 Chapter 54 The End The following evening Barrington called at Owen's place. He said he was going home for the holidays and had come to say good-bye for a time. Owen had not been doing very well during these last few months, although he was one of the few lucky ones who had had some small share of work. Most of the money he earned went for rent, to pay which they had often to go short of food. Lately his chest had become so bad that the slightest exertion brought on fits of coughing and breathlessness, which made it almost impossible to work even when he had the opportunity. Often it was only by an almost superhuman effort of will that he was able to continue working at all. He could try to keep up appearances to a certain extent before Rushden, who, although he knew that Owen was not so strong as the other men, was inclined to overlook it as long as he was able to do his share of work, for Owen was a very useful hand when things were busy. But lately some of the men with whom he worked began to manifest dissatisfaction at having him for a mate. When two men are working together the master expects to see two men's work done, and if one of the two is not able to do his share it makes it all the harder for the other. He never had the money to go to the doctor to get advice, but earlier in the winter he had obtained from Rushden a ticket for the local hospital. Every Saturday throughout the year when the men were paid they were expected to put a penny or two pens in the hospital box. Contributions were obtained in this way from every firm and workshop in the town. The masters periodically handed these boxes over to the hospital authorities, and received in return some tickets which they gave to anyone who needed and asked for them. The employer had to fill in the ticket or application form with the name and address of the applicant, and to certify that in his opinion the individual was a deserving case, suitable to receive this charity. In common with the majority of workmen, Owen had a sort of horror of going for advice to this hospital, but he was so ill that he stifled his pride and went. It happened that it turned out to be more expensive than going to a private doctor, for he had to be at the hospital at a certain hour on a particular morning. To do this he had to stay away from work. The medicine they prescribed and which he had to buy did him no good, for the truth was that it was not medicine that he, like thousands of others needed, but proper conditions of life and proper food, things that had been for years past as much out of his reach as if he had been dying alone in the middle of a desert. Occasionally Nora contrived by going without some other necessary, to buy him a bottle of one of the many much advertised medicines, but although some of these things were good, she was not able to buy enough for him to derive any benefit from them. Although he was often seized with the kind of terror of the future, of being unable to work, he fought against these feelings and tried to believe that when the weather became warmer he would be all right once more. When Barrington came in, Owen was sitting in the deck-chair by the fire and the sitting-room. He had been to work that day with Harlow, washing off the ceilings and stripping the old paper off the walls of two rooms in Rushton's home, and he looked very haggard and exhausted. I had never told you before, said Barrington after they had been talking for a while, but I suppose you have guessed that I did not work for Rushton because I needed to do so in order to live. I just wanted to see things for myself, to see life as it is lived by the majority. My father is a wealthy man, he doesn't approve of my opinions, but at the same time he does not interfere with me for holding them, and I have a fairly liberal allowance which I spend in my own way. I'm going to pass Christmas with my own people, but in the spring I intend to fit out a socialist van, and then I shall come back here. We'll have some of the best speakers in the movement, we'll hold meetings every night, we'll drench the town with literature, and we'll start a branch of the party. Owen's eye kindled and his face flushed. I shall be able to do something to advertise the meetings, he said. For instance, I could paint some posters, and placards. And I can help give away hand-bills, chimed in Frankie looking up from the floor where he was seated working the railway. I know a lot of boys who come along with me and put them under the doors as well. They were in the sitting-room, and the door was shut. Mrs. Owen was in the next room with Ruth. While the two men were talking, the front doorbell was heard to ring and Frankie ran out to see who it was, closing the door after him. Barrington and Owen continued their conversation, and from time to time they could hear a low murmur of voices from the adjoining-room. After a little while they heard some one go out by the front door, and almost immediately outward Frankie, wild with excitement, burst into the room, crying out, Dad! Mr. Barrington! Three cheers! And he began cabering gleefully about the room evidently transported with joy. While they did cheers to be far, inquired Barrington, rather mystified by this extraordinary conduct, Mr. Easton came with Freddie to see Mrs. Easton, and she's gone home again with them, replied Freddie, and she's given the baby to us for a Christmas box. Barrington was already familiar with the fact of Easton's separation from his wife, and Owen now told him the story of their reconciliation. Easton took his leave shortly afterwards, his train left at eight, and it was already nearly half-past seven, and he said that he had a letter to write. Nora brought the baby in to show him before he went, and then she helped Frankie to put on his overcoat, for Barrington had requested that the boy might be permitted to go a little way with him. There was a stafener shop at the end of the street. He went in here, and he bought a sheet of note-paper and an envelope, and, having borrowed the pen and ink, wrote a letter which he enclosed in the envelope with the other two pieces that he took from his notebook. Having addressed this letter, he came out of the shop. Frankie was waiting for him outside. He gave the letter to the boy. I want you to take this straight home and give it to your dad. I don't want you to stop, or play, or even to speak to anyone till you get home. All right, replied Frankie, I won't stop running all the way. Barrington hesitated and looked at his watch. I think I have time to go back with you as far as your front door, he said. Then I shall be quite sure you haven't lost it. They accordingly retraced their steps, and in a few minutes reached the entrance to the house. Barrington opened the door and stood for a moment in the hall, watching Frankie ascend the stairs. Will your train cross over the bridge? inquired the boy, pausing and looking over the banisters. Yes, why? Because we can see the bridge from our front-room window, and if you were to wave your handkerchief as the train goes over the bridge, we could wave back. All right, I'll do so. Goodbye. Goodbye. Barrington waited till he heard Frankie open and close the door of Owen's flat, and then he hurried away. When he gained the main road he heard the sound of singing and saw a crowd at the corner of one of the side streets, and as he drew near he perceived that it was a religious meeting. There was a lighted lamp on a standard in the centre of the crowd, and on the glass of the lamp was painted. Be not deceived, God is not mocked. Mr. Rushton was preaching in the centre of the ring. He said that they had come out there that evening to tell the glad titans of the great joy to all those people that he saw standing around. The members of the shining light chapel to which he himself belonged was the organisers of that meeting, but it was not a sectarian meeting, for he was happy to say that several members of other denominations was there cooperating with him in the good work, and as he continued his address Rushton repeatedly referred to the individuals who composed the crowd as his brothers and sisters, and, strange to say, nobody laughed. Barrington looked round upon the brothers. Mr. Sweater resplendent in a new silk hat of the latest fashion, and a fur-trimmed overcoat. The reverent Mr. Bosher, vicar of the Church of the Whited Sepulchre. Mr. Grinder, one of the church wardens at the same place of alleged worship, both dressed in broadcloth and fine linen and glossy black hats, while their general appearance testified to the fact that they had fared sumptuously for many days. Mr. Didlem, Mrs. Starvam, Mr. Dobber, Mr. Bodgett, Mr. Smyroton, and Mr. Levitt. And in the midst was the reverent John Star, doing the work for which he was paid. As he stood there in the forefront of this company, there was nothing in a refined and comely exterior to indicate that his real function was to pander to and to flatter them, to invest with the narrow respectability and rectitude the abominably selfish lives of the gang of swindlers, slave-drivers, and petty tyrants who formed the majority of the congregation of the shining light chapel. He was doing the work for which he was paid by the mere fact of his presence there condoning and justifying the crimes of these typical representatives of that despicable class whose greed and inhumanity have made the earth into a hell. There was also a number of respectable, well-dressed people who looked as if they could do with a good meal, and a couple of shabbily-dressed, poverty-stricken-looking individuals who seemed rather out of place in the glittering throng. The remainder of the brothers consisted of half-starved, pale-faced working men and women, most of them dressed in other people's cast-off clothing, and with broken, patched-up leaky boots on their feet. Rushden, having concluded his address, didlem stepped forward to give out the words of the hymn the former had quoted at the conclusion of his remarks, O come and join this holy band, and on to glory go. Strange and incredible as it may appear to the listener, although none of them ever did any of these things, Jesus said. The people who were conducting this meeting had the effrontery to claim to be the followers of Christ, Christians. Jesus said, Lay not up for yourselves treasure upon earth, love not the world, nor the things of the world, woe unto you that are rich, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. Yet these self-styled followers of Christ made the accumulation of money to principle business of their lives. Jesus said, Be ye not called masters, for they bind heavy burdens and grievous to be born, and lay them on men's shoulders, but they themselves will not touch them with one of their fingers. For one is your master, even Christ, and ye are all brethren. But nearly all these alleged followers of the humble workman of Nazareth claim to be other people's masters or mistresses. And as for being all brethren, whilst most of those were arrayed in broad cloth and fine linen and fared sumptuously every day, they knew that all around them thousands of those old they hypocritically called their brethren, men, women, and little children, were slowly perishing of hunger and cold, and we have already seen how much brotherhood existed between sweater and rushden, and the miserable half-starred wretches in their employment. Whenever they were asked why they did not practice the things Jesus preached, they replied that it is impossible to do so. They did not seem to realize that when they said this they were saying in effect that Jesus taught an unpracticable religion, and they appeared to forget that Jesus said, Wherefore ye called me Lord, Lord, when ye do not do the things I say, whosoever heareth these things of mine, and doeth them not, shall be likened to a foolish man who built his house upon the sand. But although none of these self-styled followers of Christ ever did the things that Jesus said, they talked a great deal about them, and sang hymns, and further pretense made long prayers, and came out here to exhort those who were still in darkness to forsake their evil ways, and they procured this lantern and wrote a text upon it, Be not deceived, God is not mocked. They stigmatized as infidels all those who differed from them, forgetting that the only real infidels were those who were systematically false, and unfaithful to the master they pretended to love and serve. Grinder, having a slight cold, had not spoken this evening, but several other infidels, including sweater, didlam, washer, and star, had addressed the meeting, making a special appeal to the working people of whom the majority of the crowd was composed, to give up all the vain pleasures of the world in which they at present indulged, and, as Rushden had eloquently put it at the close of his remarks, come and join this holy band, and on to glory go. As didlam finished reading out the words, the lady at the harmonium struck up the tune of the hymns, and the disciples all joined in the singing. Oh, come and join this holy band, and on to glory go. During the singing, certain of the disciples went about amongst the crowd, distributing tracts. Presently one of them offered one to Barrington, and as the latter looked at the man, he saw that it was Slim, who also recognized him at the same instant, and greeted him by name. Barrington made no reply except to decline the tract. I don't want that from you, he said contemptuously. Slim turned red. Oh, I know what you're thinking of, he said after a pause and speaking in a injured tone. But you shouldn't judge anyone too hard. It was on my fault, and you don't know how much I've suffered for it. If it hadn't been for the Lord, I believe I should have drowned in myself. Barrington made no answer, and Slim slunk off, and when the hymn was finished, Brother Sweater stood forth and gave all those present a hearty invitation to attend the services to be held, during the ensuing week at the chapel of the Shining Light. He invited them there specially, of course, because it was the place in which he was himself connected, but he entreated and begged them that even if they would not come there, to go somewhere. There were plenty of other places of worship in the town. In fact, there was one at the corner of nearly every street. Those who did not fancy the services at the Shining Light could go to the Church of the White at Setbulker, but he really did hope that all those dear people whom he saw standing round would go somewhere. A short prayer from Bosher closed the meeting, and now the reason for the presence of the two poverty-stricken looking shabbily dressed disciples was made manifest, for while the better dressed and therefore more respectable brothers were shaking hands with and grinning at each other, or hovering round the two clergymen and Mr. Sweater, these two poor wretches carried away the harmonium and the lantern, together with the hymn books and what remained of the tracts. As Barrington hurried off to catch the train, one of the followers gave him a card which he read by the light of a street-lamp. Come and join the brotherhood at the Shining Light Chapel, PSA, every Sunday at three o'clock. Let brotherly love continue, or come and join this holy band and on to glory go. Barrington thought he would rather go to hell if there were such a place, with some decent people, than share glory with a crew like this. Nora sat sewing by the fireside in the front room, with the baby asleep in her lap. Owen was reclining in the deck-chair opposite. They had been rather silent and thoughtful since Barrington's departure. It was mainly by their efforts that the reconciliation between Easton and Ruth had been affected, and they had been so desirous of accomplishing that result that they had not given much thought to their own position. I feel I could not bear to part with her for anything now, said Nora, at last breaking the long silence, and Frankie is so fond of her too, but all the same I can't feel happy about it when I think how ill you are. Oh, I should be all right when the weather gets a little warmer, said Owen, affecting a cheerfulness he did not feel. We've always pulled through, somehow or other, and the poor little thing is not going to make much difference, and she'll be as well off with us as she would have been if Ruth had not gone back. As he spoke he leaned over and touched the hand of the sleeping child, and the little fingers clothed round one of his with a clutch that sent a thrill all through him. As he looked at the little helpless dependent creature, he realised with the kind of tankfulness that he would never have the heart to carry out the dreadful project he had sometimes entertained in the hours of despondency. We always got through, somehow or other, he repeated, and we'll do so still. Presently they heard Frankie's footsteps ascending the stairs, and a moment afterwards the boy entered the room. We had to look out the window and wave to Mr. Barrington when his train goes over the bridge, he cried breathlessly, and he sent this letter, open the window quick dad, or it may be too late. There's plenty of time yet, replied Owen, smiling at the boy's impetuosity. Nearly twenty minutes, we don't want to open the window all that time. It's only a quarter past eight by our clock now, and that's five minutes fast. However, so was to make quite certain that the train would not run past unnoticed, Frankie pulled up the blind and rubbing the steam off the glass, took up his station at the window to watch for its coming, while Owen opened the letter. Dear Owen, in close you will find two banknotes, one for ten pounds and the other for five. The first I beg you will accept from me for yourself, in the same spirit that I offer it, and as I would accept it from you if our positions were reversed. If I were in need I know that you would willingly share with me whatever you had, and I could not hurt you by refusing. The other note I want you to change tomorrow morning. Give three pounds of it to Mrs. Linden, and the remainder to Bert White's mother. Wishing you all a happy Christmas, and hoping to find you well and eager for the fray when I come back in this spring. Yours for the cause, George Barrington. Owen read it over two or three times before he could properly understand it, and then, without a word of comment, for he could not have spoken at that moment to save his life, he passed it to Nora, who felt that she read it in her turn, as if a great burden had been lifted from her heart. All the undefined terror of the future faded away, as she thought of all this small piece of paper made possible. Meanwhile Frankie at the window was straining his eyes in the direction of the station. Don't you think we'd better have the window open now, Dad? He said at last, as the clock struck eight, that the steam keeps coming on the glass as fast as I can wipe it off, and I can't see out properly. I'm sure it's nearly time now. Perhaps our clock isn't as fast as you think it is. All right, we'll have it open now, so as to be on the safe side. Said Owen as he stood up and raised the sash, and Nora, having wrapped the child up in a shawl, joined them at the window. It can't be much longer now, you know, said Frankie. The line's clear. They turned the red light off the signal just before you opened the window. In a very few minutes they heard the whistle of the locomotive as it drew out of the station. Then, an instant before the engine itself came into sight round the bend, the brightly polished rails were illuminated, shining like burnished gold in the glare of its headlight. A few seconds afterwards the train emerged into view, gathering speed as it came along the short stretch of straightway, and a moment later it thundered across the bridge. It was too far away to recognize its face, but they saw someone looking out of a carriage window waving a handkerchief, and they knew it was barring them as they waved theirs in return. Soon there remained nothing visible of the train, except the lights at the rear of the guard's van, and presently even those vanished into the surrounding darkness. The lofty window at which they were standing overlooked several of the adjacent streets and a great part of the town. On the other side of the road were several empty houses, bristling with different house agents, advertisement boards, and bills. About twenty yards away the shop formerly tenanted by Mr. Smallman, the grocer, who had become bankrupt two or three months previously, was also plastered with similar decorations. A little further on, on the opposite corner, were the premises of the monopoly provision stores, where brilliant lights were being extinguished for they, like most other shops, were closing their premises for the night, and the streets took on a more cheerless air as one after another other lights disappeared. It had been a fine day, and during the earlier part of the evening the moon, nearly at the full, had been shining in a clear and starry sky, but a strong northeast wind had sprung up within the last hour. The weather had become bitterly cold, and the stars were rapidly being concealed from view by the dense banks of cloud that were slowly accumulating overhead. As they remained at the window looking out over this scene for a few minutes after the train had passed out of sight, it seemed to own that the gathering darkness was as a curtain that concealed from view the infamy existing beyond. In every country, myriads of armed men waiting for their masters to give them the signal to fall upon and rend each other like wild beasts. All around was a state of dreadful anarchy, abundant riches, luxury, vice, hypocrisy, poverty, starvation, and crime, men literally fighting with each other for the privilege of working for their bread, and little children crying with hunger and cold and slowly perishing from want. The gloomy shadows enshrouding the streets, concealing for the time their gray and mournful air of poverty and hidden suffering, and the black masses of cloud gathering so menacingly in the tempestuous sky seemed typical of the nemesis which was overtaking the capitalist system. The atrocious system which, having attained to the fullest measure of detestable injustice and cruelty, was now fast crumbling into ruin, inevitably doomed to be overwhelmed, because it was also wicked and abominable, inevitably doomed to sink under the blight and curse of senseless and unprofitable selfishness out of existence for ever. Its memory universally executed on the board. But from these ruins was surely growing the glorious fabric of the co-operative commonwealth, mankind awakening from the long night of bondage and mourning, and rising from the dust wherein they had lain prone so long, were at last looking upward to the light that was living asunder and dissolving the dark clouds which had so long concealed from them the face of heaven, the light that will shine upon the worldwide fatherland and illumine the gilded domes and glittering pinnacles of the beautiful cities of the future where men shall dwell together in true brotherhood and goodwill and joy, the golden light that will be diffused throughout all the happy world from the rays of the risen sun of socialism. Mugsborough was a town of about eighty thousand inhabitants, about two hundred miles from London. It was built in a verdant valley. Looking west, north, or east, from the vicinity of the fountain on the grand parade in the centre of the town, one saw a succession of pine-clad hills, to the south as far as the other side of the town. The town of Mugsborough was a town of about eighty thousand inhabitants, about two hundred miles from London. It was built in a verdant succession of pine-clad hills, to the south as far as the eye could see stretched a vast cultivated plain that extended to the south coast one hundred miles away. The climate was supposed to be cool in summer and mild in winter. The town proper nestled in the valley. To the west the most beautiful and sheltered part was the suburb of Irene. Here were the homes of the wealthy residents and the prosperous trades-people and numerous boarding-houses for the accommodation of well-to-do visitors. East the town extended up the slope to the top of the hill, and down the other side to the suburb of Windley, where the majority of the working classes lived. Years ago, when the facilities for foreign travel were fewer and more costly, Mugsborough was a favourite resort of the upper classes, but of late years most of these patriots have adopted the practice of going on the continent to spend the money they obtained from the working people of England. However Mugsborough still retained some semblance of prosperity. Summer or winter the place was usually fairly full of what were called good-class visitors, either holiday-makers or invalids. The grand parade was generally crowded with well-dressed people and carriages. The shops appeared to be well patronised, and at a time of our story an air of prosperity pervaded the town. But this fair outward appearance was deceitful. The town was really a vast whited sepulcher, for notwithstanding the natural advantages of the place, the majority of the inhabitants existed in a state of perpetual poverty, which in many cases bordered on destitution. One of the reasons for this was that the great part of the incomes of the trades-people and the boarding-housekeepers and about a third of the wages of the working classes were paid away as rent and rates. For years the corporation had been borrowing money for necessary public works and improvements, and as the indebtedness of the town increased, the rates rose in proportion, because the only works and services undertaken by the council were such as did not yield revenue. Every public service capable of returning direct profit was in the hands of private companies, and the shares of the private companies were in the hands of the members of the corporation, and the members of the corporation were in the hands of the foremost able and intellectual of their members, councillors Sweater, Rushton, Didlam and Grinder, each of whom was a director of one or more of the numerous companies which battened on the town. The Tramway Company, the Waterworks Company, the Public Baths Company, the Winter Gardens Company, the Grand Hotel Company, and numerous others. There was, however, one company in which Sweater, Rushton, Didlam and Grinder had no shares, and that was the Gas Company, the oldest and most flourishing of them all. This institution had grown with the place. Most of the original promoters were dead, and the greater number of the present shareholders were non-residents. Although they lived on the town, they did not live in it. The profits made by this company were so great that, being prevented by law from paying a larger dividend than 10 percent, they frequently founded a difficult matter to decide what to do with the money. They paid the directors and principal officials, themselves shareholders, of course, enormous salaries. They built and furnished costly and luxurious offices, and gave the rest to the shareholders in the form of bonuses. There was one way in which the company might have used some of the profits. It might have granted shorter hours and higher wages to the workmen whose health was destroyed, and whose lives were shortened by the terrible labour of the retort houses and the lime sheds, but of course none of the directors or shareholders ever thought of doing that. It was not the business of the company to concern itself about them. Years ago, when it might have been done for a comparatively small amount, some harebrained socialists suggested that the town should buy the gas works, but the project was wrecked by the inhabitants, upon whom the mere mention of the word socialist had the same effect that the sight of a red rag is popularly supposed to have on a bull. Of course, even now it is still possible to buy out the company, but it was supposed that it would cost so much that it was generally considered to be impracticable. Although the decline to buy the gas works, the people of Mugsborough had to buy the gas. The amount paid by the municipality to the company for the public lighting of the town loomed large in the accounts of the council. They managed to get some of their own back by imposing a duty of two shillings a tonne upon coals imported into the borough, but although it cost the gas works a lot of money for coal-juice, the company in its turn got its own back by increasing the price of gas they sold to the inhabitants of the town. End of Appendix That is the end of The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists by Robert Tressel