The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists Part 53

'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 Cra.s.s 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 circ.u.mstances,' 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 G.o.d, 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 ma.s.ses 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 Cra.s.s 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 Cra.s.s's whistle had scarcely ceased to sound before they all a.s.sembled 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 d.i.c.k 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 Cra.s.s to cover it over with a sack and not to let n.o.body 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 b.l.o.o.d.y '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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 ma.s.sive curtain cornishes over the drawing- and dining-room winders--gilded solid!

Why, nowadays they'd want all the b.l.o.o.d.y '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 Cra.s.s with a jeering laugh. ''E knows all about wot's the cause of poverty, but 'e won't tell n.o.body. 'E's been GOIN' to tell us wot it is for a long time past, but it don't seem to come orf.'

Cra.s.s 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.'

The others laughed.

When Philpot had finished eating his dinner he went out of the kitchen and presently returned with a small pair of steps, which he opened and placed in a corner of the room, with the back of the steps facing the audience.

'There you are, me son!' he exclaimed to Owen. 'There's a pulpit for yer.'

'Yes! come on 'ere!' cried Cra.s.s, feeling in his waistcoat pocket for the cutting. 'Tell us wot's the real cause of poverty.'