The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists

by Robert Tressell

  Owen waited for about half an hour to see if Hunter would return, but as that disciple did not appear, he decided not to wait any longer. Before leaving he gave Bert some instructions:

  ‘Keep up the fire with all the old paint that you can scrape off those things and any other old paint or rubbish that’s here, and whenever it grows dull put more wood on. There’s a lot of old stuff here that’s of no use except to be thrown away or burnt. Burn it all. If Hunter says anything, tell him that I lit the fire, and that I told you to keep it burning. If you want more wood, go out and take it.’

  ‘All right,’ replied Bert.

  On his way out Owen spoke to Sawkins. His manner was so menacing, his face so pale, and there was such a strange glare in his eyes, that the latter thought of the talk there had been about Owen being mad, and felt half afraid of him.

  ‘I am going to the office to see Rushton; if Hunter comes here, you say I told you to tell him that if I find the boy in that shop again without a fire, I’ll report it to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children. And as for you, if the boy comes out here to get more wood, don’t you attempt to interfere with him.’

  ‘I don’t want to interfere with the bloody kid,’ grunted Sawkins. ‘It seems to me as if he’s gorn orf ’is bloody crumpet,’ he added as he watched Owen walking rapidly down the street. ‘I can’t understand why people can’t mind their own bloody business: anyone would think the boy belonged to ’im.’

  That was just how the matter presented itself to Owen. The idea that it was his own child who was to be treated in this way possessed and infuriated him as he strode savagely along. In the vicinity of the Slave Market on the Grand Parade he passed – without seeing them – several groups of unemployed artisans whom he knew. Some of them were offended and remarked that he was getting stuck up, but others, observing how strange he looked, repeated the old prophecy that one of these days Owen would go out of his mind.

  As he drew near to his destination large flakes of snow began to fall. He walked so rapidly and was in such a fury that by the time he reached the shop he was scarcely able to speak.

  ‘Is – Hunter – or Rushton here?’ he demanded of the shopman.

  ‘Hunter isn’t, but the guv’nor is. What was it you wanted?’

  ‘He’ll soon – know – that,’ panted Owen as he strode up to the office door, and without troubling to knock, flung it violently open and entered.

  The atmosphere of this place was very different from that of the damp cellar where Bert was working. A grate fitted with asbestos blocks and lit with gas communicated a genial warmth to the air.

  Rushton was standing leaning over Miss Wade’s chair with his left arm round her neck. Owen recollected afterwards that her dress was disarranged. She retired hastily to the far end of the room as Rushton jumped away from her, and stared in amazement and confusion at the intruder – he was too astonished and embarrassed to speak. Owen stood panting and quivering in the middle of the office and pointed a trembling finger at his employer:

  ‘I’ve come – here – to tell – you – that – if I find young – Bert White – working – down in that shop – without a fire – I’ll have you prosecuted. The place is not good enough for a stable – if you owned a valuable dog – you wouldn’t keep it there – I give you fair warning – I know – enough – about you – to put you – where you deserve to be – if you don’t treat him better – I’ll have you punished – I’ll show you up.’

  Rushton continued to stare at him in mingled confusion, fear and perplexity; he did not yet comprehend exactly what it was all about; he was guiltily conscious of so many things which he might reasonably fear to be shown up or prosecuted for if they were known, and the fact of being caught under such circumstances with Miss Wade helped to reduce him to a condition approaching terror.

  ‘If the boy has been there without a fire, I ’aven’t known anything about it,’ he stammered at last. ‘Mr ’Unter has charge of all those matters.’

  ‘You – yourself – forbade him – to make a fire last winter – and anyhow – you know about it now. You obtained money from his mother under the pretence – that you were going – to teach him a trade – but for the last twelve months – you have been using him – as if he were – a beast of burden. I advise you to see to it – or I shall – find – means – to make you – wish you had done so.’

  With this Owen turned and went out, leaving the door open, and Rushton in a state of mind compounded of fear, amazement and anger.

  As he walked homewards through the snow-storm, Owen began to realize that the consequence of what he had done would be that Rushton would not give him any more work, and as he reflected on all that this would mean to those at home, for a moment he doubted whether he had done right. But when he told Nora what had happened she said there were plenty of other firms in the town who would employ him – when they had the work. He had done without Rushton before and could do so again; for her part – whatever the consequences might be – she was glad that he had acted as he did.

  ‘We’ll get through somehow, I suppose,’ said Owen, wearily. ‘There’s not much chance of getting a job anywhere else just now, but I shall try to get some work on my own account. I shall do some samples of showcards the same as I did last winter and try to get orders from some of the shops – they usually want something extra at this time, but I’m afraid it is rather too late: most of them already have all they want.’

  ‘I shouldn’t go out again today if I were you,’ said Nora, noticing how ill he looked. ‘You should stay at home and read, or write up those minutes.’

  The minutes referred to were those of the last meeting of the local branch of the Painters’ Society, of which Owen was the secretary, and as the snow continued to fall, he occupied himself after dinner in the manner his wife suggested, until four o’clock, when Frankie returned from school bringing with him a large snowball, and crying out as a piece of good news that the snow was still falling heavily, and that he believed it was freezing!

  They went to bed very early that night, for it was necessary to economize the coal, and not only that, but – because the rooms were so near the roof – it was not possible to keep the place warm no matter how much coal was used. The fire seemed, if anything, to make the place colder, for it caused the outer air to pour in through the joints of the ill-fitting doors and windows.

  Owen lay awake for the greater part of the night. The terror of the future made rest or sleep impossible. He got up very early the next morning – long before it was light – and after lighting the fire, set about preparing the samples he had mentioned to Nora, but found that it would not be possible to do much in this direction without buying more cardboard, for most of what he had was not in good condition.

  They had bread and butter and tea for breakfast. Frankie had his in bed, and it was decided to keep him away from school until after dinner because the weather was so very cold and his only pair of boots were so saturated with moisture from having been out in the snow the previous day.

  ‘I shall make a few inquiries to see if there’s any other work to be had before I buy the cardboard,’ said Owen, ‘although I’m afraid it’s not much use.’

  Just as he was preparing to go out, the front door bell rang, and as he was going down to answer it he saw Bert White coming upstairs. The boy was carrying a flat, brown-paper parcel under his arm.

  ‘A corfin-plate,’ he explained as he arrived at the door. ‘Wanted at once – Misery ses you can do it at ’ome, an’ I’ve got to wait for it.’

  Owen and his wife looked at each other with intense relief. So he was not to be dismissed after all. It was almost too good to be true.

  ‘There’s a piece of paper inside the parcel with the name of the party what’s dead,’ continued Bert, ‘and here’s a little bottle of Brunswick black for you to do the inscription with.’

  ‘Did he send any other message?’

  ‘Yes: he told me to tell you there’s a job
to be started Monday morning – a couple of rooms to be done out somewhere. Got to be finished by Thursday; and there’s another job ’e wants you to do this afternoon – after dinner – so you’ve got to come to the yard at one o’clock. ’E told me to tell you ’e meant to leave a message for you yesterday morning, but ’e forgot.’

  ‘What did he say to you about the fire – anything?’

  ‘Yes: they both of ’em came about an hour after you went away – Misery and the Bloke too – but they didn’t kick up a row. I wasn’t ’arf frightened, I can tell you, when I saw ’em both coming, but they was quite nice. The Bloke ses to me, “Ah, that’s right, my boy,” ’e ses. “Keep up a good fire. I’m going to send you some coke,” ’e ses. And then they ’ad a look round and ’e told Sawkins to put some new panes of glass where the winder was broken, and – you know that great big packing-case what was under the truck shed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, ’e told Sawkins to saw it up and cover over the stone floor of the paint-shop with it. It ain’t ’arf all right there now. I’ve cleared out all the muck from under the benches and we’ve got two sacks of coke sent from the gas-works, and the Bloke told me when that’s all used up I’ve got to get a order orf Miss Wade for another lot.’

  At one o’clock Owen was at the yard, where he saw Misery, who instructed him to go to the front shop and paint some numbers on the racks where the wallpapers were stored. Whilst he was doing this work Rushton came in and greeted him in a very friendly way.

  ‘I’m very glad you let me know about the boy working in that paint-shop,’ he observed after a few preliminary remarks. ‘I can assure you as I don’t want the lad to be uncomfortable, but you know I can’t attend to everything myself. I’m much obliged to you for telling me about it; I think you did quite right; I should have done the same myself.’

  [Owen did not know what to reply, but Rushton walked off without waiting.]…

  52

  ‘It’s a Far, Far Better Thing that I do,

  than I have Ever Done’

  Although Owen, Easton and Crass and a few others were so lucky as to have had a little work to do during the last few months, the majority of their fellow workmen had been altogether out of employment most of the time, and meanwhile the practical business-men, and the pretended disciples of Christ – the liars and hypocrites who professed to believe that all men are brothers and God their Father – had continued to enact the usual farce that they called ‘Dealing’ with the misery that surrounded them on every side. They continued to organize ‘Rummage’ and ‘Jumble’ sales and bazaars, and to distribute their rotten cast-off clothes and boots and their broken victuals and soup to such of the Brethren as were sufficiently degraded to beg for them. The beautiful Distress Committee was also in full operation; over a thousand Brethren had registered themselves on its books. Of this number – after careful investigation – the committee had found that no fewer than six hundred and seventy-two were deserving of being allowed to work for their living. The Committee would probably have given these six hundred and seventy-two the necessary permission, but it was somewhat handicapped by the fact that the funds at its disposal were only sufficient to enable that number of Brethren to be employed for about three days. However, by adopting a policy of temporizing, delay, and general artful dodging, the Committee managed to create the impression that they were Dealing with the Problem.

  If it had not been for a cunning device invented by Brother Rushton, a much larger number of the Brethren would have succeeded in registering themselves as unemployed on the books of the Committee. In previous years it had been the practice to issue an application form called a ‘Record Paper’ to any Brother who asked for one, and the Brother returned it after filling it in himself. At a secret meeting of the Committee Rushton proposed – amid laughter and applause, it was such a good joke – a new and better way, calculated to keep down the number of applicants. The result of this innovation was that no more forms were issued, but the applicants for work were admitted into the office one at a time, and were there examined by a junior clerk, somewhat after the manner of a French Juge d’Instruction interrogating a criminal, the clerk filling in the form according to the replies of the culprit.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘How long have you been living there?’

  ‘Where did you live before you went there?’

  ‘How long were you living at that place?’

  ‘Why did you move?’

  ‘Did you owe any rent when you left?’

  ‘What was your previous address?’

  ‘How old are you? When was your last birthday?’

  ‘What is your Trade, Calling, Employment, or Occupation?’

  ‘Are you Married or single or a Widower or what?’

  ‘How many children have you? How many boys? How many girls? Do they go to work? What do they earn?’

  ‘What kind of a house do you live in? How many rooms are there?’

  ‘How much rent do you owe?’

  ‘Who was your last employer? What was the foreman’s name? How long did you work there? What kind of work did you do? Why did you leave?’

  ‘What have you been doing for the last five years? What kind of work, how many hours a day? What wages did you get?’

  ‘Give the full names and addresses of all the different employers you have worked for during the last five years, and the reasons why you left them?’

  ‘Give the names of all the foremen you have worked under during the last five years?’

  ‘Does your wife earn anything? How much?’

  ‘Do you get any money from any Club or Society, or from any Charity, or from any other source?’

  ‘Have you ever received Poor Relief?’

  ‘Have you ever worked for a Distress Committee before?’

  ‘Have you ever done any other kinds of work than those you have mentioned? Do you think you would be fit for any other kind?’

  ‘Have you any references?’ and so on and so forth.

  When the criminal had answered all the questions, and when his answers had all been duly written down, he was informed that a member of the Committee, or an Authorized Officer, or some Other Person, would in due course visit his home and make inquiries about him, after which the Authorized Officer or Other Person would make a report to the Committee, who would consider it at their next meeting.

  As the interrogation of each criminal occupied about half an hour, to say nothing of the time he was kept waiting, it will be seen that as a means of keeping down the number of registered unemployed the idea worked splendidly.

  When Rushton introduced this new rule it was carried unanimously, Dr Weakling being the only dissentient, but of course he – as Brother Grinder remarked – was always opposed to any sensible proposal. There was one consolation, however, Grinder added, they was not likely to be pestered with ’im much longer; the fust of November was coming and if he – Grinder – knowed anything of working men they was sure to give Weakling the dirty kick out directly they got the chance.

  A few days afterwards the result of the municipal election justified Brother Grinder’s prognostications, for the working men voters of Dr Weakling’s ward did give him the dirty kick out: but Rushton, Didlum, Grinder and several other members of the band were triumphantly returned with increased majorities.

  Mr Dauber, of Dauber and Botchit, had already been elected a Guardian of the Poor.

  During all this time Hunter, who looked more worried and miserable as the dreary weeks went by, was occupied every day in supervising what work was being done and in running about seeking for more. Nearly every night he remained at the office until a late hour, poring over specifications and making out estimates. The police had become so accustomed to seeing the light in the office that as a rule they took no notice of it, but one Thursday night – exactly one week after the scene between Owen and Rushton about the boy – the constable on the beat o
bserved the light there much later than usual. At first he paid no particular attention to the fact, but when night merged into morning and the light still remained, his curiosity was aroused.

  He knocked at the door, but no one came in answer, and no sound disturbed the deathlike stillness that reigned within. The door was locked, but he was not able to tell whether it had been closed from the inside or outside, because it had a spring latch. The office window was low down, but it was not possible to see in because the back of the glass had been painted.

  The constable thought that the most probable explanation of the mystery was that whoever had been there earlier in the evening had forgotten to turn out the light when they went away; it was not likely that thieves or anyone who had no business to be there would advertise their presence by lighting the gas.

  He made a note of the incident in his pocket-book and was about to resume his beat when he was joined by his inspector. The latter agreed that the conclusion arrived at by the constable was probably the right one and they were about to pass on when the inspector noticed a small speck of light shining through the lower part of the painted window, where a small piece of the paint had either been scratched or had shelled off the glass. He knelt down and found that it was possible to get a view of the interior of the office, and as he peered through he gave a low exclamation. When he made way for his subordinate to look in his turn, the constable was with some difficulty able to distinguish the figure of a man lying prone upon the floor.

  It was an easy task for the burly policeman to force open the office door: a single push of his shoulder wrenched it from its fastenings and as it flew back the socket of the lock fell with a splash into a great pool of blood that had accumulated against the threshold, flowing from the place where Hunter was lying on his back, his arms extended and his head nearly severed from his body. On the floor, close to his right hand, was an open razor. An overturned chair lay on the floor by the side of the table where he usually worked, the table itself being littered with papers and drenched with blood.