Ragged Trousered Philanthropists — Chapter 2, Part 1

Chapter 2

Nimrod: a Mighty Hunter before the Lord Mr Hunter, as he was called to his face and as he was known to his brethren at the Shining Light Chapel, where he was superintendant of the Sunday School, or “Misery” or “Nimrod”, as he was named behind his back by the workmen over whom he tyrannized, was the general or walking foreman or “manager” of the firm whose card is herewith presented to the reader: RUSHTON & CO.

MUGSBOROUGH

———— Builders, Decorators, and General Contractors FUNERALS FURNISHED

Estimates given for General Repairs to House Property First-class Work only at Moderate Charges There were a number of sub-foremen or “coddies”, but Hunter was _the_ foreman.

He was a tall, thin man whose clothes hung loosely on the angles of his round-shouldered, bony form.

His long, thin legs, about which the baggy trousers draped in ungraceful folds, were slightly knock-kneed and terminated in large, flat feet.

His arms were very long even for such a tall man, and the huge, bony hands were gnarled and knotted.

When he removed his bowler hat, as he frequently did to wipe away with a red handkerchief the sweat occasioned by furious bicycle riding, it was seen that his forehead was high, flat and narrow.

His nose was a large, fleshy, hawklike beak, and from the side of each nostril a deep indentation extended downwards until it disappeared in the dropping moustache that concealed his mouth, the vast extent of which was perceived only when he opened it to bellow at the workmen his exhortations to greater exertions.

His chin was large and extraordinarily long.

The eyes were pale blue, very small and close together, surmounted by spare, light-coloured, almost invisible eyebrows, with a deep vertical cleft between them over the nose.

His head, covered with thick, coarse brown hair, was very large at the back; the ears were small and laid close to the head.

If one were to make a full-face drawing of his cadaverous visage it would be found that the outline resembled that of the lid of a coffin.

This man had been with Rushton—no one had ever seen the “Co. ”—for fifteen years, in fact almost from the time when the latter commenced business.

Rushton had at that period realized the necessity of having a deputy who could be used to do all the drudgery and running about so that he himself might be free to attend to the more pleasant or profitable matters.

Hunter was then a journeyman, but was on the point of starting on his own account, when Rushton offered him a constant job as foreman, two pounds a week, and two and a half per cent of the profits of all work done.

On the face of it this appeared a generous offer.

Hunter closed with it, gave up the idea of starting for himself, and threw himself heart and mind into the business.

When an estimate was to be prepared it was Hunter who measured up the work and laboriously figured out the probable cost.

When their tenders were accepted it was he who superintended the work and schemed how to scamp it, where possible, using mud where mortar was specified, mortar where there ought to have been cement, sheet zinc where they were supposed to put sheet lead, boiled oil instead of varnish, and three coats of paint where five were paid for.

In fact, scamping the work was with this man a kind of mania.

It grieved him to see anything done properly.

Even when it was more economical to do a thing well, he insisted from force of habit on having it scamped.

Then he was almost happy, because he felt that he was doing someone down.

If there were an architect superintending the work, Misery would square him or bluff him.

If it were not possible to do either, at least he had a try; and in the intervals of watching, driving and bullying the hands, his vulture eye was ever on the look out for fresh jobs.

His long red nose was thrust into every estate agent’s office in the town in the endeavour to smell out what properties had recently changed hands or been let, in order that he might interview the new owners and secure the order for whatever alterations or repairs might be required.

He it was who entered into unholy compacts with numerous charwomen and nurses of the sick, who in return for a small commission would let him know when some poor sufferer was passing away and would recommend Rushton & Co. to the bereaved and distracted relatives.

By these means often—after first carefully inquiring into the financial position of the stricken family—Misery would contrive to wriggle his unsavoury carcass into the house of sorrow, seeking, even in the chamber of death, to further the interests of Rushton & Co. and to earn his miserable two and a half per cent.

It was to make possible the attainment of this object that Misery slaved and drove and schemed and cheated.

It was for this that the workers’ wages were cut down to the lowest possible point and their offspring went ill clad, ill shod and ill fed, and were driven forth to labour while they were yet children, because their fathers were unable to earn enough to support their homes.

Fifteen years!

Hunter realized now that Rushton had had considerably the best of the bargain.

In the first place, it will be seen that the latter had bought over one who might have proved a dangerous competitor, and now, after fifteen years, the business that had been so laboriously built up, mainly by Hunter’s energy, industry and unscrupulous cunning, belonged to Rushton & Co. Hunter was but an employee, liable to dismissal like any other workman, the only difference being that he was entitled to a week’s notice instead of an hour’s notice, and was but little better off financially than when he started for the firm.

Fifteen years!

Hunter knew now that he had been used, but he also knew that it was too late to turn back.

He had not saved enough to make a successful start on his own account even if he had felt mentally and physically capable of beginning all over again, and if Rushton were to discharge him right now he was too old to get a job as a journeyman.

Further, in his zeal for Rushton & Co. and his anxiety to earn his commission, he had often done things that had roused the animosity of rival firms to such an extent that it was highly improbable that any of them would employ him, and even if they would, Misery’s heart failed him at the thought of having to meet on an equal footing those workmen whom he had tyrannized over and oppressed.

It was for these reasons that Hunter was as terrified of Rushton as the hands were of himself.

Over the men stood Misery, ever threatening them with dismissal and their wives and children with hunger.

Behind Misery was Rushton, ever bullying and goading him on to greater excesses and efforts for the furtherance of the good cause—which was to enable the head of the firm to accumulate money.

Mr Hunter, at the moment when the reader first makes his acquaintance on the afternoon of the day when the incidents recorded in the first chapter took place, was executing a kind of strategic movement in the direction of the house where Crass and his mates were working.

He kept to one side of the road because by so doing he could not be perceived by those within the house until the instant of his arrival.

When he was within about a hundred yards of the gate he dismounted from his bicycle, there being a sharp rise in the road just there, and as he toiled up, pushing the bicycle in front, his breath showing in white clouds in the frosty air, he observed a number of men hanging about.

Some of them he knew; they had worked for him at various times, but were now out of a job.

There were five men altogether; three of them were standing in a group, the other two stood each by himself, being apparently strangers to each other and the first three.

The three men who stood together were nearest to Hunter and as the latter approached, one of them advanced to meet him.

“Good afternoon, sir.

” Hunter replied by an inarticulate grunt, without stopping; the man followed.

“Any chance of a job, sir?

” “Full up,” replied Hunter, still without stopping.

The man still followed, like a beggar soliciting charity.

“Be any use calling in a day or so, sir?

” “Don’t think so,” Hunter replied.

“Can if you like; but we’re full up.

” “Thank you, sir,” said the man, and turned back to his friends.

By this time Hunter was within a few yards of one of the other two men, who also came to speak to him.

This man felt there was no hope of getting a job; still, there was no harm in asking.

Besides, he was getting desperate.

It was over a month now since he had finished up for his last employer.

It had been a very slow summer altogether.

Sometimes a fortnight for one firm; then perhaps a week doing nothing; then three weeks or a month for another firm, then out again, and so on.

And now it was November.

Last winter they had got into debt; that was nothing unusual, but owing to the bad summer they had not been able, as in other years, to pay off the debts accumulated in winter.

It was doubtful, too, whether they would be able to get credit again this winter.

In fact this morning when his wife sent their little girl to the grocer’s for some butter the latter had refused to let the child have it without the money.

So although he felt it to be useless he accosted Hunter.

This time Hunter stopped: he was winded by his climb up the hill.

“Good afternoon, sir.

” Hunter did not return the salutation; he had not the breath to spare, but the man was not hurt; he was used to being treated like that.

“Any chance of a job, sir?

” Hunter did not reply at once.

He was short of breath and he was thinking of a plan that was ever recurring to his mind, and which he had lately been hankering to put into execution.

It seemed to him that the long waited for opportunity had come.

Just now Rushton & Co. were almost the only firm in Mugsborough who had any work.

There were dozens of good workmen out.

Yes, this was the time.

If this man agreed he would give him a start.

Hunter knew the man was a good workman, he had worked for Rushton & Co. before.

To make room for him old Linden and some other full-price man could be got rid of; it would not be difficult to find some excuse.

“Well,” Hunter said at last in a doubtful, hesitating kind of way, “I’m afraid not, Newman.

We’re about full up.

” He ceased speaking and remained waiting for the other to say something more.

He did not look at the man, but stooped down, fidgeting with the mechanism of the bicycle as if adjusting it.

“Things have been so bad this summer,” Newman went on.

“I’ve had rather a rough time of it.

I would be very glad of a job even if it was only for a week or so.

” There was a pause.

After a while, Hunter raised his eyes to the other’s face, but immediately let them fall again.

“Well,” said he, “I might—perhaps—be able to let you have a day or two.

You can come here to this job,” and he nodded his head in the direction of the house where the men were working.

“Tomorrow at seven.

Of course you know the figure?

” he added as Newman was about to thank him.

“Six and a half.

” Hunter spoke as if the reduction were already an accomplished fact.

The man was more likely to agree, if he thought that others were already working at the reduced rate.

Newman was taken by surprise and hesitated.

He had never worked under price; indeed, he had sometimes gone hungry rather than do so; but now it seemed that others were doing it.

And then he was so awfully hard up.

If he refused this job he was not likely to get another in a hurry.

He thought of his home and his family.

Already they owed five weeks’ rent, and last Monday the collector had hinted pretty plainly that the landlord would not wait much longer.

Not only that, but if he did not get a job how were they to live?

This morning he himself had had no breakfast to speak of, only a cup of tea and some dry bread.

These thoughts crowded upon each other in his mind, but still he hesitated.

Hunter began to move off.

“Well,” he said, “if you like to start you can come here at seven in the morning.

” Then as Newman still hesitated he added impatiently, “Are you coming or not?

” “Yes, sir,” said Newman.

“All right,” said Hunter, affably.

“I’ll tell Crass to have a kit ready for you.

” He nodded in a friendly way to the man, who went off feeling like a criminal.

As Hunter resumed his march, well pleased with himself, the fifth man, who had been waiting all this time, came to meet him.

As he approached, Hunter recognized him as one who had started work for Rushton & Co early in the summer, but who had left suddenly of his own accord, having taken offence at some bullying remark of Hunter’s. Hunter was glad to see this man.

He guessed that the fellow must be very hard pressed to come again and ask for work after what had happened.

“Any chance of a job, sir?

” Hunter appeared to reflect.

“I believe I have room for one,” he said at length.

“But you’re such an uncertain kind of chap.

You don’t seem to care much whether you work or not.

You’re too independent, you know; one can’t say two words to you but you must needs clear off.

” The man made no answer.

“We can’t tolerate that kind of thing, you know,” Hunter added.

“If we were to encourage men of your stamp we should never know where we are.

” So saying, Hunter moved away and again proceeded on his journey.

When he arrived within about three yards of the gate he noiselessly laid his machine against the garden fence.

The high evergreens that grew inside still concealed him from the observation of anyone who might be looking out of the windows of the house.

Then he carefully crept along till he came to the gate post, and bending down, he cautiously peeped round to see if he could detect anyone idling, or talking, or smoking.

There was no one in sight except old Jack Linden, who was rubbing down the lobby doors with pumice-stone and water.

Hunter noiselessly opened the gate and crept quietly along the grass border of the garden path.

His idea was to reach the front door without being seen, so that Linden could not give notice of his approach to those within.

In this he succeeded and passed silently into the house.

He did not speak to Linden; to do so would have proclaimed his presence to the rest.

He crawled stealthily over the house but was disappointed in his quest, for everyone he saw was hard at work.

Upstairs he noticed that the door of one of the rooms was closed.

Old Joe Philpot had been working in this room all day, washing off the old whitewash from the ceiling and removing the old papers from the walls with a broad bladed, square topped knife called a stripper.

Although it was only a small room, Joe had had to tear into the work pretty hard all the time, for the ceiling seemed to have had two or three coats of whitewash without ever having been washed off, and there were several thicknesses of paper on the walls.

The difficulty of removing these papers was increased by the fact that there was a dado which had been varnished.

In order to get this off it had been necessary to soak it several times with strong soda water, and although Joe was as careful as possible he had not been able to avoid getting some of this stuff on his fingers.

The result was that his nails were all burnt and discoloured and the flesh round them cracked and bleeding.

However, he had got it all off at last, and he was not sorry, for his right arm and shoulder were aching from the prolonged strain and in the palm of the right hand there was a blister as large as a shilling, caused by the handle of the stripping knife.

All the old paper being off, Joe washed down the walls with water, and having swept the paper into a heap in the middle of the floor, he mixed with a small trowel some cement on a small board and proceeded to stop up the cracks and holes in the walls and ceiling.

After a while, feeling very tired, it occurred to him that he deserved a spell and a smoke for five minutes.

He closed the door and placed a pair of steps against it.

There were two windows in the room almost opposite each other; these he opened wide in order that the smoke and smell of his pipe might be carried away.

Having taken these precautions against surprise, he ascended to the top of the step ladder that he had laid against the door and sat down at ease.

Within easy reach was the top of a cupboard where he had concealed a pint of beer in a bottle.

To this he now applied himself.

Having taken a long pull at the bottle, he tenderly replaced it on the top of the cupboard and proceeded to “hinjoy” a quiet smoke, remarking to himself: “This is where we get some of our own back.

” He held, however, his trowel in one hand, ready for immediate action in case of interruption.

Philpot was about fifty-five years old.

He wore no white jacket, only an old patched apron; his trousers were old, very soiled with paint and ragged at the bottoms of the legs where they fell over the much-patched, broken and down-at-heel boots.

The part of his waistcoat not protected by his apron was covered with spots of dried paint.

He wore a coloured shirt and a “dickey” which was very soiled and covered with splashes of paint, and one side of it was projecting from the opening of the waistcoat.

His head was covered with an old cap, heavy and shining with paint.

He was very thin and stooped slightly.

Although he was really only fifty-five, he looked much older, for he was prematurely aged.

He had not been getting his own back for quite five minutes when Hunter softly turned the handle of the lock.

Philpot immediately put out his pipe and descending from his perch opened the door.

When Hunter entered Philpot closed it again and, mounting the steps, went on stripping the wall just above.

Nimrod looked at him suspiciously, wondering why the door had been closed.

He looked all round the room but could see nothing to complain of.

He sniffed the air to try if he could detect the odour of tobacco, and if he had not been suffering a cold in the head there is no doubt that he would have perceived it.

However, as it was he could smell nothing but all the same he was not quite satisfied, although he remembered that Crass always gave Philpot a good character.

“I don’t like to have men working on a job like this with the door shut,” he said at length.

“It always gives me the idear that the man’s ’avin a mike.

You can do what you’re doin’ just as well with the door open.

”