting purposes in the very near future.
Then the article will go on to refer to the huge profits made by the
Gas Coy and to say how much better it would have been if the town had
bought the gasworks years ago, so that those profits might have been
used to reduce the rates, the same as has been done in other towns.
Finally, the article will declare that it's a great pity that the
Electric Light Supply should be in the hands of a private company, and
to suggest that an effort be made to acquire it for the town.

`In the meantime we can all go about - in a very quiet and judicious
way, of course - bragging about what a good thing we've got, and
saying we don't mean to sell. We shall say that we've overcome all
the initial expenses and difficulties connected with the installation
of the works - that we are only just beginning to reap the reward of
our industry and enterprise, and so on.

`Then,' continued the Chief, `we can arrange for it to be proposed in
the Council that the Town should purchase the Electric Light Works.'

`But not by one of us four, you know,' said Grinder with a cunning
leer.

`Certainly not; that would give the show away at once. There are, as
you know - several members of the Band who are not shareholders in the
company; we'll get some of them to do most of the talking. We, being
the directors of the company, must pretend to be against selling, and
stick out for our own price; and when we do finally consent we must
make out that we are sacrificing our private interests for the good of
the Town. We'll get a committee appointed - we'll have an expert
engineer down from London - I know a man that will suit our purpose
admirably - we'll pay him a trifle and he'll say whatever we tell him
to - and we'll rush the whole business through before you can say
"Jack Robinson", and before the rate-payers have time to realize
what's being done. Not that we need worry ourselves much about them.
Most of them take no interest in public affairs, but even if there is
something said, it won't matter much to us once we've got the money.
It'll be a nine days' wonder and then we'll hear no more of it.'

As the Chief ceased speaking, the other brigands also remained silent,
speechless with admiration of his cleverness.

`Well, what do you think of it?' he asked.

`Think of it!' cried Grinder, enthusiastically. `I think it's
splendid! Nothing could be better. If we can honly git away with it,
I reckon it'll be one of the smartest thing we've ever done.'

`Smart ain't the word for it,' observed Rushton.

`There's no doubt it's a grand idear!' exclaimed Didlum, `and I've
just thought of something else that might be done to help it along.
We could arrange to 'ave a lot of letters sent "To the Editor of the
Obscurer" and "To the Editor of the Ananias," and "To the Editor of
the Weekly Chloroform" in favour of the scheme.'

`Yes, that's a very good idea,' said Grinder. `For that matter the
editors could write them to themselves and sign them "Progress",
"Ratepayer", "Advance Mugsborough", and sich-like.'

`Yes, that's all right,' said the Chief, thoughtfully, `but we must be
careful not to overdo it; of course there will have to be a certain
amount of publicity, but we don't want to create too much interest in
it.'
`Come to think of it,' observed Rushton arrogantly, `why should we
trouble ourselves about the opinion of the ratepayers at all? Why
should we trouble to fake the books, or declare a dividend or 'ave the
harticles in the papers or anything else? We've got the game in our
own 'ands; we've got a majority in the Council, and, as Mr Sweater
ses, very few people even take the trouble to read the reports of the
meetings.'

`Yes, that's right enough,' said Grinder. `But it's just them few wot
would make a lot of trouble and talk; THEY'RE the very people we 'as
to think about. If we can only manage to put THEM in a fog we'll be
all right, and the way to do it is as Mr Sweater proposes.'

`Yes, I think so,' said the Chief. `We must be very careful. I can
work it all right in the Ananias and the Chloroform, and of course
you'll see that the Obscurer backs us up.'

`I'll take care of that,' said Grinder, grimly.

The three local papers were run by limited companies. Sweater held
nearly all the shares of the Ananias and of the Weekly Chloroform, and
controlled their policy and contents. Grinder occupied the same
position with regard to the Obscurer. The editors were a sort of
marionettes who danced as Sweater and Grinder pulled the strings.

`I wonder how Dr Weakling will take it?' remarked Rushton.

`That's the very thing I was just thinkin' about,' cried Didlum.
`Don't you think it would be a good plan if we could arrange to 'ave
somebody took bad - you know, fall down in a fit or something in the
street just outside the Town 'All just before the matter is brought
forward in the Council, and then 'ave someone to come and call 'im out
to attend to the party wot's ill, and keep 'im out till the business
is done.'

`Yes, that's a capital idear,' said Grinder thoughtfully. `But who
could we get to 'ave the fit? It would 'ave to be someone we could
trust, you know.'

`'Ow about Rushton? You wouldn't mind doin' it, would yer?' inquired
Didlum.

`I should strongly object,' said Rushton haughtily. He regarded the
suggestion that he should act such an undignified part, as a kind of
sacrilege.

`Then I'll do it meself if necessary,' said Didlum. `I'm not proud
when there's money to be made; anything for an honest living.'

`Well, I think we're all agreed, so far,' remarked Sweater. The
others signified assent.

`And I think we all deserve a drink,' the Chief continued, producing a
decanter and a box of cigars from a cupboard by the side of his desk.
`Pass that water bottle from behind you, Didlum.'

`I suppose nobody won't be comin' in?' said the latter, anxiously.
`I'm a teetotaler, you know.'

`Oh, it's all right,' said Sweater, taking four glasses out of the
cupboard and pouring out the whisky. `I've given orders that we're
not to be disturbed for anyone. Say when.'

`Well, 'ere's success to Socialism,' cried Grinder, raising his glass,
and taking a big drink.

`Amen - 'ear, 'ear, I mean,' said Didlum, hastily correcting himself.

`Wot I likes about this 'ere business is that we're not only doin'
ourselves a bit of good,' continued Grinder with a laugh, `we're not
only doin' ourselves a bit of good, but we're likewise doin' the
Socialists a lot of 'arm. When the ratepayers 'ave bought the Works,
and they begins to kick up a row because they're losin' money over it -
we can tell 'em that it's Socialism! And then they'll say that if
that's Socialism they don't want no more of it.'

The other brigands laughed gleefully, and some of Didlum's whisky went
down the wrong way and nearly sent him into a fit.

`You might as well kill a man at once,' he protested as he wiped the
tears from his eyes, `you might as well kill a man at once as choke
'im to death.'

`And now I've got a bit of good news for you,' said the Chief as he
put his empty glass down.

The others became serious at once.

`Although we've had a very rough time of it in our contest with the
Gasworks Company, and although we've got the worst of it, it hasn't
been all lavender for them, you know. They've not enjoyed themselves
either: we hit them pretty hard when we put up the coal dues.'

`A damn good job too,' said Grinder malignantly.

`Well,' continued Sweater, `they're just as sick of the fight as they
want to be, because of course they don't know exactly how badly we've
been hit. For all they know, we could have continued the struggle
indefinitely: and - well, to make a long story short, I've had a talk
with the managing director and one or two others, and they're willing
to let us in with them. So that we can put the money we get for the
Electric Light Works into gas shares!'

This was such splendid news that they had another drink on the
strength of it, and Didlum said that one of the first things they
would have to do would be to totally abolish the Coal Dues, because
they pressed so hard on the poor.

Chapter 31

The Deserter

About the end of January, Slyme left Easton's. The latter had not
succeeded in getting anything to do since the work at `The Cave' was
finished, and latterly the quality of the food had been falling off.
The twelve shillings Slyme paid for his board and lodging was all that
Ruth had to keep house with. She had tried to get some work to do
herself, but generally without success; there were one or two jobs
that she might have had if she had been able to give her whole time to
them, but of course that was not possible; the child and the housework
had to be attended to, and Slyme's meals had to be prepared.
Nevertheless, she contrived to get away several times when she had a
chance of earning a few shillings by doing a day's charing for some
lady or other, and then she left everything in such order at home that
Easton was able to manage all right while she was away. On these
occasions, she usually left the baby with Owen's wife, who was an old
schoolmate of hers. Nora was the more willing to render her this
service because Frankie used to be so highly delighted whenever it
happened. He never tired of playing with the child, and for several
days afterwards he used to worry his mother with entreaties to buy a
baby of their own.

Easton earned a few shillings occasionally; now and then he got a job
to clean windows, and once or twice he did a few days' or hours' work
with some other painter who had been fortunate enough to get a little
job `on his own' - such as a ceiling to wash and whiten, or a room or
two to paint; but such jobs were few.

Sometimes, when they were very hard up, they sold something; the Bible
that used to lie on the little table in the bay window was one of the
first things to be parted with. Ruth erased the inscription from the
fly-leaf and then they sold the book at a second-hand shop for two
shillings. As time went on, they sold nearly everything that was
saleable, except of course, the things that were obtained on the hire
system.

Slyme could see that they were getting very much into debt and behind
with the rent, and on two occasions already Easton had borrowed five
shillings from him, which he might never be able to pay back. Another
thing was that Slyme was always in fear that Ruth - who had never
wholly abandoned herself to wrongdoing - might tell Easton what had
happened; more than once she had talked of doing so, and the principal
reason why she refrained was that she knew that even if he forgave
her, he could never think the same of her as before. Slyme repeatedly
urged this view upon her, pointing out that no good could result from
such a confession.

Latterly the house had become very uncomfortable. It was not only
that the food was bad and that sometimes there was no fire, but Ruth
and Easton were nearly always quarrelling about something or other.
She scarcely spoke to Slyme at all, and avoided sitting at the table
with him whenever possible. He was in constant dread that Easton
might notice her manner towards him, and seek for some explanation.
Altogether the situation was so unpleasant that Slyme determined to
clear out. He made the excuse that he had been offered a few weeks'
work at a place some little distance outside the town. After he was
gone they lived for several weeks in semi-starvation on what credit
they could get and by selling the furniture or anything else they
possessed that could be turned into money. The things out of Slyme's
room were sold almost directly he left.

Chapter 32

The Veteran

Old Jack Linden had tried hard to earn a little money by selling
bloaters, but they often went bad, and even when he managed to sell
them all the profit was so slight that it was not worth doing.

Before the work at `The Cave' was finished, Philpot was a good friend
to them; he frequently gave old Jack sixpence or a shilling and often
brought a bag off cakes or buns for the children. Sometimes he came
to tea with them on Sundays as an excuse for bringing a tin of
salmon.

Elsie and Charley frequently went to Owen's house to take tea with
Frankie; in fact, whilst Owen had anything to do, they almost lived
there, for both Owen and Nora, knowing that the Lindens had nothing to
live on except the earnings of the young woman, encouraged the
children to come often.

Old Jack made some hopeless attempts to get work - work of any kind,
but nobody wanted him; and to make things worse, his eyesight, which
had been failing for a long time, became very bad. Once he was given
a job by a big provision firm to carry an advertisement about the
streets. The man who had been carrying it before - an old soldier -
had been sacked the previous day for getting drunk while on duty. The
advertisement was not an ordinary pair of sandwich boards, but a sort
of box without any bottom or lid, a wooden frame, four sides covered
with canvas, an which were pasted printed bills advertising margarine.
Each side of this box or frame was rather larger than an ordinary
sandwich board.

Old Linden had to get inside this thing and carry it about the
streets; two straps fixed across the top of the frame and passing one
over each of his shoulders enabled him to carry it. It swayed about a
good deal as he walked along, especially when the wind caught it, but
there were two handles inside to hold it steady by. The pay was
eighteenpence a day, and he had to travel a certain route, up and down
the busiest streets.

At first the frame did not feel very heavy, but the weight seemed to
increase as the time went on, and the straps hurt his shoulders. He
felt very much ashamed, also, whenever he encountered any of his old
mates, some of whom laughed at him.

In consequence of the frame requiring so much attention to keep it
steady, and being unused to the work, and his sight so bad, he several
times narrowly escaped being run over. Another thing that added to his
embarrassment was the jeering of the other sandwichmen, the loafers
outside the public houses, and the boys, who shouted `old Jack in the
box' after him. Sometimes the boys threw refuse at the frame, and
once a decayed orange thrown by one of them knocked his hat off.

By the time evening came he was scarcely able to stand for weariness.
His shoulders, his legs and his feet ached terribly, and as he was
taking the thing back to the shop he was accosted by a ragged, dirty-
looking, beer-sodden old man whose face was inflamed with drink and
fury. `This was the old soldier who had been discharged the previous
day. He cursed and swore in the most awful manner and accused Linden
of `taking the bread out of his mouth', and, shaking his fist fiercely
at him, shouted that he had a good mind to knock his face through his
head and out of the back of his neck. He might possibly have tried to
put this threat into practice but for the timely appearance of a
policeman, when he calmed down at once and took himself off.

Jack did not go back the next day; he felt that he would rather starve
than have any more of the advertisement frame, and after this he
seemed to abandon all hope of earning money: wherever he went it was
the same - no one wanted him. So he just wandered about the streets
aimlessly, now and then meeting an old workmate who asked him to have
a drink, but this was not often, for nearly all of them were out of
work and penniless.

Chapter 33

The Soldier's Children

During most of this time, Jack Linden's daughter-in-law had `Plenty of
Work', making blouses and pinafores for Sweater & Co. She had so much
to do that one might have thought that the Tory Millennium had
arrived, and that Tariff Reform was already an accomplished fact.

She had Plenty of Work.

At first they had employed her exclusively on the cheapest kind of
blouses - those that were paid for at the rate of two shillings a
dozen, but they did not give her many of that sort now. She did the
work so neatly that they kept her busy on the better qualities, which
did not pay her so well, because although she was paid more per dozen,
there was a great deal more work in them than in the cheaper kinds.
Once she had a very special one to make, for which she was paid six
shillings; but it took her four and a half days - working early and
late - to do it. The lady who bought this blouse was told that it
came from Paris, and paid three guineas for it. But of course Mrs
Linden knew nothing of that, and even if she had known, it would have
made no difference to her.

Most of the money she earned went to pay the rent, and sometimes there
was only two or three shillings left to buy food for all of them:
sometimes not even so much, because although she had Plenty of Work
she was not always able to do it. There were times when the strain of
working the machine was unendurable: her shoulders ached, her arms
became cramped, and her eyes pained so that it was impossible to
continue. Then for a change she would leave the sewing and do some
housework.

Once, when they owed four weeks' rent, the agent was so threatening
that they were terrified at the thought of being sold up and turned
out of the house, and so she decided to sell the round mahogany table
and some of the other things out of the sitting-room. Nearly all the
furniture that was in the house now belonged to her, and had formed
her home before her husband died. The old people had given most of
their things away at different times to their other sons since she had
come to live there. These men were all married and all in employment.
One was a fitter at the gasworks; the second was a railway porter, and
the other was a butcher; but now that the old man was out of work they
seldom came to the house. The last time they had been there was on
Christmas Eve, and then there had been such a terrible row between
them that the children had been awakened by it and frightened nearly
out of their lives. The cause of the row was that some time
previously they had mutually agreed to each give a shilling a week to
the old people. They had done this for three weeks and after that the
butcher had stopped his contribution: it had occurred to him that he
was not to be expected to help to keep his brother's widow and her
children. If the old people liked to give up the house and go to live
in a room somewhere by themselves, he would continue paying his
shilling a week, but not otherwise. Upon this the railway porter and
the gas-fitter also ceased paying. They said it wasn't fair that they
should pay a shilling a week each when the butcher - who was the
eldest and earned the best wages - paid nothing. Provided he paid,
they would pay; but if he didn't pay anything, neither would they. On
Christmas Eve they all happened to come to the house at the same time;
each denounced the others, and after nearly coming to blows they all
went away raging and cursing and had not been near the place since.