Books: The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists

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Chapter 53

Barrington Finds a Situation

The revulsion of feeling that Barrington experienced during the
progress of the election was intensified by the final result. The
blind, stupid, enthusiastic admiration displayed by the
philanthropists for those who exploited and robbed them; their
extraordinary apathy with regard to their own interests; the patient,
broken-spirited way in which they endured their sufferings, tamely
submitting to live in poverty in the midst of the wealth they had
helped to create; their callous indifference to the fate of their
children, and the savage hatred they exhibited towards anyone who
dared to suggest the possibility of better things, forced upon him the
thought that the hopes he cherished were impossible of realization.
The words of the renegade Socialist recurred constantly to his mind:

`You can be a Jesus Christ if you like, but for my part I'm finished.
For the future I intend to look after myself. As for these people,
they vote for what they want, they get what they vote for, and, by
God! they deserve nothing better! They are being beaten with whips of
their own choosing, and if I had my way they should be chastised with
scorpions. For them, the present system means joyless drudgery,
semi-starvation, rags and premature death; and they vote for it and
uphold it. Let them have what they vote for! Let them drudge and let
them starve!'

These words kept ringing in his ears as he walked through the crowded
streets early one fine evening a few days before Christmas. The shops
were all brilliantly lighted for the display of their Christmas
stores, and the pavements and even the carriageways were thronged with
sightseers.

Barrington was specially interested in the groups of shabbily dressed
men and women and children who gathered in the roadway in front of the
poulterers' and butchers' shops, gazing at the meat and the serried
rows of turkeys and geese decorated with coloured ribbons and
rosettes. He knew that to come here and look at these things was the
only share many of these poor people would have of them, and he
marvelled greatly at their wonderful patience and abject resignation.

But what struck him most of all was the appearance of many of the
women, evidently working men's wives. Their faded, ill-fitting
garments and the tired, sad expressions on their pale and careworn
faces. Some of them were alone; others were accompanied by little
children who trotted along trustfully clinging to their mothers'
hands. The sight of these poor little ones, their utter helplessness
and dependence, their patched unsightly clothing and broken boots, and
the wistful looks on their pitiful faces as they gazed into the
windows of the toy-shops, sent a pang of actual physical pain to his
heart and filled his eyes with tears. He knew that these children -
naked of joy and all that makes life dear - were being tortured by the
sight of the things that were placed so cruelly before their eyes, but
which they were not permitted to touch or to share; and, like Joseph
of old, his heart yearned over to his younger brethren.

He felt like a criminal because he was warmly clad and well fed in the
midst of all this want and unhappiness, and he flushed with shame
because he had momentarily faltered in his devotion to the noblest
cause that any man could be privileged to fight for - the uplifting of
the disconsolate and the oppressed.

He presently came to a large toy shop outside which several children
were standing admiring the contents of the window. He recognized some
of these children and paused to watch them and to listen to their
talk. They did not notice him standing behind them as they ranged to
and fro before the window, and as he looked at them, he was reminded
of the way in which captive animals walk up and down behind the bars
of their cages. These children wandered repeatedly, backwards and
forwards from one end of the window to the other, with their little
hands pressed against the impenetrable plate glass, choosing and
pointing out to each other the particular toys that took their
fancies.

`That's mine!' cried Charley Linden, enthusiastically indicating a
large strongly built waggon. `If I had that I'd give Freddie rides in
it and bring home lots of firewood, and we could play at fire engines
as well.'

`I'd rather have this railway,' said Frankie Owen. `There's a real
tunnel and real coal in the tenders; then there's the station and the
signals and a place to turn the engine round, and a red lantern to
light when there's danger on the line.'

`Mine's this doll - not the biggest one, the one in pink with clothes
that you can take off,' said Elsie; `and this tea set; and this
needlecase for Mother.'

Little Freddie had let go his hold of Elsie, to whom he usually clung
tightly and was clapping his hands and chuckling with delight and
desire. `Gee-gee?' he cried eagerly. `Gee-gee. Pwetty Gee-gee!
Fweddy want gee-gee!'

`But it's no use lookin' at them any longer,' continued Elsie, with a
sigh, as she took hold of Freddie's hand to lead him away. `It's no
use lookin' at 'em any longer; the likes of us can't expect to have
such good things as them.'

This remark served to recall Frankie and Charley to the stern
realities of life, and turning reluctantly away from the window they
prepared to follow Elsie, but Freddie had not yet learnt the lesson -
he had not lived long enough to understand that the good things of the
world were not for the likes of him; so when Elsie attempted to draw
him away he pursed up his underlip and began to cry, repeating that he
wanted a gee-gee. The other children dustered round trying to coax
and comfort him by telling him that no one was allowed to have
anything out of the windows yet - until Christmas - and that Santa
Claus would be sure to bring him a gee-gee then; but these arguments
failed to make any impression on Freddie, who tearfully insisted upon
being supplied at once.

Whilst they were thus occupied they caught sight of Barrington, whom
they hailed with evident pleasure born of the recollection of certain
gifts of pennies and cakes they had at different times received from
him.

`Hello, Mr Barrington,' said the two boys in a breath.

`Hello,' replied Barrington, as he patted the baby's cheek. `What's
the matter here? What's Freddie crying for?'

`He wants that there 'orse, mister, the one with the real 'air on,'
said Charley, smiling indulgently like a grown-up person who realized
the absurdity of the demand.

`Fweddie want gee-gee,' repeated the child, taking hold of
Barrington's hand and returning to the window. `Nice gee-gee.'

`Tell him that Santa Claus'll bring it to him on Christmas,' whispered
Elsie. `P'raps he'll believe you and that'll satisfy him, and he's
sure to forget all about it in a little while.'

`Are you still out of work, Mr Barrington?' inquired Frankie.

`No,' replied Barrington slowly. `I've got something to do at last.'

`Well, that's a good job, ain't it?' remarked Charley.

`Yes,' said Barrington. `And whom do you think I'm working for?'

`Who?'

`Santa Claus.'

`Santa Claus!' echoed the children, opening their eyes to the fullest
extent.

`Yes,' continued Barrington, solemnly. `You know, he is a very old
man now, so old that he can't do all his work himself. Last year he
was so tired that he wasn't able to get round to all the children he
wanted to give things to, and consequently a great many of them never
got anything at all. So this year he's given me a job to help him.
He's given me some money and a list of children's names, and against
their names are written the toys they are to have. My work is to buy
the things and give them to the boys and girls whose names are on the
list.'

The children listened to this narrative with bated breath. Incredible
as the story seemed, Barrington's manner was so earnest as to almost
compel belief.

`Really and truly, or are you only having a game?' said Frankie at
length, speaking almost in a whisper. Elsie and Charley maintained an
awestruck silence, while Freddie beat upon the glass with the palms of
his hands.

`Really and truly,' replied Barrington unblushingly as he took out his
pocket-book and turned over the leaves. `I've got the list here;
perhaps your names are down for something.'

The three children turned pale and their hearts beat violently as they
listened wide-eyed for what was to follow.

`Let me see,' continued Barrington, scanning the pages of the book,
`Why, yes, here they are! Elsie Linden, one doll with clothes that
can be taken off, one tea-set, one needlecase. Freddie Easton, one
horse with real hair. Charley Linden, one four-wheeled waggon full of
groceries. Frankie Owen, one railway with tunnel, station, train with
real coal for engine, signals, red lamp and place to turn the engines
round.'

Barrington closed the book: `So you may as well have your things now,'
he continued, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone. `We'll buy them
here; it will save me a lot of work. I shall not have the trouble of
taking them round to where you live. It's lucky I happened to meet
you, isn't it?'

The children were breathless with emotion, but they just managed to
gasp out that it was - very lucky.

As they followed him into the shop, Freddie was the only one of the
four whose condition was anything like normal. All the others were in
a half-dazed state. Frankie was afraid that he was not really awake
at all. It couldn't be true; it must be a dream.

In addition to the hair, the horse was furnished with four wheels.
They did not have it made into a parcel, but tied some string to it
and handed it over to its new owner. The elder children were scarcely
conscious of what took place inside the shop; they knew that
Barrington was talking to the shopman, but they did not hear what was
said - the sound seemed far away and unreal.

The shopman made the doll, the tea-set and the needlecase into one
parcel and gave it to Elsie. The railway, in a stout cardboard box,
was also wrapped up in brown paper, and Frankie's heart nearly burst
when the man put the package into his arms.

When they came out of the toy shop they said `Good night' to Frankie,
who went off carrying his parcel very carefully and feeling as if he
were walking on air. The others went into a provision merchant's near
by, where the groceries were purchased and packed into the waggon.

Then Barrington, upon referring to the list to make quite certain that
he had not forgotten anything, found that Santa Claus had put down a
pair of boots each for Elsie and Charley, and when they went to buy
these, it was seen that their stockings were all ragged and full of
holes, so they went to a draper's and bought some stocking also.
Barrington said that although they were not on the list, he was sure
Santa Claus would not object - he had probably meant them to have
them, but had forgotten to put them down.

Chapter 54

The End

The following evening Barrington called at Owen's place. He said he
was going home for the holidays and had come to say goodbye for a
time.

Owen had not been doing very well during these last few months,
although he was one of the few lucky ones who had had some small share
of work. Most of the money he earned went for rent, to pay which they
often had to go short of food. Lately his chest had become so bad
that the slightest exertion brought on fits of coughing and
breathlessness, which made it almost impossible to work even when he
had the opportunity; often it was only by an almost superhuman effort
of will that he was able to continue working at all. He contrived to
keep up appearances to a certain extent before Rushton, who, although
he knew that Owen was not so strong as the other men, was inclined to
overlook it so long as he was able to do his share of work, for Owen
was a very useful hand when things were busy. But lately some of the
men with whom he worked began to manifest dissatisfaction at having
him for a mate. When two men are working together, the master expects
to see two men's work done, and if one of the two is not able to do
his share it makes it all the harder for the other.

He never had the money to go to a doctor to get advice, but earlier in
the winter he had obtained from Rushton a ticket for the local
hospital. Every Saturday throughout the year when the men were paid
they were expected to put a penny or twopence in the hospital box.
Contributions were obtained in this way from every firm and workshop
in the town. The masters periodically handed these boxes over to the
hospital authorities and received in return some tickets which they
gave to anyone who needed and asked for them. The employer had to
fill in the ticket or application form with the name and address of
the applicant, and to certify that in his opinion the individual was a
deserving case, `suitable to receive this charity'. In common with
the majority of workmen, Owen had a sort of horror of going for advice
to this hospital, but he was so ill that he stifled his pride and
went. It happened that it turned out to be more expensive than going
to a private doctor, for he had to be at the hospital at a certain
hour on a particular morning. To do this he had to stay away from
work. The medicine they prescribed and which he had to buy did him no
good, for the truth was that it was not medicine that he - like
thousands of others - needed, but proper conditions of life and proper
food; things that had been for years past as much out of his reach as
if he had been dying alone in the middle of a desert.

Occasionally Nora contrived - by going without some other necessary -
to buy him a bottle of one of the many much-advertised medicines; but
although some of these things were good she was not able to buy enough
for him to derive any benefit from them.

Although he was often seized with a kind of terror of the future - of
being unable to work - he fought against these feelings and tried to
believe that when the weather became warmer he would be all right once
more.

When Barrington came in Owen was sitting in a deck-chair by the fire
in the sitting-room. He had been to work that day with Harlow, washing
off the ceilings and stripping the old paper from the walls of two
rooms in Rushton's home, and he looked very haggard and exhausted.

`I have never told you before,' said Barrington, after they had been
talking for a while, `but I suppose you have guessed that I did not
work for Rushton because I needed to do so in order to live. I just
wanted to see things for myself; to see life as it is lived by the
majority. My father is a wealthy man. He doesn't approve of my
opinions, but at same time he does not interfere with me for holding
them, and I have a fairly liberal allowance which I spent in my own
way. I'm going to pass Christmas with my own people, but in the
spring I intend to fit out a Socialist Van, and then I shall come back
here. We'll have some of the best speakers in the movement; we'll
hold meetings every night; we'll drench the town with literature, and
we'll start a branch of the party.'

Owen's eye kindled and his pale face flushed.

`I shall be able to do something to advertise the meetings,' he said.
For instance, I could paint some posters and placards.'

`And I can help to give away handbills,' chimed in Frankie, looking up
from the floor, where he was seated working the railway. `I know a
lot of boys who'll come along with me to put 'em under the doors as
well.'

They were in the sitting-room and the door was shut. Mrs Owen was in
the next room with Ruth . While the two men were talking the
front-door bell was heard to ring and Frankie ran out to see who it
was, closing the door after him. Barrington and Owen continued their
conversation, and from time to time they could hear a low murmur of
voices from the adjoining room. After a little while they heard some
one go out by the front door, and almost immediately afterward Frankie -
wild with excitement, burst into the room, crying out:

`Dad and Mr Barrington! Three cheers!' And he began capering
gleefully about the room, evidently transported with joy.

`What are the cheers to be for?' inquired Barrington, rather mystified
by this extraordinary conduct.

`Mr Easton came with Freddie to see Mrs Easton, and she's gone home
again with them,' replied Freddie, `and - she's given the baby to us
for a Christmas box!'

Barrington was already familiar with the fact of Easton's separation
from his wife, and Owen now told him the Story of their reconciliation.

Barrington took his leave shortly afterwards. His train left at
eight; it was already nearly half past seven, and he said he had a
letter to write. Nora brought the baby in to show him before he went,
and then she helped Frankie to put on his overcoat, for Barrington had
requested that the boy might be permitted to go a little way with him.

There was a stationer's shop at the end of the street. He went in
here and bought a sheet of notepaper and an envelope, and, having
borrowed the pen and ink, wrote a letter which he enclosed in the
envelope with the two other pieces that he took out of his pocketbook.
Having addressed the letter he came out of the shop; Frankie was
waiting for him outside. He gave the letter to the boy.

`I want you to take this straight home and give it to your dad. I
don't want you to stop to play or even to speak to anyone till you get
home.'

`All right,' replied Frankie. `I won't stop running all the way.'

Barrington hesitated and looked at his watch. `I think I have time to
go back with you as far as your front door,' he said, `then I shall be
quite sure you haven't lost it.'

They accordingly retraced their steps and in a few minutes reached the
entrance to the house. Barrington opened the door and stood for a
moment in the hall watching Frankie ascend the stairs.

`Will your train cross over the bridge?' inquired the boy, pausing and
looking over the banisters.

`Yes. Why?'

`Because we can see the bridge from our front-room window, and if you
were to wave your handkerchief as your train goes over the bridge, we
could wave back.'

`All right. I'll do so. Goodbye.'

`Goodbye.'

Barrington waited till he heard Frankie open and close the door of
Owen's fiat, and then he hurried away. When he gained the main road
he heard the sound of singing and saw a crowd at the corner of one of
the side-streets. As he drew near he perceived that it was a
religious meeting.

There was a lighted lamp on a standard in the centre of the crowd and
on the glass of this lamp was painted: `Be not deceived: God is not
mocked.'

Mr Rushton was preaching in the centre of the ring. He said that they
had come hout there that evening to tell the Glad Tidings of Great Joy
to hall those dear people that he saw standing around. The members of
the Shining Light Chapel - to which he himself belonged - was the
organizers of that meeting but it was not a sectarian meeting, for he
was 'appy to say that several members of other denominations was there
co-operating with them in the good work. As he continued his address,
Rushton repeatedly referred to the individuals who composed the crowd
as his `Brothers and Sisters' and, strange to say, nobody laughed.

Barrington looked round upon the `Brothers': Mr Sweater, resplendent
in a new silk hat of the latest fashion, and a fur-trimmed overcoat.
The Rev. Mr Bosher, Vicar of the Church of the Whited Sepulchre, Mr
Grinder - one of the churchwardens at the same place of alleged
worship - both dressed in broadcloth and fine linen and glossy silk
hats, while their general appearance testified to the fact that they
had fared sumptuously for many days. Mr Didlum, Mrs Starvem, Mr
Dauber, Mr Botchit, Mr Smeeriton, and Mr Leavit.

And in the midst was the Rev. John Starr, doing the work for which he
was paid.

As he stood there in the forefront of this company, there was nothing
in his refined and comely exterior to indicate that his real function
was to pander to and flatter them; to invest with an air of
respectability and rectitude the abominably selfish lives of the gang
of swindlers, slave-drivers and petty tyrants who formed the majority
of the congregation of the Shining Light Chapel.

He was doing the work for which he was paid. By the mere fact of his
presence there, condoning and justifying the crimes of these typical
representatives of that despicable class whose greed and inhumanity
have made the earth into a hell.

There was also a number of `respectable', well-dressed people who
looked as if they could do with a good meal, and a couple of shabbily
dressed, poverty-stricken-looking individuals who seemed rather out of
place in the glittering throng.

The remainder of the Brothers consisted of half-starved, pale-faced
working men and women, most of them dressed in other people's cast-off
clothing, and with broken, patched-up, leaky boots on their feet.

Rushton having concluded his address, Didlum stepped forward to give
out the words of the hymn the former had quoted at the conclusion of
his remarks:

`Oh, come and jine this 'oly band,
And hon to glory go.'

Strange and incredible as it may appear to the reader, although none
of them ever did any of the things Jesus said, the people who were
conducting this meeting had the effrontery to claim to be followers of
Christ - Christians!

Jesus said: `Lay not up for yourselves treasure upon earth', `Love not
the world nor the things of the world', `Woe unto you that are rich -
it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a
rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.' Yet all these self-styled
`Followers' of Christ made the accumulation of money the principal
business of their lives.

Jesus said: `Be ye not called masters; for they bind heavy burdens and
grievous to be borne, and lay them on men's shoulders, but they
themselves will not touch them with one of their fingers. For one is
your master, even Christ, and ye are all brethren.' But nearly all
these alleged followers of the humble Workman of Nazareth claimed to
be other people's masters or mistresses. And as for being all
brethren, whilst most of these were arrayed in broadcloth and fine
linen and fared sumptuously every day, they knew that all around them
thousands of those they hypocritically called their `brethren', men,
women and little children, were slowly perishing of hunger and cold;
and we have already seen how much brotherhood existed between Sweater
and Rushton and the miserable, half-starved wretches in their
employment.

Whenever they were asked why they did not practise the things Jesus
preached, they replied that it is impossible to do so! They did not
seem to realize that when they said this they were saying, in effect,
that Jesus taught an impracticable religion; and they appeared to
forget that Jesus said, `Wherefore call ye me Lord, Lord, when ye do
not the things I say?.. .' `Whosoever heareth these sayings of mine
and doeth them not, shall be likened to a foolish man who built his
house upon the sand.'

But although none of these self-styled `Followers' of Christ, ever did
the things that Jesus said, they talked a great deal about them, and
sang hymns, and for a pretence made long prayers, and came out here to
exhort those who were still in darkness to forsake their evil ways.
And they procured this lantern and wrote a text upon it: `Be not
deceived, God is not mocked.'

They stigmatized as `infidels' all those who differed from them,
forgetting that the only real infidels are those who are
systematically false and unfaithful to the Master they pretend to love
and serve.

Grinder, having a slight cold, had not spoken this evening, but
several other infidels, including Sweater, Didlum, Bosher, and Starr,
had addressed the meeting, making a special appeal to the working
people, of whom the majority of the crowd was composed, to give up all
the vain pleasures of the world in which they at present indulged,
and, as Rushton had eloquently put it at the close of his remarks:

`Come and jine this 'Oly band and hon to glory go!'

As Didlum finished reading out the words, the lady at the harmonium
struck up the tune of the hymns, and the disciples all joined in the
singing:

`Oh, come and join this 'oly band and hon to glory go.'

During the singing certain of the disciples went about amongst the
crowd distributing tracts. Presently one of them offered one to
Barrington and as the latter looked at the man he saw that it was
Slyme, who also recognized him at the same instant and greeted him by
name. Barrington made no reply except to decline the tract:

`I don't want that - from you,' he said contemptuously.

Slyme turned red. `Oh, I know what you're thinking of,' he said after
a pause and speaking in an injured tone; `but you shouldn't judge
anyone too hard. It wasn't only my fault, and you don't know 'ow much
I've suffered for it. If it 'adn't been for the Lord, I believe I
should 'ave drownded myself.'