Ragged Trousered Philanthropists — Chapter 44, Part 2

“Why don’t some of you get up and make a speech?

” This last appeared to be a very good idea to those Liberals and Tories who had not liked Grinder’s observations, so they all began to shout “Owen!

” “Owen!

” “Come on ’ere.

Get up and make a speech!

” “Be a man!

” and so on.

Several of those who had been loudest in applauding Grinder also joined in the demand that Owen should make a speech, because they were certain that Grinder and the other gentlemen would be able to dispose of all his arguments; but Owen and the other Socialists made no response except to laugh, so presently Crass tied a white handkerchief on a cane walking-stick that belonged to Mr Didlum, and stuck it in the vase of flowers that stood on the end of the table where the Socialist group were sitting.

When the noise had in some measure ceased, Grinder again rose.

“When I made the few remarks that I did, I didn’t know as there was any Socialists ’ere: I could tell from the look of you that most of you had more sense.

At the same time I’m rather glad I said what I did, because it just shows you what sort of chaps these Socialists are.

They’re pretty artful—they know when to talk and when to keep their mouths shut.

What they like is to get hold of a few ignorant workin’ men in a workshop or a public house, and then they can talk by the mile—reg’ler shop lawyers, you know wot I mean—I’m right and everybody else is wrong.

(Laughter.

) You know the sort of thing I mean.

When they finds theirselves in the company of edicated people wot knows a little more than they does theirselves, and who isn’t likely to be misled by a lot of claptrap, why then, mum’s the word.

So next time you hears any of these shop lawyers’ arguments, you’ll know how much it’s worth.

” Most of the men were delighted with this speech, which was received with much laughing and knocking on the tables.

They remarked to each other that Grinder was a smart man: he’d got the Socialists weighed up just about right—to an ounce.

Then, it was seen that Barrington was on his feet facing Grinder and a sudden, awe-filled silence fell.

“It may or may not be true,” began Barrington, “that Socialists always know when to speak and when to keep silent, but the present occasion hardly seemed a suitable one to discuss such subjects.

“We are here today as friends and want to forget our differences and enjoy ourselves for a few hours.

But after what Mr Grinder has said I am quite ready to reply to him to the best of my ability.

“The fact that I am a Socialist and that I am here today as one of Mr Rushton’s employees should be an answer to the charge that Socialists are too lazy to work for their living.

And as to taking advantage of the ignorance and simplicity of working men and trying to mislead them with nonsensical claptrap, it would have been more to the point if Mr Grinder had taken some particular Socialist doctrine and had proved it to be untrue or misleading, instead of adopting the cowardly method of making vague general charges that he cannot substantiate.

He would find it far more difficult to do that than it would be for a Socialist to show that most of what Mr Grinder himself has been telling us is nonsensical claptrap of the most misleading kind.

He tells us that the employers work with their brains and the men with their hands.

If it is true that no brains are required to do manual labour, why put idiots into imbecile asylums?

Why not let them do some of the hand work for which no brains are required?

As they are idiots, they would probably be willing to work for even less than the ideal ‘living wage’.

If Mr Grinder had ever tried, he would know that manual workers have to concentrate their minds and their attention on their work or they would not be able to do it at all.

His talk about employers being not only the masters but the ‘friends’ of their workmen is also mere claptrap because he knows as well as we do, that no matter how good or benevolent an employer may be, no matter how much he might desire to give his men good conditions, it is impossible for him to do so, because he has to compete against other employers who do not do that.

It is the bad employer—the sweating, slave-driving employer—who sets the pace and the others have to adopt the same methods—very often against their inclinations—or they would not be able to compete with him.

If any employer today were to resolve to pay his workmen not less wages than he would be able to live upon in comfort himself, that he would not require them to do more work in a day than he himself would like to perform every day of his own life, Mr Grinder knows as well as we do that such an employer would be bankrupt in a month; because he would not be able to get any work except by taking it at the same price as the sweaters and the slave-drivers.

“He also tells us that the interests of masters and men are identical;

but if an employer has a contract, it is to his interest to get the work done as soon as possible; the sooner it is done the more profit he will make; but the more quickly it is done, the sooner will the men be out of employment.

How then can it be true that their interests are identical?

“Again, let us suppose that an employer is, say, thirty years of age when he commences business, and that he carries it on for twenty years.

Let us assume that he employs forty men more or less regularly during that period and that the average age of these men is also thirty years at the time the employer commences business.

At the end of the twenty years it usually happens that the employer has made enough money to enable him to live for the remainder of his life in ease and comfort.

But what about the workman?

All through those twenty years they have earned but a bare living wage and have had to endure such privations that those who are not already dead are broken in health.

“In the case of the employer there had been twenty years of steady progress towards ease and leisure and independence.

In the case of the majority of the men there were twenty years of deterioration, twenty years of steady, continuous and hopeless progress towards physical and mental inefficiency: towards the scrap-heap, the work-house, and premature death.

What is it but false, misleading, nonsensical claptrap to say that their interests were identical with those of their employer?

“Such talk as that is not likely to deceive any but children or fools.

We are not children, but it is very evident that Mr Grinder thinks that we are fools.

“Occasionally it happens, through one or more of a hundred different circumstances over which he has no control, or through some error of judgement, that after many years of laborious mental work an employer is overtaken by misfortune, and finds himself no better and even worse off than when he started; but these are exceptional cases, and even if he becomes absolutely bankrupt he is no worse off than the majority of the workmen.

“At the same time it is quite true that the real interests of employers and workmen are the same, but not in the sense that Mr Grinder would have us believe.

Under the existing system of society but a very few people, no matter how well off they may be, can be certain that they or their children will not eventually come to want; and even those who think they are secure themselves, find their happiness diminished by the knowledge of the poverty and misery that surrounds them on every side.

“In that sense only is it true that the interests of masters and men are identical, for it is to the interest of all, both rich and poor, to help to destroy a system that inflicts suffering upon the many and allows true happiness to none.

It is to the interest of all to try and find a better way.

” Here Crass jumped up and interrupted, shouting out that they hadn’t come there to listen to a lot of speechmaking—a remark that was greeted with unbounded applause by most of those present.

Loud cries of “Hear, hear!

” resounded through the room, and the Semi-drunk suggested that someone should sing a song.

The men who had clamoured for a speech from Owen said nothing, and Mr Grinder, who had been feeling rather uncomfortable, was secretly very glad of the interruption.

The Semi-drunk’s suggestion that someone should sing a song was received with unqualified approbation by everybody, including Barrington and the other Socialists, who desired nothing better than that the time should be passed in a manner suitable to the occasion.

The landlord’s daughter, a rosy girl of about twenty years of age, in a pink print dress, sat down at the piano, and the Semi-drunk, taking his place at the side of the instrument and facing the audience, sang the first song with appropriate gestures, the chorus being rendered enthusiastically by the full strength of the company, including Misery, who by this time was slightly drunk from drinking gin and ginger beer: “Come, come, come an’ ’ave a drink with me Down by the ole Bull and Bush.

Come, come, come an’ shake ’ands with me Down by the ole Bull and Bush.

Wot cheer me little Germin band!

Fol the diddle di do!

Come an’ take ’old of me ’and Come, come, come an’ ’ave a drink with me, Down by the old Bull and Bush, Bush!

Bush!

” Protracted knocking on the tables greeted the end of the song, but as the Semi-drunk knew no other except odd verses and choruses, he called upon Crass for the next, and that gentleman accordingly sang “Work, Boys, Work” to the tune of “Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching”.

As this song is the Marseillaise of the Tariff Reform Party, voicing as it does the highest ideals of the Tory workmen of this country, it was an unqualified success, for most of them were Conservatives.

“Now I’m not a wealthy man, But I lives upon a plan Wot will render me as ’appy as a King;

An’ if you will allow, I’ll sing it to you now, For time you know is always on the wing.

Work, boys, work and be contented So long as you’ve enough to buy a meal.

For if you will but try, you’ll be wealthy—bye and bye— If you’ll only put yer shoulder to the wheel.

” “Altogether, boys,” shouted Grinder, who was a strong Tariff Reformer, and was delighted to see that most of the men were of the same way of thinking; and the “boys” roared out the chorus once more: Work, boys, work and be contented So long as you’ve enough to buy a meal For if you will but try, you’ll be wealthy—bye and bye If you’ll only put your shoulder to the wheel.

As they sang the words of this noble chorus the Tories seemed to become inspired with lofty enthusiasm.

It is of course impossible to say for certain, but probably as they sang there arose before their exalted imaginations, a vision of the Past, and looking down the long vista of the years that were gone, they saw that from their childhood they had been years of poverty and joyless toil.

They saw their fathers and mothers, weaned and broken with privation and excessive labour, sinking unhonoured into the welcome oblivion of the grave.

And then, as a change came over the spirit of their dream, they saw the Future, with their own children travelling along the same weary road to the same kind of goal.

It is possible that visions of this character were conjured up in their minds by the singing, for the words of the song gave expression to their ideal of what human life should be.

That was all they wanted—to be allowed to work like brutes for the benefit of other people.

They did not want to be civilized themselves and they intended to take good care that the children they had brought into the world should never enjoy the benefits of civilization either.

As they often said: “Who and what are our children that they shouldn’t be made to work for their betters?

They’re not Gentry’s children, are they?

The good things of life was never meant for the likes of them.

Let ’em work!

That’s wot the likes of them was made for, and if we can only get Tariff Reform for ’em they will always be sure of plenty of it—not only Full Time, but Overtime!

As for edication, travellin’ in furrin’ parts, an’ enjoying life an’ all sich things as that, they was never meant for the likes of our children—they’re meant for Gentry’s children!

Our children is only like so much dirt compared with Gentry’s children!

That’s wot the likes of us is made for—to Work for Gentry, so as they can ’ave plenty of time to enjoy theirselves; and the Gentry is made to ’ave a good time so as the likes of us can ’ave Plenty of Work.

” There were several more verses, and by the time they had sung them all, the Tories were in a state of wild enthusiasm.

Even Ned Dawson, who had fallen asleep with his head pillowed on his arms on the table, roused himself up at the end of each verse, and after having joined in the chorus, went to sleep again.

At the end of the song they gave three cheers for Tariff Reform and Plenty of Work, and then Crass, who, as the singer of the last song, had the right to call upon the next man, nominated Philpot, who received an ovation when he stood up, for he was a general favourite.

He never did no harm to nobody, and he was always wiling to do anyone a good turn whenever he had the opportunity.

Shouts of “Good old Joe” resounded through the room as he crossed over to the piano, and in response to numerous requests for “The old song” he began to sing “The Flower Show”: “Whilst walkin’ out the other night, not knowing where to go I saw a bill upon a wall about a Flower Show.

So I thought the flowers I’d go and see to pass away the night.

And when I got into that Show it was a curious sight.

So with your kind intention and a little of your aid, Tonight some flowers I’ll mention which I hope will never fade.

” Omnes: To-night some flowers I’ll mention which I hope will never fade.

” There were several more verses, from which it appeared that the principal flowers in the Show were the Rose, the Thistle and the Shamrock.

When he had finished, the applause was so deafening and the demands for an encore so persistent that to satisfy them he sang another old favourite—“Won’t you buy my pretty flowers?

” “Ever coming, ever going, Men and women hurry by, Heedless of the tear-drops gleaming, In her sad and wistful eye How her little heart is sighing Thro’ the cold and dreary hours, Only listen to her crying, ‘Won’t you buy my pretty flowers?

’” When the last verse of this song had been sung five er six times, Philpot exercised his right of nominating the next singer, and called upon Dick Wantley, who with many suggestive gestures and grimaces sang “Put me amongst the girls”, and afterwards called upon Payne, the foreman carpenter, who gave “I’m the Marquis of Camberwell Green”.

There was a lot of what music-hall artists call “business” attached to his song, and as he proceeded, Payne, who was ghastly pale and very nervous, went through a lot of galvanic motions and gestures, bowing and scraping and sliding about and flourishing his handkerchief in imitation of the courtly graces of the Marquis.

During this performance the audience maintained an appalling silence, which so embarrassed Payne that before he was half-way through the song he had to stop because he could not remember the rest.

However, to make up for this failure he sang another called “We all must die, like the fire in the grate”.

This also was received in a very lukewarm manner by the crowd, some of whom laughed and others suggested that if he couldn’t sing any better than that, the sooner _he_ was dead the better.

This was followed by another Tory ballad, the chorus being as follows: “His clothes may be ragged, his hands may be soiled.

But where’s the disgrace if for bread he has toiled.

His “art is in the right place, deny it no one can The backbone of Old England is the honest workin’ man.

” After a few more songs it was decided to adjourn to a field at the rear of the tavern to have a game of cricket.

Sides were formed, Rushton, Didlum, Grinder, and the other gentlemen taking part just as if they were only common people, and while the game was in progress the rest played ring quoits or reclined on the grass watching the players, whilst the remainder amused themselves drinking beer and playing cards and shove-ha’penny in the bar parlour, or taking walks around the village sampling the beer at the other pubs, of which there were three.

The time passed in this manner until seven o’clock, the hour at which it had been arranged to start on the return journey; but about a quarter of an hour before they set out an unpleasant incident occurred.

During the time that they were playing cricket a party of glee singers, consisting of four young girls and five men, three of whom were young fellows, the other two being rather elderly, possibly the fathers of some of the younger members of the party, came into the field and sang several part songs for their entertainment.

Towards the close of the game most of the men had assembled in this field, and during a pause in the singing the musicians sent one of their number, a shy girl about eighteen years of age—who seemed as if she would rather that someone else had the task—amongst the crowd to make a collection.

The girl was very nervous and blushed as she murmured her request, and held out a straw hat that evidently belonged to one of the male members of the glee party.

A few of the men gave pennies, some refused or pretended not to see either the girl or the hat, others offered to give her some money for a kiss, but what caused the trouble was that two or three of those who had been drinking more than was good for them dropped the still burning ends of their cigars, all wet with saliva as they were, into the hat and Dick Wantley spit into it.

The girl hastily returned to her companions, and as she went some of the men who had witnessed the behaviour of those who had insulted her, advised them to make themselves scarce, as they stood a good chance of getting a thrashing from the girl’s friends.

They said it would serve them dam’ well right if they did get a hammering.

Partly sobered by fear, the three culprits sneaked off and hid themselves, pale and trembling with terror, under the box seats of the three brakes.

They had scarcely left when the men of the glee party came running up, furiously demanding to see those who had insulted the girl.

As they could get no satisfactory answer, one of their number ran back and presently returned, bringing the girl with him, the other young women following a little way behind.

She said she could not see the men they were looking for, so they went down to the public house to see if they could find them there, some of Rushton’s men accompanying them and protesting their indignation.

The time passed quickly enough and by half past seven the brakes were loaded up again and a start made for the return journey.

They called at all the taverns on the road, and by the time they reached the Blue Lion half of them were three sheets in the wind, and five or six were very drunk, including the driver of Crass’s brake and the man with the bugle.

The latter was so far gone that they had to let him lie down in the bottom of the carriage amongst their feet, where he fell asleep, while the others amused themselves by blowing weird shrieks out of the horn.

There was an automatic penny-in-the-slot piano at the Blue Lion and as that was the last house of the road they made a rather long stop there, playing hooks and rings, shove-ha’penny, drinking, singing, dancing and finally quarrelling.

Several of them seemed disposed to quarrel with Newman.

All sorts of offensive remarks were made at him in his hearing.

Once someone ostentatiously knocked his glass of lemonade over, and a little later someone else collided violently with him just as he was in the act of drinking, causing his lemonade to spill all over his clothes.

The worst of it was that most of these rowdy ones were his fellow passengers in Crass’s brake, and there was not much chance of getting a seat in either of the other carriages, for they were overcrowded already.

From the remarks he overheard from time to time, Newman guessed the reason of their hostility, and as their manner towards him grew more menacing, he became so nervous that he began to think of quietly sneaking off and walking the remainder of the way home by himself, unless he could get somebody in one of the other brakes to change seats with him.

Whilst these thoughts were agitating his mind, Dick Wantley suddenly shouted out that he was going to go for the dirty tyke who had offered to work under price last winter.

It was his fault that they were all working for sixpence halfpenny and he was going to wipe the floor with him.

Some of his friends eagerly offered to assist, but others interposed, and for a time it looked as if there was going to be a free fight, the aggressors struggling hard to get at their inoffensive victim.

Eventually, however, Newman found a seat in Misery’s brake, squatting on the floor with his back to the horses, thankful enough to be out of reach of the drunken savages, who were now roaring out ribald songs and startling the countryside, as they drove along, with unearthly blasts on the coach horn.

Meantime, although none of them seemed to notice it, the brake was travelling at a furious rate, and swaying about from side to side in a very erratic manner.

It would have been the last carriage, but things had got a bit mixed at the Blue Lion and, instead of bringing up the rear of the procession, it was now second, just behind the small vehicle containing Rushton and his friends.

Crass several times reminded them that the other carriage was so near that Rushton must be able to hear every word that was said, and these repeated admonitions at length enraged the Semi-drunk, who shouted out that they didn’t care a b—r if he could hear.

Who the bloody hell was he?

To hell with him!

“Damn Rushton, and you too!

” cried Bill Bates, addressing Crass.

“You’re only a dirty toe-rag!

That’s all you are—a bloody rotter!

That’s the only reason you gets put in charge of jobs—’cos you’re a good nigger-driver!

You’re a bloody sight worse than Rushton or Misery either!

Who was it started the one-man, one-room dodge, eh?

Why, you, yer bleeder!

” “Knock ’im orf ’is bleedin’ perch,” suggested Bundy.

Everybody seemed to think this was a very good idea, but when the Semi-drunk attempted to rise for the purpose of carrying it out, he was thrown down by a sudden lurch of the carriage on the top of the prostrate figure of the bugle man and by the time the others had assisted him back to his seat they had forgotten all about their plan of getting rid of Crass.

Meantime the speed of the vehicle had increased to a fearful rate.

Rushton and the other occupants of the little wagonette in front had been for some time shouting to them to moderate the pace of their horses, but as the driver of Crass’s brake was too drunk to understand what they said he took no notice, and they had no alternative but to increase their own speed to avoid being run down.

The drunken driver now began to imagine that they were trying to race him, and became fired with the determination to pass them.

It was a very narrow road, but there was just about room to do it, and he had sufficient confidence in his own skill with the ribbons to believe that he could get past in safety.

The terrified gesticulations and the shouts of Rushton’s party only served to infuriate him, because he imagined that they were jeering at him for not being able to overtake them.

He stood up on the footboard and lashed the horses till they almost flew over the ground, while the carriage swayed and skidded in a fearful manner.

In front, the horses of Rushton’s conveyance were also galloping at top speed, the vehicle bounding and reeling from one side of the road to the other, whilst its terrified occupants, whose faces were blanched with apprehension, sat clinging to their seats and to each other, their eyes projecting from the sockets as they gazed back with terror at their pursuers, some of whom were encouraging the drunken driver with promises of quarts of beer, and urging on the horses with curses and yells.

Crass’s fat face was pallid with fear as he clung trembling to his seat.

Another man, very drunk and oblivious of everything, was leaning over the side of the brake, spewing into the road, while the remainder, taking no interest in the race, amused themselves by singing—conducted by the Semi-drunk—as loud as they could roar: “Has anyone seen a Germin band, Germin Band, Germin Band?

I’ve been lookin’ about, Pom—Pom, Pom, Pom, Pom!

“I’ve searched every pub, both near and far, Near and far, near and far, I want my Fritz, What plays tiddley bits On the big trombone!

” The other two brakes had fallen far behind.

The one presided over by Hunter contained a mournful crew.

Nimrod himself, from the effects of numerous drinks of ginger beer with secret dashes of gin in it, had become at length crying drunk, and sat weeping in gloomy silence beside the driver, a picture of lachrymose misery and but dimly conscious of his surroundings, and Slyme, who rode with Hunter because he was a fellow member of the Shining Light Chapel.

Then there was another paperhanger—an unhappy wretch who was afflicted with religious mania;

he had brought a lot of tracts with him which he had distributed to the other men, to the villagers of Tubberton and to anybody else who would take them.

Most of the other men who rode in Nimrod’s brake were of the “religious” working man type.

Ignorant, shallow-pated dolts, without as much intellectuality as an average cat.

Attendants at various PSAs and “Church Mission Halls” who went every Sunday afternoon to be lectured on their duty to their betters and to have their minds—save the mark!

—addled and stultified by such persons as Rushton, Sweater, Didlum and Grinder, not to mention such mental specialists as the holy reverend Belchers and Boshers, and such persons as John Starr.

At these meetings none of the “respectable” working men were allowed to ask any questions, or to object to, or find fault with anything that was said, or to argue, or discuss, or criticize.

They had to sit there like a lot of children while they were lectured and preached at and patronized.

Even as sheep before their shearers are dumb, so they were not permitted to open their mouths.

For that matter they did not wish to be allowed to ask any questions, or to discuss anything.

They would not have been able to.

They sat there and listened to what was said, but they had but a very hazy conception of what it was all about.

Most of them belonged to these PSAs merely for the sake of the loaves and fishes.

Every now and then they were awarded prizes—Self-help by Smiles, and other books suitable for perusal by persons suffering from almost complete obliteration of the mental faculties.

Besides other benefits there was usually a Christmas Club attached to the “PSA” or “Mission” and the things were sold to the members slightly below cost as a reward for their servility.

They were for the most part tame, broken-spirited, poor wretches who contentedly resigned themselves to a life of miserable toil and poverty, and with callous indifference abandoned their offspring to the same fate.

Compared with such as these, the savages of New Guinea or the Red Indians are immensely higher in the scale of manhood.

They are free!

They call no man master; and if they do not enjoy the benefits of science and civilization, neither do they toil to create those things for the benefit of others.

And as for their children—most of those savages would rather knock them on the head with a tomahawk than allow them to grow up to be half-starved drudges for other men.

But these were not free: their servile lives were spent in grovelling and cringing and toiling and running about like little dogs at the behest of their numerous masters.

And as for the benefits of science and civilization, their only share was to work and help to make them, and then to watch other men enjoy them.

And all the time they were tame and quiet and content and said, “The likes of us can’t expect to ’ave nothing better, and as for our children wot’s been good enough for us is good enough for the likes of them.

” But although they were so religious and respectable and so contented to be robbed on a large scale, yet in small matters, in the commonplace and petty affairs of their everyday existence, most of these men were acutely alive to what their enfeebled minds conceived to be their own selfish interests, and they possessed a large share of that singular cunning which characterizes this form of dementia.

That was why they had chosen to ride in Nimrod’s brake—because they wished to chum up with him as much as possible, in order to increase their chances of being kept on in preference to others who were not so respectable.

Some of these poor creatures had very large heads, but a close examination would have shown that the size was due to the extraordinary thickness of the bones.

The cavity of the skull was not so large as the outward appearance of the head would have led a casual observer to suppose, and even in those instances where the brain was of a fair size, it was of inferior quality, being coarse in texture and to a great extent composed of fat.

Although most of them were regular attendants at some place of so-called worship, they were not all teetotallers, and some of them were now in different stages of intoxication, not because they had had a great deal to drink, but because—being usually abstemious—it did not take very much to make them drunk.

From time to time this miserable crew tried to enliven the journey by singing, but as most of them only knew odd choruses it did not come to much.

As for the few who did happen to know all the words of a song, they either had no voices or were not inclined to sing.

The most successful contribution was that of the religious maniac, who sang several hymns, the choruses being joined in by everybody, both drunk and sober.

The strains of these hymns, wafted back through the balmy air to the last coach, were the cause of much hilarity to its occupants who also sang the choruses.

As they had all been brought up under “Christian” influences and educated in “Christian” schools, they all knew the words: “Work, for the night is coming”, “Turn poor Sinner and escape Eternal Fire”, “Pull for the Shore” and “Where is my Wandering Boy?

” The last reminded Harlow of a song he knew nearly all the words of, “Take the news to Mother”, the singing of which was much appreciated by all present and when it was finished they sang it all over again, Philpot being so affected that he actually shed tears; and Easton confided to Owen that there was no getting away from the fact that a boy’s best friend is his mother.

In this last carriage, as in the other two, there were several men who were more or less intoxicated and for the same reason—because not being used to taking much liquor, the few extra glasses they had drunk had got into their heads.

They were as sober a lot of fellows as need be at ordinary times, and they had flocked together in this brake because they were all of about the same character—not tame, contented imbeciles like most of those in Misery’s carnage, but men something like Harlow, who, although dissatisfied with their condition, doggedly continued the hopeless, weary struggle against their fate.

They were not teetotallers and they never went to either church or chapel, but they spent little in drink or on any form of enjoyment—an occasional glass of beer or a still rarer visit to a music-hall and now and then an outing more or less similar to this being the sum total of their pleasures.

These four brakes might fitly be regarded as so many travelling lunatic asylums, the inmates of each exhibiting different degrees and forms of mental disorder.

The occupants of the first—Rushton, Didlum and Co. —might be classed as criminal lunatics who injured others as well as themselves.

In a properly constituted system of society such men as these would be regarded as a danger to the community, and would be placed under such restraint as would effectually prevent them from harming themselves or others.

These wretches had abandoned every thought and thing that tends to the elevation of humanity.

They had given up everything that makes life good and beautiful, in order to carry on a mad struggle to acquire money which they would never be sufficiently cultured to properly enjoy.

Deaf and blind to every other consideration, to this end they had degraded their intellects by concentrating them upon the minutest details of expense and profit, and for their reward they raked in their harvest of muck and lucre along with the hatred and curses of those they injured in the process.

They knew that the money they accumulated was foul with the sweat of their brother men, and wet with the tears of little children, but they were deaf and blind and callous to the consequences of their greed.

Devoid of every ennobling thought or aspiration, they grovelled on the filthy ground, tearing up the flowers to get at the worms.

In the coach presided over by Crass, Bill Bates, the Semi-drunk and the other two or three habitual boozers were all men who had been driven mad by their environment.

At one time most of them had been fellows like Harlow, working early and late whenever they got the chance, only to see their earnings swallowed up in a few minutes every Saturday by the landlord and all the other host of harpies and profitmongers, who were waiting to demand it as soon as it was earned.

In the years that were gone, most of these men used to take all their money home religiously every Saturday and give it to the “old girl” for the house, and then, lo and behold, in a moment, yea, even in the twinkling of an eye, it was all gone!

Melted away like snow in the sun!

and nothing to show for it except an insufficiency of the bare necessaries of life!

But after a time they had become heartbroken and sick and tired of that sort of thing.

They hankered after a little pleasure, a little excitement, a little fun, and they found that it was possible to buy something like those in quart pots at the pub.

They knew they were not the genuine articles, but they were better than nothing at all, and so they gave up the practice of giving all their money to the old girl to give to the landlord and the other harpies, and bought beer with some of it instead; and after a time their minds became so disordered from drinking so much of this beer, that they cared nothing whether the rent was paid or not.

They cared but little whether the old girl and the children had food or clothes.

They said, “To hell with everything and everyone,” and they cared for nothing so long as they could get plenty of beer.

The occupants of Nimrod’s coach have already been described and most of them may correctly be classed as being similar to cretin idiots of the third degree—very cunning and selfish, and able to read and write, but with very little understanding of what they read except on the most common topics.

As for those who rode with Harlow in the last coach, most of them, as has been already intimated, were men of similar character to himself.

The greater number of them fairly good workmen and—unlike the boozers in Crass’s coach—not yet quite heartbroken, but still continuing the hopeless struggle against poverty.

These differed from Nimrod’s lot inasmuch as they were not content.

They were always complaining of their wretched circumstances, and found a certain kind of pleasure in listening to the tirades of the Socialists against the existing social conditions, and professing their concurrence with many of the sentiments expressed, and a desire to bring about a better state of affairs.

Most of them appeared to be quite sane, being able to converse intelligently on any ordinary subject without discovering any symptoms of mental disorder, and it was not until the topic of Parliamentary elections was mentioned that evidence of their insanity was forthcoming.

It then almost invariably appeared that they were subject to the most extraordinary hallucinations and extravagant delusions, the commonest being that the best thing that the working people could do to bring about an improvement in their condition, was to continue to elect their Liberal and Tory employers to make laws for and to rule over them!

At such times, if anyone ventured to point out to them that that was what they had been doing all their lives, and referred them to the manifold evidences that met them wherever they turned their eyes of its folly and futility, they were generally immediately seized with a paroxysm of the most furious mania, and were with difficulty prevented from savagely assaulting those who differed from them.

They were usually found in a similar condition of maniacal excitement for some time preceding and during a Parliamentary election, but afterwards they usually manifested that modification of insanity which is called melancholia.

In fact they alternated between these two forms of the disease.

During elections, the highest state of exalted mania;

and at ordinary times—presumably as a result of reading about the proceedings in Parliament of the persons whom they had elected—in a state of melancholic depression, in their case an instance of hope deferred making the heart sick.

This condition occasionally proved to be the stage of transition into yet another modification of the disease—that known as dipsomania, the phase exhibited by Bill Bates and the Semi-drunk.

Yet another form of insanity was that shown by the Socialists.

Like most of their fellow passengers in the last coach, the majority of these individuals appeared to be of perfectly sound mind.

Upon entering into conversation with them one found that they reasoned correctly and even brilliantly.

They had divided their favourite subject into three parts.

First; an exact definition of the condition known as Poverty.

Secondly; a knowledge of the causes of Poverty; and thirdly, a rational plan for the cure of Poverty.

Those who were opposed to them always failed to refute their arguments, and feared, and nearly always refused, to meet them in fair fight—in open debate—preferring to use the cowardly and despicable weapons of slander and misrepresentation.

The fact that these Socialists never encountered their opponents except to defeat them, was a powerful testimony to the accuracy of their reasonings and the correctness of their conclusions—and yet they were undoubtedly mad.

One might converse with them for an indefinite time on the three divisions of their subject without eliciting any proofs of insanity, but directly one inquired what means they proposed to employ in order to bring about the adoption of their plan, they replied that they hoped to do so by reasoning with the others!

Although they had sense enough to understand the real causes of poverty, and the only cure for poverty, they were nevertheless so foolish that they entertained the delusion that it is possible to reason with demented persons, whereas every sane person knows that to reason with a maniac is not only fruitless, but rather tends to fix more deeply the erroneous impressions of his disordered mind.

The wagonette containing Rushton and his friends continued to fly over the road, pursued by the one in which rode Crass, Bill Bates, and the Semi-drunk; but notwithstanding all the efforts of the drunken driver, they were unable to overtake or pass the smaller vehicle, and when they reached the foot of the hill that led up to Windley the distance between the two carriages rapidly increased, and the race was reluctantly abandoned.

When they reached the top of the hill Rushton and his friends did not wait for the others, but drove off towards Mugsborough as fast as they could.

Crass’s brake was the next to arrive at the summit, and they halted there to wait for the other two conveyances and when they came up all those who lived nearby got out, and some of them sang “God Save the King”, and then with shouts of “Good Night”, and cries of “Don’t forget six o’clock Monday morning”, they dispersed to their homes and the carriages moved off once more.

At intervals as they passed through Windley brief stoppages were made in order to enable others to get out, and by the time they reached the top of the long incline that led down into Mugsborough it was nearly twelve o’clock and the brakes were almost empty, the only passengers being Owen and four or five others who lived down town.

By ones and twos these also departed, disappearing into the obscurity of the night, until there was none left, and the Beano was an event of the past.