Ragged Trousered Philanthropists — Chapter 25, Part 1

Chapter 25

The Oblong During the following week the work at “The Cave” progressed rapidly towards completion, although, the hours of daylight being so few, the men worked only from 8 A. M.

till 4 P. M.

and they had their breakfasts before they came.

This made 40 hours a week, so that those who were paid sevenpence an hour earned £1. 3. 4. Those who got sixpence-halfpenny drew £1. 1. 8. Those whose wages were fivepence an hour were paid the princely sum of 16/8d.

for their week’s hard labour, and those whose rate was fourpence-halfpenny “picked up” 15/-.

And yet there are people who have the insolence to say that Drink is the cause of poverty.

And many of the persons who say this, spend more money than that on drink themselves—every day of their useless lives.

By Tuesday night all the inside was finished with the exception of the kitchen and scullery.

The painting of the kitchen had been delayed owing to the non-arrival of the new cooking range, and the scullery was still used as the paint shop.

The outside work was also nearly finished: all the first coating was done and the second coating was being proceeded with.

According to the specification, all the outside woodwork was supposed to have three coats, and the guttering, rain-pipes and other ironwork two coats, but Crass and Hunter had arranged to make two coats do for most of the windows and woodwork, and all the ironwork was to be made to do with one coat only.

The windows were painted in two colours: the sashes dark green and the frames white.

All the rest—gables, doors, railings, guttering, etc. —was dark green; and all the dark green paint was made with boiled linseed oil and varnish; no turpentine being allowed to be used on this part of the work.

“This is some bloody fine stuff to ’ave to use, ain’t it?

” remarked Harlow to Philpot on Wednesday morning.

“It’s more like a lot of treacle than anything else.

” “Yes: and it won’t arf blister next summer when it gets a bit of sun on it,” replied Philpot with a grin.

“I suppose they’re afraid that if they was to put a little turps in, it wouldn’t bear out, and they’d ’ave to give it another coat.

” “You can bet yer life that’s the reason,” said Philpot.

“But all the same I mean to pinch a drop to put in mine as soon as Crass is gorn.

” “Gorn where?

” “Why, didn’t you know?

there’s another funeral on today?

Didn’t you see that corfin plate what Owen was writing in the drorin’-room last Saturday morning?

” “No, I wasn’t ’ere.

Don’t you remember I was sent away to do a ceilin’ and a bit of painting over at Windley?

” “Oh, of course; I forgot,” exclaimed Philpot.

“I reckon Crass and Slyme must be making a small fortune out of all these funerals,” said Harlow.

“This makes the fourth in the last fortnight.

What is it they gets for ’em?

” “A shillin’ for taking” ’ome the corfin and liftin’ in the corpse, and four bob for the funeral—five bob altogether.

” “That’s a bit of all right, ain’t it?

” said Harlow.

“A couple of them in a week besides your week’s wages, eh?

Five bob for two or three hours work!

” “Yes, the money’s all right, mate, but they’re welcome to it for my part.

I don’t want to go messin’ about with no corpses,” replied Philpot with a shudder.

“Who is this last party what’s dead?

” asked Harlow after a pause.

“It’s a parson what used to belong to the ‘Shining Light’ Chapel.

He’d been abroad for ’is ’ollerdays—to Monte Carlo.

It seems ’e was ill before ’e went away, but the change did ’im a lot of good; in fact, ’e was quite recovered, and ’e was coming back again.

But while ’e was standin’ on the platform at Monte Carlo Station waitin’ for the train, a porter runned into ’im with a barrer load o’ luggage, and ’e blowed up.

” “Blowed up?

” “Yes,” repeated Philpot.

“Blowed up!

Busted!

Exploded!

All into pieces.

But they swep” ’em all up and put it in a corfin and it’s to be planted this afternoon.

” Harlow maintained an awestruck silence, and Philpot continued: “I had a drink the other night with a butcher bloke what used to serve this parson with meat, and we was talkin’ about what a strange sort of death it was, but ’e said ’e wasn’t at all surprised to ’ear of it; the only thing as ’e wondered at was that the man didn’t blow up long ago, considerin’ the amount of grub as ’e used to make away with.

He ses the quantities of stuff as ’e’s took there and seen other tradesmen take was something chronic.

Tons of it!

” “What was the parson’s name?

” asked Harlow.

“Belcher.

You must ’ave noticed ’im about the town.

A very fat chap,” replied Philpot.

“I’m sorry you wasn’t ’ere on Saturday to see the corfin plate.

Frank called me in to see the wordin’ when ’e’d finished it.

It had on: ‘Jonydab Belcher.

Born January 1st, 1849. Ascended, December 8th, 19—’” “Oh, I know the bloke now!

” cried Harlow.

“I remember my youngsters bringin’ ’ome a subscription list what they’d got up at the Sunday School to send ’im away for a ’ollerday because ’e was ill, and I gave ’em a penny each to put on their cards because I didn’t want ’em to feel mean before the other young ’uns.

” “Yes, it’s the same party.

Two or three young ’uns asked me to give ’em something to put on at the time.

And I see they’ve got another subscription list on now.

I met one of Newman’s children yesterday and she showed it to me.

It’s for an entertainment and a Christmas Tree for all the children what goes to the Sunday School, so I didn’t mind giving just a trifle for anything like that.

”...

“Seems to be gettin’ colder, don’t it?

” “It’s enough to freeze the ears orf a brass monkey!

” remarked Easton as he descended from a ladder close by and, placing his pot of paint on the pound, began to try to warm his hands by rubbing and beating them together.

He was trembling, and his teeth were chattering with cold.

“I could just do with a nice pint of beer, now,” he said as he stamped his feet on the pound.

“That’s just what I was thinkin’,” said Philpot, wistfully, “and what’s more, I mean to ’ave one, too, at dinner-time.

I shall nip down to the ‘Cricketers’.

Even if I don’t get back till a few minutes after one, it won’t matter, because Crass and Nimrod will be gorn to the funeral.

” “Will you bring me a pint back with you, in a bottle?

” asked Easton.

“Yes, certainly,” said Philpot.

Harlow said nothing.

He also would have liked a pint of beer, but, as was usual with him, he had not the necessary cash.

Having restored the circulation to a certain extent, they now resumed their work, and only just in time, for a few minutes afterwards they observed Misery peeping round the corner of the house at them and they wondered how long he had been there, and whether he had overheard their conversation.

At twelve o’clock Crass and Slyme cleared off in a great hurry, and a little while afterwards, Philpot took off his apron and put on his coat to go to the “Cricketers”.

When the others found out where he was going, several of them asked him to bring back a drink for them, and then someone suggested that all those who wanted some beer should give twopence each.

This was done: one shilling and fourpence was collected and given to Philpot, who was to bring back a gallon of beer in a jar.

He promised to get back as soon as ever he could, and some of the shareholders decided not to drink any tea with their dinners, but to wait for the beer, although they knew that it would be nearly time to resume work before he could get back.

It would be a quarter to one at the very earliest.

The minutes dragged slowly by, and after a while the only man on the job who had a watch began to lose his temper and refused to answer any more inquiries concerning the time.

So presently Bert was sent up to the top of the house to look at a church clock which was visible therefrom, and when he came down he reported that it was ten minutes to one.

Symptoms of anxiety now began to manifest themselves amongst the shareholders, several of whom went down to the main road to see if Philpot was yet in sight, but each returned with the same report—they could see nothing of him.

No one was formally “in charge” of the job during Crass’s absence, but they all returned to their work promptly at one because they feared that Sawkins or some other sneak might report any irregularity to Crass or Misery.

At a quarter-past one, Philpot was still missing and the uneasiness of the shareholders began to develop into a panic.

Some of them plainly expressed the opinion that he had gone on the razzle with the money.

As the time wore on, this became the general opinion.

At two o’clock, all hope of his return having been abandoned, two or three of the shareholders went and drank some of the cold tea.

Their fears were only too well founded, for they saw no more of Philpot till the next morning, when he arrived looking very sheepish and repentant and promised to refund all the money on Saturday.

He also made a long, rambling statement from which it appeared that on his way to the “Cricketers” he met a couple of chaps whom he knew who were out of work, and he invited them to come and have a drink.

When they got to the pub, they found there the Semi-drunk and the Besotted Wretch.

One drink led to another, and then they started arguing, and he had forgotten all about the gallon of beer until he woke up this morning.

Whilst Philpot was making this explanation they were putting on their aprons and blouses, and Crass was serving out the lots of colour.

Slyme took no part in the conversation, but got ready as quickly as possible and went outside to make a start.

The reason for this haste soon became apparent to some of the others, for they noticed that he had selected and commenced painting a large window that was so situated as to be sheltered from the keen wind that was blowing.

The basement of the house was slightly below the level of the ground and there was a sort of a trench or area about three feet deep in front of the basement windows.

The banks of this trench were covered with rose trees and evergreens, and the bottom was a mass of slimy, evil-smelling, rain-sodden earth, foul with the excrement of nocturnal animals.

To second-coat these basement windows, Philpot and Harlow had to get down into and stand in all this filth, which soaked through the worn and broken soles of their boots.

As they worked, the thorns of the rose trees caught and tore their clothing and lacerated the flesh of their half-frozen hands.

Owen and Easton were working on ladders doing the windows immediately above Philpot and Harlow, Sawkins, on another ladder, was painting one of the gables, and the other men were working at different parts of the outside of the house.

The boy Bert was painting the iron railings of the front fence.

The weather was bitterly cold, the sun was concealed by the dreary expanse of grey cloud that covered the wintry sky.

As they stood there working most of the time they were almost perfectly motionless, the only part of their bodies that were exercised being their right arms.

The work they were now doing required to be done very carefully and deliberately, otherwise the glass would be “messed up” or the white paint of the frames would “run into” the dark green of the sashes, both colours being wet at the same time, each man having two pots of paint and two sets of brushes.

The wind was not blowing in sudden gusts, but swept by in a strong, persistent current that penetrated their clothing and left them trembling and numb with cold.

It blew from the right; and it was all the worse on that account, because the right arm, being in use, left that side of the body fully exposed.

They were able to keep their left hands in their trousers pockets and the left arm close to the side most of the time.

This made a lot of difference.

Another reason why it is worse when the wind strikes upon one from the right side is that the buttons on a man’s coat are always on the right side, and consequently the wind gets underneath.

Philpot realized this all the more because some of the buttons on his coat and waistcoat were missing.

As they worked on, trembling with cold, and with their teeth chattering, their faces and hands became of that pale violet colour generally seen on the lips of a corpse.

Their eyes became full of water and the lids were red and inflamed.

Philpot’s and Harlow’s boots were soon wet through, with the water they absorbed from the damp ground, and their feet were sore and intensely painful with cold.

Their hands, of course, suffered the most, becoming so numbed that they were unable to feel the brushes they held; in fact, presently, as Philpot was taking a dip of colour, the brush fell from his hand into the pot; and then, finding that he was unable to move his fingers, he put his hand into his trousers pocket to thaw, and began to walk about, stamping his feet upon the ground.

His example was quickly followed by Owen, Easton and Harlow, and they all went round the corner to the sheltered side of the house where Slyme was working, and began walking up and down, rubbing their hands, stamping their feet and swinging their arms to warm themselves.

“If I thought Nimrod wasn’t comin’, I’d put my overcoat on and work in it,” remarked Philpot, “but you never knows when to expect the b—r, and if ’e saw me in it, it would mean the bloody push.

” “It wouldn’t interfere with our workin’ if we did wear ’em,” said Easton; “in fact, we’d be able to work all the quicker if we wasn’t so cold.

” “Even if Misery didn’t come, I suppose Crass would ’ave something to say if we did put ’em on,” continued Philpot.

“Well, yer couldn’t blame ’im if ’e did say something, could yer?

” said Slyme, offensively.

“Crass would get into a row ’imself if ’Unter came and saw us workin’ in overcoats.

It would look ridiclus.

” Slyme suffered less from the cold than any of them, not only because he had secured the most sheltered window, but also because he was better clothed than most of the rest.

“What’s Crass supposed to be doin’ inside?

” asked Easton as he tramped up and down, with his shoulders hunched up and his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his trousers.

“Blowed if I know,” replied Philpot.

“Messin’ about touchin’ up or makin’ colour.

He never does ’is share of a job like this; ’e knows ’ow to work things all right for ’isself.

” “What if ’e does?

We’d be the same if we was in ’is place, and so would anybody else,” said Slyme, and added sarcastically: “Or p’haps you’d give all the soft jobs to other people and do all the rough yerself!

” Slyme knew that, although they were speaking of Crass, they were also alluding to himself, and as he replied to Philpot he looked slyly at Owen, who had so far taken no part in the conversation.

“It’s not a question of what we would do,” chimed in Harlow.

“It’s a question of what’s fair.

If it’s not fair for Crass to pick all the soft jobs for ’imself and leave all the rough for others, the fact that we might do the same if we ’ad the chance don’t make it right.

” “No one can be blamed for doing the best he can for himself under existing circumstances,” said Owen in reply to Slyme’s questioning look.

“That is the principle of the present system—every man for himself and the devil take the rest.

For my own part I don’t pretend to practise unselfishness.

I don’t pretend to guide my actions by the rules laid down in the Sermon on the Mount.

But it’s certainly surprising to hear you who profess to be a follower of Christ—advocating selfishness.

Or, rather, it would be surprising if it were not that the name of ‘Christian’ has ceased to signify one who follows Christ, and has come to mean only liar and hypocrite.

” Slyme made no answer.

Possibly the fact that he was a true believer enabled him to bear this insult with meekness and humility.

“I wonder what time it is?

” interposed Philpot.

Slyme looked at his watch.

It was nearly ten o’clock.

“Jesus Christ!

Is that all?

” growled Easton as they returned to work.

“Two hours more before dinner!

” Only two more hours, but to these miserable, half-starved, ill-clad wretches, standing here in the bitter wind that pierced their clothing and seemed to be tearing at their very hearts and lungs with icy fingers, it appeared like an eternity.

To judge by the eagerness with which they longed for dinner-time, one might have thought they had some glorious banquet to look forward to instead of bread and cheese and onions, or bloaters—and stewed tea.

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!

The 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.

”