 CHAPTER 34 THE BEGINNING OF THE END During the months of January and February Owen, Crass, Slime and Salkins continued to work at irregular intervals for Rushton and Coe, although, even when there was anything to do, they now put in only six hours a day, commencing in the morning and leaving off at four with an hour's interval for dinner between twelve and one. They finished a plant and painted the front of Rushton's shop. When all this was completed, as no other work came in, they all had to stand off with the exception of Salkins, who was kept on because he was cheap and able to do all sorts of odd jobs, such as unstopping drains, repairing leaky roofs, rough painting or lime-washing. He was also useful as a labourer for the plumbers, of whom there were now three employed at Rushton's, the severe weather which had come in with January having made a lot of work in that trade, with the exception of this one branch practically all work was at a standstill. During this time Rushton and Coe had several boxing up jobs to do, and Crass always did the polishing of the coffins on these occasions, besides assisting to take the box home when finished and to lift in the corpse, and afterwards he always acted as one of the bearers at the funerals. For an ordinary-class funeral he usually put in about three hours for the polishing. That came to one and nine. Taking home the coffin and lifting in the corpse, one shilling. Usually there were two men to do this besides Hunter, who always accompanied them to superintend the work, attending the funeral and acting as bearer, four shillings, so that altogether Crass made six shillings and ninepence out of each funeral, and sometimes a little more. For instance, when there was an unusually good-class corpse they had a double coffin, and then of course there were two lifts in, for the shell was taken home first, and the outer coffin perhaps a day or two later. This made another shilling. No matter how expensive the funeral was, the bearers never got any more money. Sometimes the carpenter and Crass were able to charge an hour or two more on the making and polishing of the coffin for a good job, but that was all. Sometimes when there was a very cheap job there were paid only three shillings for attending as bearers, but this was not very often. As a rule they got the same amount whether it was a cheap funeral or an expensive one. Slime earned only five shillings out of each funeral, and Owen only one and six for writing the coffin plate. Sometimes there were three or four funerals in a week, and then Crass did very well indeed. He still had the two young men lodgers at his house, and although one of them was out of work he was still able to pay his way because he had some money in the bank. One of the funeral jobs led to a terrible row between Crass and Sarkins. The corpse was that of a well-to-do woman who had been ill for a long time with cancer of the stomach, and after the funeral Rush did and Coe had to clean and repaint and paper the room she had occupied during her illness. Although cancer is not supposed to be an infectious disease, they had orders to take all the bedding away and to have it burnt. Sarkins was instructed to take a truck to the house and get the bedding, and take it to the town refuse destructor to be destroyed. There were two feather beds, a bolster, and two pillows, and there were such good things that Sarkins secretly resolved that instead of taking them to the destructor he would take them to a second-hand dealer and sell them. As he was coming away from the house with the things he met Hunter, who told him that he wanted him for some other work, so he was to take the truck to the yard and leave it there for the present. He could take the bedding to the destructor later on in the day. Sarkins did as Hunter ordered, and in the meantime Crass, who happened to be working at the yard painting some Venetian blinds, saw the things on the truck and, hearing what was to be done with them, he also thought it was a pity that such good things should be destroyed. So when Sarkins came in the afternoon to take them away, Crass told him he needed not trouble. I'm going to have that lot," he said. They're too good to chuck away. There's nothing wrong with them. This did not suit Sarkins at all. He said he had been told to take them to the destructor, and he was going to do so. He was dragging the cart out of the yard when Crass rushed up and lifted the bundle off and carried it into the paint shop. Sarkins ran after him, and they began to curse and swear at each other, Crass accusing Sarkins of intending to take the things to the marine stores and to sell them. Sarkins seized hold of the bundle with the object of replacing it on the cart, but Crass got hold of it as well, and they had a tussle for it, a kind of tug-of-war, reeling and struggling all over the shop, cursing and swearing horribly all the time. Finally Sarkins, being the better man of the two, succeeded in wrenching the bundle away and put it on the cart again, and then Crass hurriedly put on his coat and said he was going to the office to ask Mr. Rushton if he might have the things. Upon hearing this, Sarkins became so infuriated that he lifted the bundle off the cart and, throwing it upon the muddy ground, right into a pool of dirty water, trampled it underfoot, and then, taking out his clasp-knife, began savagely hacking and ripping the ticking so that the feathers all came falling out. In a few minutes he had damaged the things beyond any hope of repair, while Crass stood by, white and trembling, watching the proceedings, but lacking the courage to interfere. Now you can go to the office and ask Rushton for him if you like, shouted Sarkins. You can have him now if you want him. Crass made no answer, and out of a moment's hesitation went back to his work, and Sarkins piled the things on the cart once more and took them away to the destructor. He would not be able to sell them now, but at any rate he had stopped that dirty swine Crass from getting them. When Crass went back to the paint shop he found there one of the pillows which had fallen out of the bundle during the struggle. He took it home with him that evening and slept upon it. It was a fine pillow, much fuller and softer and more cozy than the one he had been accustomed to. A few days afterwards, when he was working at the room where the woman died, they gave him some other things that had belonged to her to do away with, and amongst them was a kind of wrap of grey-knitted wool. Crass kept this for himself. It was just the thing to wrap around one's neck when going to work on a cold morning, and he used it for that purpose all through the winter. In addition to the funerals, there was a little other work. Sometimes a room or two to be painted and papered and ceilings widened, and once they had the outside of two small cottages to paint, doors and windows, two coats. All four of them worked at this job, and it was finished in two days, and so they went on. Some weeks Crass earned a pound or eighteen ceilings, sometimes a little more, generally less, and occasionally nothing at all. There was a lot of jealousy and ill-feeling amongst them about the work. Slime and Crass were both aggrieved about sockets whenever they were idle, especially if the latter were painting or white-washing, and their indignation was shared by all the others who were off. So swore horribly about it, and they all agreed that it was disgraceful that a bloody labourer should be employed doing what ought to be skilled work for five bins an hour, while properly qualified men were walking about. These other men were also incensed against Slime and Crass, because the latter were given the preference whenever there was a little job to do, and it was darkly insinuated that in order to secure this preference these two were working for six bins an hour. There was no love-loss between Crass and Slime, either. Crass was furious whenever it happened that Slime had a few hours work to do, if he himself were idle, and if Crass was working while Slime was standing still, the latter went about amongst the other unemployed men, saying ugly things about Crass, whom he accused of being a crawler. Owen also came in for his share of abuse and blame. Most of them said that a man like him should stick out for higher wages, whether employed on special work or not, and then he would not get any preference. But all the same, whatever they said about each other behind each other's backs, they were all most friendly to each other when they met face to face. Once or twice Owen did some work, such as graining a door or writing a sign, for one or other of his fellow workmen who had managed to secure a little job on his own. But putting it all together, the coffin-plates and the other work at Rushdon's and all, his earnings had not averaged ten shillings a week for the last six weeks. Often they had no coal, and sometimes not even a penny to put in the gas-meter, and then, having nothing left good enough to pawn, he sometimes obtained a few pence by selling some of his books to second-hand book-dealers. However, bad as their condition was, Owen knew that they were better off than the majority of the others. For whenever he went out, he was certain to meet numbers of men whom he had worked with at different times, who said, some of them, that they had been idle for ten, twelve, fifteen, and in some cases twenty weeks, without having earned a shilling. Owen used to wonder how they managed to continue to exist. Most of them were wearing other people's cast-off clothes, hats, and boots, which had in some instances been given to their wives by visiting ladies, or by the people to whose houses their wives went to work charring. As for food, most of them lived on such credit as they could get, and on the scraps of broken victuals and meat that their wives brought home from the places they worked at. Some of them had grown up sons and daughters who still lived with them, and whose earnings kept their homes together, and the wives of some of them eeked out a miserable existence by letting lodgings. The week before old Linden went into the work-house, Owen earned nothing, and to make matters worse, the grocer from whom they usually bought their things suddenly refused to let them have any more credit. Owen went to see him, and the man said he was very sorry, but he could not let them have anything more without the money. He did not mind waiting a few weeks for what was already owing, but he could not let the amount get any higher. His books were full of bad debts already. In conclusion he said that he hoped Owen would not do as so many others had done, and take his ready money elsewhere. People came and got credit from him when they were hard up, and afterwards spent their ready money at the monopoly company's stores on the other side of the street, because their goods were a trifle cheaper, and that was not fair. Owen admitted that it was not fair, but reminded him that they always bought their things at his shop. The grocer, however, was inexorable. He repeated several times that his books were full of bad debts, and his own creditors were pressing him. During their conversation the shopkeeper's eyes wandered continually to the big store on the other side of the street. The huge, gilded letters of the name Monopoly Stores seem to have an irresistible attraction for him. Once he interrupted himself in the middle of a sentence to point out to Owen a little girl who was just coming out of the stores, with a small parcel in her hand. Her father owes me nearly thirty shillings, he said, but they spend their ready money there. The front of the grocer's shop badly needed repainting, and the name on the fascia, a small man, was so faded as to be almost indecipherable. It had been Owen's intention to offer to do this work the cost to go against his account, but the man appeared to be so harassed that Owen refrained from making the suggestion. They still had credit of the bakers, but they did not take much bread. When one has had scarcely anything else but bread to eat for nearly a month one finds it difficult to eat at all. That same day, when he returned home after his interview with the grocer, they had a loaf of beautifully fresh bread. But none of them could eat it, although they were hungry. It seemed to stick in their throats. They could not swallow it even with the help of a drink of tea, but they drank the tea, which was the one thing that enabled them to go on living. The next week Owen earned eight shillings altogether. A few hours he put in assisting crafts to wash off and whiten a ceiling and paint a room, and there was one coffin-plate. He wrote the latter at home, and while he was doing it he heard Frankie, who was out in the scullery with Nora, say to her, Mother, how many more days do you think we'll have only dry bread and tea? Owen's heart seemed to stop as he heard the child's question and listened for Nora's answer. But the question was not to be answered at all just then. For at that moment they heard someone running up the stairs, and presently the door was unceremoniously thrown open, and Charlie Linden rushed into the house, out of breath, hapless, and crying piteously. His clothes were old and ragged. They had been patched at the knees and elbow, but the patches were tearing away from the rotting fabric into which they had been sewn. He had a pair of black stockings full of holes through which the skin was showing. The soles of his boots were worn through at one side, right to the uppers, and as he walked the sides of his bare heels came into contact with the floor. The front part of the sole of one boot was separated from the upper, and his bare toes, red and cold and covered with mud, protruded through the gap. Some sharp substance, a nail or a piece of glass or flint had evidently lacerated his right foot, for blood was oozing from the broken heel of his boot on the floor. They were unable to make much sense of the confused story he told them through his sobs as soon as he was able to speak. All that was clear was that there was something very serious to matter at home. He thought his mother must be either dying or dead, because she did not move or speak or open her eyes, and please, please, please, will you come home with me and see her? While Nora was getting ready to go with the boy, Owen made him sit on a chair, and, having removed the boot from the foot that was bleeding, washed the cut with some warm water and bandaged it with a piece of clean rag, and then they tried to persuade him to stay there with Frankie while Nora went to see his mother, but the boy would not hear of it. So Frankie went with him instead. Owen could not go because he had to finish the coffin-plate, which was only just commenced. It will be remembered that we left Mary Linden alone in the house after she returned from seeing the old people away. When the children came home from school, about half an hour afterwards, they found her sitting in one of the chairs with her head resting on her arms on the table, unconscious. They were terrified, because they could not awaken her and began to cry. But presently, Charlie thought of Frankie's mother, and telling his sister to stay there while he was gone, he started off at a run for Owen's house, leaving the front door wide open after him. When Nora and the two boys reached the house, they found their two other women-neighbours, who had heard Elsie crying and come to see what was wrong. Mary had recovered from her faint, and was lying down on the bed. Nora stayed with her for some time after the other women went away. She lit the fire and gave the children their tea. There were still some coal and food left of what had been bought with the three shillings obtained from the Board of Gargents, and afterwards she tidied the house. Mary said that she did not know exactly what she would have to do in the future. If she could get a room somewhere for two or three shillings a week, her allowance from the Gargents would pay the rent, and she would be able to earn enough for herself and the children to live on. This was the substance of the story that Nora told Owen when she returned home. He had finished writing the coffin-plate, and as it was now nearly dry, he put on his coat and took it down to the carpenter shop at the yard. On his way back he met Easton, who had been hanging about in the vain hope of seeing Hunter and finding out if there was any chance of a job. As they walked along together, Easton confided to Owen that he had earned scarcely anything since he had been stood off at Rushdon's, and what he had earned had gone as usual to pay the rent. He had left him some time ago. Ruth did not seem able to get on with him. She had been in a funny sort of temper altogether, but since he had gone she had had a little work at a boarding-house on the Grand Parade, but things had been going from bad to worse. They had not been able to keep up the payments for the furniture they had hired, so the things had been seized and carted off. They had even stripped the oil-cloth from the floor. Easton remarked he was sorry he had not tacked the bloody stuff down in such a manner that they would not have been able to take it up without destroying it. He had been to see Didlam, who said he didn't want to be hard on them, and that he would keep the things together for three months, and if Easton had paid up arrears by that time he could have them back again, but there was, in Easton's opinion, very little chance of that. Owen listened with contempt and anger. Here was a man who grumbled at the present state of things, yet took no trouble to think for himself and tried to alter them, and who, at the first chance, would vote for the perpetuation of the system which produced this misery. Have you heard that old Jack Linden and his wife went to the work-house today? He said. No," replied Easton, indifferently. It's only what I expected. Owen then suggested it would not be a bad plan for Easton to let his front room, now that it was empty, to Mrs. Linden, who would be sure to pay her rent, which would help Easton to pay his. Owen agreed and said he would mention it to Ruth, and a few minutes later they parted. The next morning Nora found Ruth talking to Mary Linden about the room, and as Easton's lived only about five minutes' walk away, they all three went round there in order that Mary might see the room. The appearance of the house from the outside was unaltered. The white lace curtain still draped the windows of the front room, and in the centre of the bay was what appeared to be a small round table covered with a red cloth, and upon it a geranium in a flower-pot standing in a saucer with a frill of coloured tissue paper round it. These things and the curtains which fell close together made it impossible for any one to see that the room was otherwise unfurnished. The table consisted of an empty wooden box procured from the grocers, stood on end with the lid of the scullery copper placed upside down upon it for a top, and covered with an old piece of red cloth. The purpose of this was to prevent the neighbours from thinking that they were hard up, although they knew that nearly all those same neighbours were in more or less similar straits. It was not a very large room, considering that it would have to serve all purposes for herself and the two children, but Mrs. Linden knew that it was not likely that she would be able to get one as good elsewhere for the same price, so she agreed to take it the following Monday at two shillings a week. As the distance was so short they were able to carry most of the smaller things to their new home during the next few days, and on the Monday evening, when it was dark, Owen and Easton brought the remainder on a truck they borrowed for the purpose from Hunter. During the last weeks of February the severity of the weather increased. There was a heavy fall of snow on the twentieth, followed by a hard frost which lasted several days. About ten o'clock one night a policeman found a man lying unconscious in the middle of a lonely road. At first they thought he was drunk, and after dragging him on to the footpath out of the way of passing vehicles, he went for a stretcher. They took the man to the station and put him into a cell, which was already occupied by a man who had been caught in the act of stealing a sweet turnip from a barn. When the police surgeon came he pronounced the supposed drunk man to be dying from bronchitis and want of food, and he further said that there was nothing to indicate that the man was addicted to drink. When the inquest was held a few days afterwards the coroner remarked that it was the third case of death from destitution that had occurred in the town within six weeks. The evidence showed that the man was a plaster who had walked from London with the hope of finding some work somewhere in the country. He had no money in his possession when he was found by the policeman, all that his pockets contained being several pawn tickets and a letter from his wife, which was not found until after he died because it was in an inner pocket of his waistcoat. A few days before the same quest was held the man who had been arrested for stealing the turnip had been taken before the magistrates. The poor wretch said he did it because he was starving, but Alderman's sweater and grinder, after telling him that starvation was no excuse for dishonesty, sent him to pay a fine of seven shillings and costs, or to go to prison for seven days with hard labour. As the convict had neither money nor friends, he had to go to jail, where he was, after all, better off than most of those who were still outside, because they lacked either the courage or the opportunity to steal something to relieve their sufferings. As time went on the long-continued privation began to tell upon Owen and his family. He had a severe cough, his eyes became deeply sunken and of remarkable brilliancy, and his thin face was always either deathly pale or dyed with a crimson flush. Frankie also began to show the effects of being obliged to go so often without his porridge and milk. He became very pale and thin, and his long hair came out in handfuls when his mother combed or brushed it. This was a great trouble to the boy, who, since hearing the story of Samson, read out of the Bible at school, had ceased from asking to have his hair cut short lest he should lose his strength in consequence. He used to test himself by going through a certain exercise that he had himself invented, with a flat iron, and he was always much relieved when he found that, notwithstanding the loss of the porridge, he was still able to lift the iron the proper number of times. But after a while, as he found that it became increasingly difficult to go through the exercise, he gave it up altogether, secretly resolving to wait till Dad had some more work to do, so that he could have the porridge and milk again. He was sorry to have to discontinue the exercise, but he said nothing about it to his father or mother, because he did not want to worry them. Sometimes Nora managed to get a small job of needlework. On one occasion, a woman with a small son brought a parcel of garments belonging to herself or her husband, an old ulster, several coats, and so on, things that although they were too old fashion or shabby to wear, yet might look all right if turned and made up for the boy. Nora undertook to do this, and after working several hours every day for a week, she earned four shillings, and even then the woman thought that it was so dear that she did not bring any more. Another time Mrs. Easton got her some work at a boarding-house, where she herself was employed. The servant was laid up, and they wanted some help for a few days. The pay was to be two shillings a day and dinner. Owen did not want her to go because he feared she was not strong enough to do the work, but he gave way at last and Nora went. She had to do the bedrooms, and on the evening of the second day, as a result of the constant running up and down the stairs, carrying heavy cans and pails of water, she was in such intense pain that she was scarcely able to walk home, and for several days afterwards had to lie in bed through a recurrence of her old illness, which caused her to suffer untold agony whenever she tried to stand. Owen was alternately dejected and maddened by the knowledge of his own helplessness. When he was not doing anything for Rushden, he went about the town trying to find some other work, but usually with scant success. He did some samples of show-card and window tickets, and endeavored to get some orders by canvassing the shops in the town, but this was also a failure. For these people generally had a ticket-writer to whom they usually gave their work. He did get a few trifling orders, but they were scarcely worth doing at the price he got for them. He used to feel like a criminal when he went to the shops to ask them for the work, because he realized fully that, in effect, he was saying to them, take your work away from the other man, and employ me. He was so conscious of this that it gave him a shame-faced manner, which, coupled as it was with his shabby clothing, did not create a very favourable impression upon those he addressed, who usually treated him with about as much courtesy as they would have extended to any other sort of beggar. Finally after the day's canvassing he returned home unsuccessful and faint with hunger and fatigue. Once when there was a bitterly cold east wind blowing he was out on one of these canvassing expeditions, and contracted a severe cold. His chest became so bad that he found it almost impossible to speak, because the effort to do so brought on a violent fit of coughing. It was during this time that a firm of drapers for whom he had done some show-cards, sent him in order for one they wanted in a hurry. It had to be delivered the next morning, so he stayed up by himself till nearly midnight to do it. As he worked he felt a strange sensation in his chest. It was not exactly a pain, and he would have found it difficult to describe it in words. It was just a sensation. He did not attach much importance to it, thinking at an effect of the cold he had taken, but whatever it was he could not help feeling conscious of it all the time. Frankie had been put to bed that evening at the customary hour, but did not seem to be sleeping as well as usual. Owen could hear him twisting and turning about and uttering little cries in his sleep. He left his work several times to go into the boy's room and cover him with the bed-clothes which his restless movements had disordered. As the time wore on the child became more tranquil, and about eleven o'clock when Owen went in to look at him, he found him in a deep sleep, lying on his side with his head thrown back on the pillow, breathing so softly through his slightly parted lips that the sound was almost imperceptible. The fair hair that clustered round his forehead was damp with perspiration, and he was so still and pale and silent that one might have thought he was sleeping the sleep that knows no awakening. About an hour later, when he had finished writing the show card, Owen went out into the scullery to wash his hands before going to bed, and whilst he was drying them on the towel, the strange sensation he had been conscious of all the evening became more intense, and a few seconds afterwards he was terrified to find his mouth suddenly filled with blood. For what seemed an eternity he fought for breath against the suffocating torrent, and when at length it stopped he sank trembling into a chair by the side of the table, holding the towel to his mouth and scarcely daring to breathe, whilst the cold sweat streamed from every pore and gathered in large drops upon his forehead. Through the deathlike silence of the night there came from time to time the chimes of the clock of a distant church, but he continued to sit there motionless, taking no heed of the passing hours and possessed with an awful terror. So this was the beginning of the end, and afterwards the other two would be left by themselves at the mercy of the world. In a few years' time the boy would be like Bert White in the clutches of some Sam-singing devil like Hunter Rushton, who would use him as if he were a beast of burden. He imagined he could see him now, as he would be then, worked, driven, and bullied, carrying loads, dragging carts, and running here and there, trying his best to satisfy the brutal tyrants whose only thought would be to get profit out of him for themselves. If he lived, it would be to grow up with his body deformed and dwarfed by unnatural labour, and with his mind stultified, degraded, and brutalised by ignorance and poverty. As this vision of the child's future rose before him, own resolve that it should never be. He would not leave them alone and defenseless in the midst of the Christian wolves who were waiting to rend them as soon as he was gone. If he could not give them happiness, he could at least put them out of the reach of further suffering. If he could not stay with them, they would have to come with him. It would be kinder and more merciful. Nearly every other firm in the town was in much the same plight as Rushton and Co. None of them had anything to speak of to do, and the workmen no longer trouble to go to the different shops asking for a job. They knew it was of no use. Most of them just walked about aimlessly, or stood talking in groups in the streets, principally in the neighbourhood of the wage-slave market, near the fountain on the Grand Parade. They congregated here in such numbers that one or two resident wrote to the local papers complaining of the nuisance, and pointing out that it was calculated to drive the better class visitors out of town. After this, two or three extra policemen were put on duty near the fountain, with instructions to move on any groups of unemployed that formed. They could not stop them from forming there, but they prevented them from standing about. The processions of unemployed continued every day, and the money they begged from the public was divided equally amongst those who took part. Sometimes it amounted to one and six men's each. Sometimes it was a little more, and sometimes a little less. These men presented a terrible spectacle as they slunk through the dreary streets, through the rain or the snow, with a slush soaking into their broken boots, and were still with the bitterly cold east wind penetrating their rotten clothing and freezing their famished bodies. The majority of the skilled workers still held aloof from these processions, although their haggard faces bore in voluntary testimony to their sufferings. Although privation reigns supreme in their desolate homes, where there was often neither food nor light nor fire, they were too proud to parade their misery before each other or the world. They secretly sold or pawned their clothing and their furniture, and lived in semi-starvation on the proceeds and on credit, but they would not beg. Many of them even echoed the sentiments of those who had written to the papers, and with a strange lack of class sympathy blamed those who took part in the processions. They said it was that sort of thing that drove the better class away, injured the town, and caused all the poverty and unemployment. However, some of them accepted charity in other ways. District visitors distributed tickets for coal and groceries. Not that sort of thing made much difference. There was usually a great deal of fuss and advice, many quotations of Scripture, and very little groceries. And even what there was generally went to the least deserving people, because the only way to obtain any of this sort of charity is by hypocritically pretending to be religious, and the greater the hypocrite, the greater the quantity of coal and groceries. These charitable people went into the homes of the poor, and in effect said, abandon every particle of self-respect, cringe and fawn, come to church, bow down and grovel to us, and in return we'll give you a ticket that you can take to a certain shop and exchange for a shillings worth of groceries. And if you're very servile and humble, we may give you another one next week. They never gave the case the money. The ticket system serves three purposes. It prevents the case abusing the charity by spending the money on drink. It advertises the benevolence of the donors, and it enables the grocer, who is usually a member of the church, to get rid of any stale or damaged stock he may have on hand. When these visiting ladies went into a workman's house and found it clean and decently furnished, and the children clean and tidy, they came to the conclusion that these people were not suitable cases for assistance. Perhaps the children had had next to nothing to eat, and would have been in rags if the mother had not worked like a slave washing and mending their clothes. But these were not the sort of cases that the visiting ladies assisted. They only gave to those who were in a state of absolute squalor and destitution, and then only on condition that they whined and groveled. In addition to this district visitor business, the well-to-do inhabitants and the local authorities attempted, or rather pretended, to grapple with a poverty problem in many other ways, and the columns of the local papers were filled with letters from all sorts of cranks who suggested various remedies. One individual, whose income was derived from brewery shares, attributed the prevailing distress to the drunken and improvident habits of the lower orders. Another suggested that it was a divine protest against the growth of ritualism, and what he called fleshy religion, and suggested a day of humiliation and prayer. A great number of well-fed persons taught this such an excellent proposition that they proceeded to put it into practice. They prayed, whilst the unemployed and the little children fasted. If one had not been oppressed by the tragedy of want and misery, one might have laughed at the farcical imbecile measures that were taken to relieve it. Several churches held what they called rummage or jumble sales. They sent out circular something like this—jumble sale, in aid of the unemployed. If you have any articles of any description, which are of no further use to you, we should be grateful for them, and if you will kindly fill in the annexed form and post it to us, we will send and collect them. On the day of the sale the parish-room was transformed into a kind of marine-stores, filled with all manner of rubbish, with a parson and the visiting-ladies grinning in the midst. The things were sold for next to nothing to such as care to buy them, and the local rag-and-bone-man reaped a fine harvest. The proceeds of these sales were distributed in charity, and it was usually a case of much cry and little wool. There was a religious organization called the Mugsborough Skull and Crossbones Boys, which existed for the purpose of perpetuating the great religious festival of Guy Fawkes. This association also came to the aid of the unemployed and organized a grand fancy dress-carnaval and torchlight procession. When this took place, although there was a slight sprinkling of individuals dressed in tawdry costumes, as cavaliers of the times of Charles I, and a few more as highwaymen or foot-pads, the majority of the processionists were boys in women's clothes, or wearing sacks with holes cut on them for their heads and arms, and with their faces smeared with soot. There was also a number of men carrying frying-pants in which they burnt red and blue fire. The procession, or rather mob, was headed by a band, and the band was headed by two men, arm and arm, one very tall dressed to represent Satan, in red tights with horns on his head, and smoking a large cigar, and the other retired in the no less picturesque costume of a bishop of the established church. This crew paraded the town, howling and dancing, carrying flaring torches, burning the blue and red fire, and some of them singing silly or obscene songs, whilst the collectors ran about with the boxes, begging money from people who were, in most cases, nearly as poverty-stricken as the unemployed they were asked to assist. The money thus obtained was afterwards handed over to the secretary of the Organized Benevolent Society, Mr. Sonny Grinder. Then there was the soup-kitchen, which was really an inferior eating-house in a mean street. The man who ran this was a relative of the secretary of the OBS. He caged all the ingredients for the soup from different tradespeople, bones and scraps of meat from butchers, pea-meal and split-peas from provisions-dealers, vegetables from greengrocers, stale bread from bakers, and so on. Well-intentioned charitable old women with more money than sense, sent him donations in cash, and he sold the soup for a penny of basin or a penny a quart to those who brought jugs. He had a large number of shilling-books printed, each containing thirteen penny tickets. The Organized Benevolent Society bought a lot of these books and resold them to benevolent persons, or gave them away to deserving cases. It was this connection with the OBS that gave the soup-kitchen a semi-official character in the estimation of the public, and furnished a proprietor with the excuse for caging the materials and money donations. In the case of the soup-kitchen, as with the unemployed processions, most of those who benefited were unskilled labors or derelicts, with but few exceptions the unemployed artisans, although their need was just as great as that of the others, avoided the place as if it were infected with a plague. They were afraid even to pass through the street where it was situated, lest anyone seeing them coming from that direction should think they had been there. But all the same, some of them allowed their children to go there by stealth, by night, to buy some of this charity-tainted food. Another brilliant scheme, practical and statesman-like, so different from the wild projects of demented socialists, was started by the reverent Mr. Bosher, a very popular preacher, the vicar of the fashionable church of the whiteed sepulcher. He collected some subscriptions from a number of semi-imbiceal old women who attended his church. With some of this money he bought a quantity of timber and opened what he called a labour-yard, where he employed a number of men sawing firewood, being a clergyman, and because he said he wanted it for a charitable purpose. Of course he obtained the timber very cheaply. For about half what anyone else would have had to pay for it. The wood-sawing was done piece-work. A log of wood, about the size of a railway-sleeper, had to be sawn into twelve pieces, and each of these had to be chopped into four. For sawing and chopping one log in this manner the worker was paid nine pence. One log made two bags of firewood, which were sold for a shilling each, a trifle under the usual price. The men who delivered the bags were paid three half-pence for each two bags. As there was such a lot of men wanting to do this work, no one was allowed to do more than three lots in one day. That came to two shillings and three pence, and no one was allowed to do more than two days in one week. The vicar had a number of bills printed and displayed in shop windows calling attention to what he was doing, and informing the public that orders could be sent to the local vicarage by post and would receive prompt attention and the fuel would be delivered at any address. Messers Rushton and Co., having very kindly lent a handcart for the use of the men employed at the labour-yard. As a result of the appearance of this bill and of the law-the-tree notices in the collumes of the Ananias, the Obscurer, and the Chloroform, the papers did not mind giving the business a free advertisement, because it was a charitable concern. Many persons withdrew their custom from those who usually supplied them with firewood and gave their orders to the yard, and they had the satisfaction of getting their fuel cheaper than before, and of performing a charitable action at the same time. As a remedy for unemployment, this scheme was on a par with the method of the tailor in the fable, who thought to lengthen his cloth by cutting a piece off one end and sewing it on to another. But there was one thing about it that recommended it to the vicar. It was self-supporting. He found that there would be no need to use all the money he had extracted from the semi-imbecile old ladies for timber. So he bought himself a newfoundland dog, an antique set of carved ivory chestmen, and a dozen bottles of whisky with the remainder of the cash. The Reverend Gentleman hit upon yet another means of helping the poor. He wrote a letter to the weekly Chloroform, appealing for cast-off boots for poor children. This was considered such a splendid idea that the editors of all the local papers referred to it in leading articles, and several other letters were written by prominent citizens extolling the wisdom and benevolence of the profound bosher. Most of the boots that were sent in response to this appeal had been worn until they needed repair, in a very large proportion of instances until they were beyond repair. The poor people to whom they were given could not afford to have them mended before using them, and the result was that the boots generally began to fall to pieces after a few days where. This scheme amounted to very little. It did not increase the number of cast-off boots, and most of the people who cast off their boots generally gave them to some one or other. The only difference it can have made was that possibly a few persons who usually threw their boots away or sold them to second-hand dealers may have been induced to send them to Mr. Bosher instead. But all the same, nearly everybody said that it was a splendid idea. Its originator was applauded as a public benefactor, and the petty-fogging busybodies who amused themselves with what they were pleased to term charitable work went into imbecile ecstasies over him. One of the most important agencies for the relief of distress was the Organized Benevolence Society. This association received money from many sources. The proceeds of the fancy-dress carnival, the collections from different churches and chapels which held special services in aid of the unemployed, the weekly collections made by the employees of several local firms and business-houses, the proceeds of concerts, bazaars and entertainments, donations from charitable persons, and the subscriptions of the members. The society also received large quantities of cast-off clothing and boots, and tickets of admission to hospitals, convalescent homes, and dispensaries from subscribers to those institutions, or from people like Rushton and Co., who had collecting boxes in their workshops and offices. Altogether during the last year the society had received from various sources about three hundred pounds in hard cash. This money was devoted to the relief of cases of distress. The largest item in the expenditure of the society was the salary of the general secretary, Mr. Sonny Grinder, a most deserving case, who was paid one hundred pounds a year. After the death of the previous secretary there were so many candidates for the vacant post that the election of the new secretary was a rather exciting affair. The excitement was all the more intense because it was restrained. A special meeting of the society was held. The mayor, Alderman Sweater, presided, and amongst those present were councillors Rushton, Didlum and Grinder, Mrs. Starvam, Reverend Bosher, a number of the rich, semi-imbecile old women who had helped to open the labour-yard, and several other ladies. Some of these were the district visitors already alluded to. Most of them were the wives of the wealthy citizens that retired tradesmen, richly dressed, ignorant, insolent, overbearing frumps, who, after filling themselves with good things in their own luxurious homes, went flouncing into the poverty-stricken dwellings of their poor sisters, and talked to them of religion, lectured them about sobriety and thrift, and sometimes gave them tickets for soup or orders for shillings' worth of groceries or coal. Some of these overfed females, the wives of tradesmen, for instance, belonged to the organised benevolent society, and engaged in this work for the purposes of becoming acquainted with people of superior social position. One of the members was a colonel, and Sir Garbald and Closeland, the Member of Parliament for the Borough, also belonged to the society and occasionally attended its meetings. Others took up district visiting as a hobby that they had nothing to do, and, being densely ignorant of inferior mentality, they had no desire or capacity for any intellectual pursuit, so they took up this work for the pleasure of playing the grand lady and the superior person at a very small expense. Other of these visiting ladies were middle-aged unmarried women with small private incomes. Some of them well-meaning, compassionate, gentle creatures who did this work because they sincerely desired to help others, and they knew of no better way. These did not take much part in the business of the meetings. They paid their subscriptions, and helped to distribute the cast-off clothing and boots to those women who needed them, and occasionally obtained from the Secretary an order for provisions or coal or bread, for some poverty-stricken family. But the poor, toil-torn women whom they visited welcomed them more for their sisterly sympathy than for the gifts they brought. Some of the visiting ladies were of this character, but they were not many. They were, as a few fragrant flowers amidst a dense accumulation of noxious weeds. There were examples of humility and kindness shining amidst a vile and lonesome mass of hypocrisy, arrogance, and can't. When the chairman had opened the meeting, Mr. Rushton moved a vote of condolence with the relatives of the late secretary, whom he eulogised in the most extraordinary terms. The poor of Mugsborough had lost a kind and sympathetic friend, one who had devoted his life to helping the needy, and so on and so forth. As a matter of fact, most of the time of the defunct had been passed in helping himself, but Rushton had said nothing about that. Mr. Didlum seconded the vote of condolence in similar terms, and it was carried unanimously. Then the chairman said that the next business was to elect a successor to the departed Paragon, and immediately no fewer than nine members rose to propose a suitable person. They each had a noble-minded friend or relative willing to sacrifice himself for the good of the poor. The nine benevolents stood looking at each other and at the chairman with sickly smiles upon their hypocritical faces. It was a dramatic moment. No one spoke. It was necessary to be careful. And it would never do to have a contest. The secretary of the OBS was usually regarded as a sort of philanthropist by the outside public, and it was necessary to keep this fiction alive. For one or two minutes an awkward silence reigned. Then, one after another, they all reluctantly resumed their seats with the exception of Mr. Amos Grinder, who said that he wished to propose his nephew, Mr. Sonny Grinder, a young man of a most benevolent disposition who was desirous of immolating himself upon the altar of charity for the benefit of the poor. No words to that effect. Mr. Didlum seconded, and there being no other nomination, for they all knew that it would give the game away to have a contest. The chairman put Mr. Grinder's proposal to the meeting and declared it carried unanimously. Another considerable item in the expenditure of the society was the rent of the offices, a house in a back street. The landlord of this place was another very deserving case. There were numerous other expenses, stationery and stamps, printing, and so on, and what was left of the money was used for the purpose for which it had been given, a reasonable amount being kept in hand for future expenses. All the details, of course, were duly set forth in the report and balance sheet at the annual meetings. No copy of this document was ever handed to the reporters for publication. It was read to the meeting by the secretary. The representatives of the press took notes and, in the reports of the meeting that subsequently appeared in the local papers, the thing was so mixed up and garbled together that the few people who read it could not make head or tail of it. The only thing that was clear was that the society had been doing a great deal of good to someone or other, and that more money was urgently needed to carry on the work. It usually appeared something like this. Helping the needy. Mugsbury organized Benevolent Society annual meeting at the Town Hall. A splendid record of miscellaneous and valuable work. The annual meeting of the above society was held yesterday at the Town Hall. The mayor, Alderman Sweater, presided, and amongst those present, were so garbled in clothes-land, ladied in clothes-land, ladied slum-rent, reverent Mr. Bosher, Mr. Cheese-man, Mrs. Builder, Mrs. Grocer, Mrs. Derry, Mrs. Butcher, Mrs. Taylor, Mrs. Baker, Mrs. Starvam, Mrs. Sludging, Mrs. Mbeseal, Mrs. No-brain, Mrs. Empty-head, Mr. Rushton, Mr. Didlam, Mr. Grinder, and here followed about a quarter of a column of names of other charitable persons, all subscribers to this society. The Secretary read the annual report, which contained the following amongst other interesting items. During the year, 1,972 applications for assistance have been received, and of this number, 1,302 have been assisted as follows. Bread or grocery orders, 273. Coal or coke orders, 57. Nourishment, 579. Applauds. Pairs of boots granted, 29. Clothing, 105. Crutch granted to poor man, 1. Nurses provided, 2. Hospital tickets, 26. Sent to consumption sanatorium, 1. Twenty-nine persons, whose cases being chronic, were referred to the poor-law gargants. Work found for 19 persons. Chairs. Peddlers' licenses, 4. Dispensary tickets, 24. Bedding redeemed, 1. Loans granted to people to enable them to pay their rent, 8. Loud chairs. Dental tickets, 2. Railway fares for men who are going away from the town to employment elsewhere, 12. Great cheering. Loans granted, 5. Advertisements for employment, 4. And so on. There was about another quarter of a column of these details, the reading of which was punctuated with applause and concluded with, leading 670 cases which, for various reasons, the society was unable to assist. The report then went on to explain that the work of inquiring into the genuineness of the applications entailed a lot of labour on the part of the secretary, some cases taking several days. No fewer than 649 letters had been sent out from the office, and 97 postcards. Applause. Very few cash gifts were granted, as it was most necessary to guard against the charity being abused. Here, here. Then followed a most remarkable paragraph headed, the balance sheet, which, as it was put, included the following. The following was a jumbled list of items of expenditure, subscriptions, donations, legacies and collections, winding up with, the general summary showed a balance in hand of £178 for shillings and sixpence. They always kept a good balance in hand because of the secretary's salary and the rent of the offices. After this very explicit financial statement came the most important part of the report. Thanks are expressed to Sir Garbled in Closeland for a donation of two guineas, Mrs. Grocer, one guinea, Mrs. Starvam, hospital tickets, ladies' slum-rent, a letter of admission to convalescent home, Mrs. No-brain, one guinea, Mrs. Embassyle, one guinea, Mrs. Empty Head, one guinea, Mrs. Sledging, Gifts of Clothing, and so on for another quarter of a collium. The whole concluding with a vote of thanks to the secretary and an urgent appeal to the charitable public for more funds to enable the society to continue its noble work. Meantime, in spite of this and kindred organisations, the conditions of the underpaid poverty-strickened and unemployed workers remain the same. Although the people who got the grocery and coal-orders and the nourishment and the cast-off clothes and boots were very glad to have them, yet these things did far more harm than good. They humiliated, degraded, and pauperised those who received them, and the existence of the societies prevented the problem being grappled with in a sane and practical manner. The people lacked the necessaries of life. The necessaries of life are produced by work. These people were willing to work, but were prevented from doing so by the idiotic system of societies which these charitable people are determined to do their best to perpetuate. If the people who expect to be praised and glorified for being charitable were never to give another farthing, it would be far better for the industry as poor. Many of the community as a whole would be compelled to deal with the absurd and unnecessary state of affairs that exist today—millions of people living and dying in wretchedness and poverty, in an age when science and machinery have made it possible to produce an abundance of everything that everyone might enjoy plenty and comfort. If it were not for all this so-called charity, the starving and employed men all over the country would demand to be allowed to work and produce the things they were perishing for want of, instead of being, as they are now, content to where their masters cast off clothing and to eat the crumbs that fall from his table. End of Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Of The Ragged Trousard Philanthropists This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tye Hines The Ragged Trousard Philanthropists by Robert Tressel A Brilliant Epigram All through the winter the wise, practical, philanthropic, fat persons whom the people of Mugsborough had elected to manage their affairs, or whom they're permitted to manage them without being elected, continue to grapple or to pretend to grapple with the problem of unemployment and poverty. They continue to hold meetings, rummage and jumble sales, entertainments and special services. They continue to distribute the rotten cast-off clothing and boots and the nourishment tickets. They were all so sorry for the poor, especially for the dear little children. They did all sorts of things to help the children. In fact, there was nothing they would not do for them, except levy a hipony rate. They would never do that. It might pauperize the parents and destroy parental responsibility. They evidently thought that it would be better to destroy the health or even the lives of the dear little children than to pauperize the parents or undermine parental responsibility. These people seemed to think that the children were the property of their parents. They did not have the sense enough to see that the children were not the property of their parents at all, but the property of the community. When they attain to manhood and womanhood there will be, if mentally or physically inefficient, a burden on the community. If they become criminals they will prey upon the community, and if they are healthy, educated, and brought up in good surroundings they will become useful citizens able to render valuable services, not merely to their parents, but to the community. Therefore the children are the property of the community, and it is the business and to the interest of the community to see that their constitutions are not undermined by starvation. The Secretary of the Local Trades Council, a body formed of delegates from all the different trades unions in the town, wrote a letter to the Obscure setting forth this view. He pointed out that a hipney rate in that town would produce a sum of eight hundred pounds, which would be more than sufficient to provide food for all the hungry school children. In the next issue of the paper several other letters appeared from leaving citizens, including of course Sweater, Rushton, Didlum, and Grinder, ridiculing the proposal of the Trades Council, who were insulting the alluded to as Pothouse politicians, beer-sodden agitators, and so forth. Their right to be regarded as representatives of the working men was denied, and Grinder, who, having made inquiries amongst working men, was acquainted with the facts, stated that there was scarcely one of the local branches of the trades unions which had more than a dozen members, and as Grinder's statement was true, the Secretary was unable to contradict it. The majority of the working men were also very indignant when they heard about the Secretary's letter. They said the rates were high enough as it was, and they sneered at him for presuming to write to the papers at all. To the bloody hell was he, they said. He was not a gentleman. He was only a worker man the same as himself, a common carpenter. What the hell did he know about it? Nothing. He was just trying to make a self-out to be somebody. That was all. The idea of one of the likes of them writing to the papers. One day, having nothing better to do, Owen was looking at some books that were exposed for sale on a table outside a second-hand furniture shop. One book in particular took his attention. He read several pages with great interest, and regretted that he had not the necessary sixpence to buy it. The title of the book was Consumption, Its Causes and Its Cure. The author was a well-known physician who devoted his whole attention to the study of that disease. Amongst other things, the book gave rules for the feeding of delicate children, and there were also several different dieteries recommended for adult persons suffering from the disease. One of these dieteries amused him very much, because as far as the majority of those who suffer from consumption are concerned, the good doctor might just as well have prescribed a trip to the moon. Immediately on waking in the morning, half a pint of milk, this should be hot if possible, with a small size of bread and butter. That breakfast, half a pint of milk with coffee, chocolate, or oatmeal, eggs and bacon, bread and butter, or dry toast. At eleven o'clock, half a pint of milk, with an egg beaten up in it, or some beef tea, and bread and butter. At one o'clock, half a pint of warm milk with a biscuit or sandwich, at two o'clock, fish, and roast mutton, or a mutton chop, with as much fat as possible, poultry, game, etc., may be taken with vegetables and milk pudding. At five o'clock, hot milk with coffee or chocolate, bread and butter, water-cress, etc. At eight o'clock, a pint of milk with oatmeal or chocolate, and gluten bread, or two lightly boiled eggs with bread and butter. Before retiring to rest, a glass of warm milk. During the night, a glass of milk with a biscuit or bread and butter should be placed by the bedside and be eaten if the patient awakes. Whilst Owen was reading this book, Crass, Harlow, Philpott and Easton were talking together on the other side of the street, and presently Crass caught sight of them. They had been discussing the Secretary's letter read the hipony rate, and as Owen was one of the members of the Trade Council, Crass suggested they should go across and tackle him about it. How much is your house assessed at? asked Owen after listening for about quarter of an hour to Crass's objection. £14, replied Crass. That means that you would have to pay seven pence a year if we had a hipony rate. Wouldn't it be worth seven pence a year to know that there would be no starving children in the town? Why should I have to help keep the children of a man who's too lazy to work or spends all his money on drink? shouted Crass. How are you going to make out about the likes of them? If his children are starving we should feed them first and punish him afterwards. The rate is quite high enough as it is, grumbled Harlow, who had four children himself. Well, that's quite true, but you must remember that the rates the working classes at present pay are spent mostly for the benefit of other people. Good roads are maintained for people who ride in motor-cars and carriages. The park and the town banned for those who have ledger to enjoy them. The police forced to protect the property of those who have something to lose and so on. But if we pay this rate we should get something for our money. We get the benefits of good roads when we have to push a handcart with a load of paint and ladders, said Easton. Of course, said Crass, and besides, the worker classes get the benefit of all the other things too, because it all makes work. Well, for my part, said Philpott, I wouldn't mind paying my share towards an apony rate, although I ain't got no kids on my own. The hostility of most of the working men to the proposed rate was almost as bitter as that of the better classes. The noble-minded philanthropists, who were always gushing out their sympathy for the dear little ones, the lonesome hypocrites, who pretended that there was no need to levy a rate because they were willing to give sufficient money in the form of charity to meet the case, but the children continued to go hungry all the same. Lonesome hypocrites may seem a hard saying, but it was a matter of common knowledge that the majority of the children attending the local elementary schools were insufficiently fed. It was admitted that the money that could be raised by a apony rate would be more than sufficient to provide them all with one good meal every day. The charity-mongers, who professed such extravagant sympathy with the dear little children, resisted the levying of the rate because it would press so heavily on the poorer rate-payers, and said that they were willing to give more in voluntary charity than the rate would amount to. The dear little children, as they were so fond of calling them, continued to go to school hungry all the same. To judge by their profession and their performances, it appeared that these good-kind persons were willing to do any mortal thing for the dear little children except allow them to be fed. If these people had really meant to do what they pretended, they would not have cared whether they paid the money to a rate-collector, or to the secretary of a charity-society, and they would have preferred to accomplish their object in the most efficient and economical way. But although they would not allow the children to be fed, they went to church and to chapel, glittering with jewellery, their fat carcasses clothed in rich raiment, and sat with smug smiles upon their faces, listening to the fat Parsons, reading out of a book that none of them seemed able to understand, for this was what they read. And Jesus called the little child unto him, and said him in the midst of them, and said, Whosoever shall receive one such little child in my name receiveeth me, but whoso shall offend one of these little ones, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea. Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones, for I say unto you that in heaven their angels do always behold the face of my father. And this, then he shall say unto them, Depart from me ye cursed, into the everlasting fire prepared for the devil and his angels, for I was unhungered, and ye gave me no meat. I was thirsty, and ye gave me no drink. I was a stranger, and ye took me not in, naked, and ye clothed me not. Then shall they answer, Lord, when we saw thee unhungered, or a thirst, or a stranger, or naked, or sick, and did not minister to thee? And he shall answer them. Verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me. These were the sayings that the Infidel Parsons mouthed in the Infidel Temples, to the richly dressed Infidel congregations, who heard it, but did not understand. For the hearts were becoming gross, and their ears dull of hearing, and meantime, all around them, in the alley and the slum, and the most horrible still, because more secret, in the better sorts of streets, where lived the respectable class of skilled artisans, the little children became thinner and paler day by day for lack of proper food, and went to bed early because there was no fire. Sir Garbled in Closland, the member of Parliament for the borough, was one of the bitterest opponents of the hapenny rate. But as he thought it was probable that there would soon be another general election, and he wanted the children's fathers to vote for him again, he was willing to do something for them in another way. He had a ten-year-old daughter, whose birthday was in that month, so the kind-hearted baronet made arrangements to give a tea to all the school-children in the town in honour of the occasion. The tea was served in the classrooms, and each child was presented with a gilt edged card on which was a printed portrait of the little hostess, with, from your loving little friend, an aurea then Closland, in gold letters. During the evening the little girl, accompanied by Sir Garbled and Lady then Closland, motored round to all the schools where the tea was being consumed. The baronet made a few remarks, and an aurea made a pretty little speech, specially learnt for the occasion, at each place, and they were loudly cheered and greatly admired in response. The enthusiasm was not confined to the boys and girls, for while the speech-making was going on inside, a little crowd of grown-up children were gathered round outside the entrance, worshipping the motor-car, and when the little party came out the crowd worshipped them also, going into imbecile ecstasies of admiration of their benevolence and their beautiful clothes. For several weeks everybody in the town was in raptures over this tea, or rather everybody except the miserable little minority of socialists, who said it was bribery, an electioneering dodge, that did no real good, and who continued to clamour for a hapenny rate. Another specious fraud was the distress committee. This body, or corpse, for there was not much vitality in it, was supposed to exist for the purpose of providing employment for deserving cases. One might be excused for thinking that any man, no matter what his past may have been, who is willing to work for his living, is a deserving case, but this was evidently not the opinion of the persons who devised the regulations for the working of this committee. Every applicant for work was immediately given a long job, and presented with a double sheet of fool's-cap paper to do it with. Now, if the object of the committee had been to furnish the applicant with material for the manufacture of an appropriate head-dress for himself, no one could reasonably have found fault with them. But the fool's-cap was not to be utilised in that way. It was a record paper. Three pages of it were covered with insulting, inquisitive, irrelevant questions concerning the private affairs and past life of the case who wished to be permitted to work for his living, and all these had to be answered to the satisfaction of messengers in Closeland, Bosher, Sweater, Rushton, Didlam, Grinder, and the other members of the committee, before they stood any chance of getting employment. However, notwithstanding the offensive nature of the questions on the application form, during the five months that this precious committee was in session, no fewer than 1,237 broken-spirited and humble lion's-welps filled up the forms and answered the questions as meekly as if they had been sheep. The funds of the committee consisted of five hundred pounds obtained from the Imperial Exchequer, and about two hundred and fifty pounds in charitable donations. This money was used to pay wages for certain work, some of which would have had to be done even if the committee had never existed, and of each of the 1,237 applicants had had an equal share of the work the wages they would have received would have amounted to about twelve shillings each. This was what the practical persons, the businessmen called dealing with the problem of unemployment. Imagine having to keep your family for five months with twelve shillings. And, if you like, imagine that the government grant had been four times as much as it was, and that the charity had amounted to four times as much as it did, and then fancy having to keep your family for five months with two pounds eight shillings. It is true that some of the members of the committees would have been very glad if they had been able to put the means of earning a living within the reach of every man who was willing to work. But they simply did not know what to do or how to do it. They were not ignorant of the reality of the evil they were supposed to be dealing with. Appalling evidences of it faced them on every side, and as, after all, these committeemen were human beings and not devils, they would have been glad to mitigate it if they could have done so without hurting themselves. But the truth was that they did not know what to do. These are the practical men, the monopolists of intelligence, the wise individuals who control the affairs of the world. It is in accordance with the ideas of such men as these that the conditions of human life are regulated. This is the position. It is admitted that never before in the history of mankind was it possible to produce the necessaries of life in such abundance as at present. The management of the affairs of the world, the business of arranging the conditions under which we live, is at present in the hands of practical, level-headed, sensible businessmen. The result of their management is that the majority of the people find it a hard struggle to live. Large numbers exist in perpetual poverty. A great many more periodically starve. Many actually die of want. Hundreds destroy themselves rather than continue to live and suffer. When the practical, level-headed, sensible businessmen are asked why they do not remedy this state of things, they reply that they do not know what to do, or that it is impossible to remedy it. And yet it is admitted that it is now possible to produce the necessaries of life in greater abundance than ever before. With lavish kindness the supreme being has provided all things necessary for the existence and happiness of his creatures. It is suggest that it is not so as a blasphemous lie. It is to suggest that the supreme being is not good or even just. On every side there is an overflowing superfluity of the materials requisite for the production of all the necessaries of life. From these materials everything we need may be produced in abundance by work. Here was an army of people lacking the things that may be made by work, standing idle, willing to work, clamouring to be allowed to work, and the practical, level-headed, sensible businessmen did not know what to do. Of course the real reason for the difficulty is that the raw materials that were created for the use and benefit of all have been stolen by a small number who refused to allow them to be used for the purposes for which they were intended. This numerically insignificant minority refused to allow the majority to work and produce the things they need, and what work they do graciously permit to be done is not done with the object of producing the necessaries of life for those who work, but for the purpose of creating profit for their masters. And then, strange as fact of all, the people who find it a hard struggle to live or who exist in dreadful poverty and sometimes starve, instead of trying to understand the causes of their misery and to find out a remedy themselves, spend all their time applauding the practical, sensible, level-headed businessmen who bungle and mismanage their affairs, and pay them huge salaries for doing so. Sir Garbled and Closeland, for instance, was a Secretary of State, and was paid £5,000 a year. When he first got the job the wages were only a beggarly £2,000, but as he found it impossible to exist on less than £100 a week, he decided to raise his salary to that amount, and the foolish people who find it a hard struggle to live paid it willingly. And when they saw the beautiful motor-car and the lovely clothes and jewellery he purchased for his wife with the money, and heard the great speech he made, telling them how the shortage of everything was caused by over-production and foreign competition, they clapped their hands and went frantic with admiration. Their only regret was that there were no horses attached to the motor-car, because if there had been, they could have taken them out and harnessed themselves to it instead. Nothing delighted the childish minds of these poor people, so much as listening to or reading extracts from the speeches of such men as these. So in order to amuse them every now and then, in the midst of all the wretchedness, some of these great statesmen made great speeches, full of cunning phrases intended to hoodwink the fools who had elected them. The very same week that Sir Garbled's salary was increased to five thousand pounds a year, all the papers were full of a very fine one that he made. They appeared with large headlines like this. Great speech by Sir Garbled in Closeland. Brilliant epigram. None shall have more than they need, whilst any have less than they need. The hypocrisy of such a saying in the mouth of a man who was drawing a salary of five thousand pounds a year did not appear to occur to any one. On the contrary, the hired scribes of the capitalist press wrote collumes of fulsome admiration of the miserable claptrap, and the working men who had elected this man went into raptures over the brilliant epigram, as if it were good to eat. They cut it out of the papers and carried it about with them, they showed it to each other, they read it and repeated it to each other, they wondered at it, and they were delighted with it, grinning and jibbering at each other in the exuberance of their imbecile enthusiasm. The distressed committee was not the only body pretending to deal with the poverty problem. Its efforts were supplemented by all the other agencies already mentioned—the labor yard, the rummage sales, the organized benevolent society, and so on, to say nothing of a most benevolent scheme originated by the management of sweaters and porium, who announced in a letter that was published in the local press, that they were prepared to employ fifty men for one week to carry sandwich boards at one shilling and a loaf of bread per day. They got the men, some unskilled labours, a few old worn-out artisans, whom misery had deprived of the last vestiges of pride or shame, a number of habitual drunkers and loafers, and a nondescript lot of poor, ragged old men, old soldiers and others of whom it would be impossible to say what they had once been. The procession of sandwich men was headed by the semi-drunk and the besotted wretch, and each board was covered with a printed poster. Great sale of ladies' blouses now proceeding at Adam's sweaters and porium. Besides this artful scheme of sweaters for getting a good advertisement on the cheap, numerous other plans for providing employment or alleviating the prevailing misery were put forward in the collumes of the local papers and at the various meetings that were held. Any foolish, idiotic, useless suggestion was certain to receive respectful attention, any crafty plan devised in his own interest or for his own profit by one or other other crew of sweaters and landlords who control the town were sure to be approved up by the other inhabitants of Mugsborough, the majority of whom were persons of feeble intellect, who not only allowed themselves to be robbed and exploited by a few cunning scoundrels, but venerated and applauded them for doing it. There was a meeting of a number of the shining lights to arrange the details of a rummage sale that was to be held in aid of the unemployed. It was an informal affair, and, while they were waiting for the other luminaries, the early arrivals, Messrs. Rushton, Didleman Grinder, Mr. Oiley Sweater, the borough surveyor, Mr. Warman, the electrical engineer who had been engaged as an expert, to examine and report on the electric lightworks, and two or three other gentlemen, all members of the band, took advantage of the opportunity to discuss a number of things they were mutually interested in, which were to be dealt with at the meeting of the council the next day. First it was the affair of the untenanted kiosk on the Grand Parade. This building belonged to the corporation, and the cozy corner refreshment company, of which Mr. Grinder was the managing director, was thinking of hiring it too open as a high-class refreshment lounge, provided a corporation would make certain alterations and let the place at a reasonable rent. Another item which was to be discussed at the council meeting was Mr. Sweater's generous offer to the corporation, respecting the new drain connecting the cave with the town main. The report of Mr. Warman, the electrical expert, was also to be dealt with, and afterwards a resolution in favour of the purchase of the Mugsborough Electric Light and Installation Company Limited by the town was to be proposed. In addition to these matters, several other items, including a proposal by Mr. Didlum, for an important reform in the matter of conducting the meetings of the council, formed subjects for animated conversation between the Brigands and their host. During this discussion other luminaries arrived, including several ladies, and the reverent Mr. Bosher of the Church of the Whited Sepulchre. The drawing-room of the cave was now elaborately furnished, a large mirror in a richly gilt frame reached from the carved marble mantelpiece to the cornice. A magnificent clock in an alabaster case stood in the centre of the mantelpiece and was flanked by two exquisitely painted and gilded vases of dresden wear. The windows were draped with costly hangings, the floor was covered with a luxurious carpet and expensive rugs. Sumptuously upholstered couches and easy-chairs added to the comfort of the apartment, which was warmed by the immense fire of coal and logs that blazed and crackled in the grate. The conversation now became general and at times highly philosophical in character, although Mr. Bosher did not take much part in being too busily engaged gobbling up the biscuits and tea, and only occasionally spluttering out a reply when a remark or question was directly addressed to him. This was Mr. Grinder's first visit to the house, and he expressed his admiration of the manner in which the ceiling and walls were decorated, remarking that he had always liked this-air Japanese style. Mr. Bosher, with his mouth full of biscuit, mummelled that it was sweetly pretty, charming, beautifully done, must have cost a lot of money. Hardly what you'd call Japanese, though, is it, observed Didlum looking round with the air of a connoisseur. Might shall be inclined to say it was rather more, uh, Chinese or Egyptian. A moorish explained Mr. Sweater with a smile. I got the idea at the power's exhibition. It's similar to the decorations in the Halambra, the palace of the Sultan of Morocco. That clock there is in the same style. The case of the clock referred to, which stood on a table in the corner of the room, was of fretwork, and in the form of an Indian mosque with a pointed dome and pinnacles. This was the case that Mary Linden had sold to Didlum. The latter had had it stained a dark colour and polished and further improved it by substituting a clock of more suitable design than the one it originally held. Mr. Sweater had noticed it in Didlum's window and, seeing that the design was similar in character to the painted decorations on the ceiling and walls of his drawing-room, had purchased it. I went to the Paris Exhibition myself, said Drinder, when everyone had admired the exquisite workmanship of the clock case. I remember having a look at the moon through that big telescope, but was never so surprised at me life. You can see it quite plain, and it's round. Round, said Didlum with a puzzled look. Round? Of course it's round. You didn't use to think it was square, did you? No, of course not, but I always used to think it was flat, like a plate, but it's round like a football. Certainly the moon is a very similar body to the earth, explained Didlum, describing an aerial circle with a wave of his hand. They move together through the air, but the earth is always nearest to the sun, and consequently once a fourth night the shadow of the earth falls on the moon and darkens it, so that it's invisible to the naked eye. The new moon is caused by the moon moving a little bit out of the earth's shadow, and it keeps on coming more and more until he gets the full moon, and then it goes back again into the shadow, and so it keeps on. For about a minute everyone looked very solemn, and the profound silence was disturbed only by the crunching of the biscuits between the jaws of Mr. Bosher, and by certain gurglings in the interior of that gentleman. Science is a wonderful thing, said Mr. Sweater at length, wagging his head gravely. Wonderful! Yes, but a lot of it is mere theory, you know, observed Rushton. Take this idea that the world is round, for instance. I fail to see it, and then they say that this Australia is on the other side of the globe, underneath our feet. In my opinion it's ridiculous, because if it was true, what's to prevent the people from dropping off? Yes, well, of course it's very strange, admitted Sweater. I've often thought it out myself. If it was true, we ought to be able to walk on the ceiling of this room, for instance, but of course we know that's impossible, and I really don't see that the other is any more reasonable. I've often noticed Flies walking on the ceiling, remarked Didlum, who felt called upon to defend the globular theory. Ah, yes, but they're very different, replied Rushton. Flies is provided by nature with a glowy substance which uses out of their feet for the purpose of enabling them to walk upside down. There's one thing that seems to me to finish that idea once and for all, said Grinder, and that is, water always finds its own level. You can't get away from that, and if the world was round, as they want us to believe, all the water will run off, except just a little at the top. To my mind that settles the whole argument. Another thing that gets over me, continued Rushton, is this. According to Science, the earth turns round on its axle at the rate of 20 miles a minute. Well, what about when a lark goes up in the sky and stays there about a quarter of an hour? Why, if it was true that the earth was turning round at that rate all the time, when the board came down again, it would find itself hundreds of miles away from the place where it went up. But that doesn't happen at all. The board always comes down in the same spot. Yes, and the same thing applies to balloons and flying machines, said Grinder. If it was true that the world is spinning round on its axle so quick as that, if a man started out from Calais to flight it over, by the time he got to England he'd find himself a North America, or perhaps further off still. And if it was true that the world goes round the sun at the rate they make out, when a balloon goes up the earth would run away from it. They'd never be able to get back again, remarked Rushton. This was so obvious that nearly everyone said that there was probably something in it, and Didlam could think of no reply. Mr. Bosher, upon being appealed to for his opinion, explained that science was all right in its way, but unreliable. The things that scientists said yesterday, they contradicted to-day, and what they said to-day they would probably repudiate to-morrow. It was necessary to be very cautious before accepting any of their assertions. Talking about science, said Grinder as the holy man relapsed into silence, and started on another biscuit and a fresh cup of tea. Talking about science reminds me of a conversation I had with Dr. Wheatland the other day. You know, he believes we're all descended from monkeys. Everyone laughed. The thing was so absurd, the idea of placing intellectual beings on a level with animals. But just wait till you hear how nicely I flattened them out, continued Grinder. After we'd been arguing a long time about what he called evolution or some such name, and a lot more tommy-rot that I couldn't make no head nor tail of, and to tell the truth I don't believe he understood half of it himself. I says to him, well, I says, if it's true that we're all descended from monkeys, I says, I think your family must have left off when we began. In the midst of the laughter that greeted the conclusion of Grinder's story, it was seen that Mr. Bosher had become black in the face. He was waving his arms and writhing about like one in a fit, his goggle eyes bursting from their sockets, whilst his huge stomach, quivering spasmodically, alternately contracted and expanded as if it were about to explode. In the exuberance of his mirth, the unfortunate disciple had swallowed two biscuits at once. Everybody rushed to his assistance. Grinder and Didlum seized an arm and a shoulder each, and forced his head down. Rushden punched him in the back, and the lady shrieked with alarm. They gave him a big drink of tea to help get the biscuits down, and when he at last succeeded in swallowing them, he sat in the armchair with his eyes red-rimmed and full of tears, which ran down over his white, flabby face. The arrival of the other members of the committee put an end to the interesting discussion, and they shortly afterwards proceeded with the business for which the meeting had been called, the arrangements for the forthcoming rummage sale. CHAPTER XXXIX The next day, at the meeting of the town council, Mr. Wireman's report concerning the electric lightworks was read. The expert's opinion was so favourable, and it was endorsed by the borough engineer, Mr. Oily Sweater, that a resolution was unanimously carried in favour of acquiring the works for the town, and a secret committee was appointed to arrange the preliminaries. Alderman Sweater then suggested that a suitable honorarium be voted to Mr. Wireman for his services. This was greeted with a murmur of approval from most of the members, and Mr. Didlam rose with the intention of proposing a resolution to that effect when he was interrupted by Alderman Grinder, who said he couldn't see no sense in giving the man a thing like that. Why not give him a sum of money? Several members said, here, here, to this, but some of the others laughed. I can't see nothing to laugh at, cried Grinder angrily. For my part I wouldn't give you tuppence for all the honorariums in the country. I move that we pay him a sum of money. I'll second that," said another member of the band, one of those who had cried, here, here. Alderman Sweater said that there seemed to be a little misunderstanding, and explained that an honorarium was a sum of money. Well, in that case I'll withdraw my resolution," said Grinder. I thought you wanted to give him an illuminated address or something like that. Didlam now moved that a letter of thanks and a fee of fifty guineas be voted to Mr. Wireman, and this was also unanimously agreed to. Dr. Wheatling said that it seemed rather a lot, but he did not go as far as to vote against it. The next business was the proposal that the corporation should take over the drain connecting Mr. Sweater's house with the town main. Mr. Sweater, being a public-spirited man, proposed to hand this connecting drain, which ran through a private road, over to the corporation to be theirs and their successors for ever, on condition that they would pay him the cost of construction, fifty-five pounds, and agreed to keep it in proper repair. After a brief discussion it was decided to take over the drain on the terms offered, and then Councillor Didlam proposed a vote of thanks to Alderman Sweater for his generosity in the matter. This was promptly seconded by Councillor Rushton, and would have been carried Nem-Con, but for the disgraceful conduct of Dr. Wheatling, who had the bad taste to suggest that the amount was about double what the drain could possibly have cost to construct, that it was of no use to the corporation at all, and that they would merely acquire the liability to keep it in repair. However, no one took the trouble to reply to Wheatling, and the ban proceeded to the consideration of the next business, which was Mr. Grinder's offer, on behalf of the Cosy Corner Refreshment Company, to take the kiosk on the grand parade. Mr. Grinder submitted a plan of certain alterations that he would require the corporation to make at the kiosk, and, provided the Council agreed to this work, he was willing to take a lease of the place for five years, at twenty pounds per year. Councillor Didlam proposed that the offer of the Cosy Corner Refreshment Company limited be accepted, and the required alterations proceeded with at once. The kiosk had brought in no rent for nearly two years, but apart from that consideration, if they accepted this offer, they would be able to set some of the unemployed to work. The Plaws Councillor Rushton seconded. Dr. Wheatling pointed out that as the proposed alterations would cost about one hundred and seventy-five pounds, according to the estimate of the borough engineer, and the rent being only twenty pounds a year, it would mean that the Council would be seventy-five pounds out of pocket at the end of the five years, to say nothing of the expense of keeping the place in repair during all that time. Disturbance He moved as an amendment that the alterations be made, and that they then invite tenders and let the place go to the highest bidder. Great uproar! Councillor Rushton said that he was disgusted with the attitude taken up by that man Wheatling. Applauds. Perhaps it was hardly right to call him a man. Here, here. In the matter of these alterations they had had the use of Councillor Grinder's brains. It was he who first thought of making these improvements in the kiosk, and therefore he, or rather the company he represented, had a moral right to the tenancy. Loud cheers! Dr. Wheatling said that he thought it was understood that when a man was elected to the Council, it was because he was supposed to be willing to use his brains for the benefit of his constituents. Sardonic laughter. The Mayor asked if there was any seconder to Wheatling's amendment, and as there was not, the original proposition was put and carried. Councillor Rushton suggested that a large shelter with seating accommodation for about two hundred persons should be erected on the Grand Parade near the kiosk. The shelter would serve as a protection against rain or the rays of the sun in summer. It would add materially to the comfort of visitors, and would be a notable addition to the attractions of the town. Councillor Didlum said this was a very good idea, and proposed that the surveyor should be instructed to set out the plans. Dr. Wheatling opposed the motion. Laughter. It seemed to him that the object was to benefit not the town, but Mr. Grinder. Disturbance. If the shelter were erected, it would increase the value of the kiosk as a refreshment bar by a hundred percent. If Mr. Grinder wanted a shelter for his customers, he should pay for it himself. Upproar. He, Dr. Wheatling, was sorry to have to say it, but he could not help thinking that this was a put-up job. Loud cries of, Withdraw! Apologize! Cast him out! And terrific uproar. Wheatling did not apologize or withdraw, but he said no more. Didlum's proposition was carried, and the hand went on to the next item on the agenda, which was a proposal by Councillor Didlum to increase the salary of Mr. Oily Sweater, the borough engineer, from fifteen pounds to seventeen pounds per week. Councillor Didlum said that when they had a good man, they ought to appreciate him. Applauds. Compared with other officials, the borough engineer was not fairly paid. Hear, hear! The magistrate's clerk received seventeen pounds a week, the town clerk seventeen pounds per week. He did not wish to be understood that he thought these gentlemen were overpaid, far from it. Hear, hear! It was not that they got too much, but that the engineer got too little. How could they expect a man like that to exist on a paltry fifteen pounds a week? Why, it was nothing more or less than sweating. Hear, hear! He had much pleasure in moving that the borough engineer's salary be increased to seventeen pounds a week, and that his holiday be extended from a fortnight to one calendar a month, with hard li—he begged pardon—with full pay. Loud cheers. Councillor Rushton said that he did not propose to make a long speech. It was not necessary. He would content himself with formally seconding Councillor Didlum's excellent proposition. Applauds. A Councillor Weakling, whose rising was greeted with the rise of laughter, said he must oppose the resolution. He said it was to be understood that he was not actuated by any feeling of personal animosity towards the borough engineer, but at the same time he considered it his duty to say that in his, Dr. Weakling's opinion, that official would be dear at half the price they were now paying him. Disturbance. He did not appear to understand his business. Nearly all the work that was done cost in the end about double what the borough engineer estimated it could be done for. Liar. He considered him to be a grossly incompetent person, uproar, and was of the opinion that if they were to advertise they could get dozens of better men who would be glad to do the work for five pounds a week. He moved that Mr. Oiley Sweater be asked to resign and that they advertise for a man at five pounds a week. Great uproar. Councillor Grinder rose to a point of order. He appealed to the chairman to squash the amendment. Applauds. Councillor Didlem remarked that he supposed Councillor Grinder meant quash. In that case he would support the suggestion. Councillor Grinder said it was about time they put a stopper on that fellow Weakling. He, Grinder, did not care whether they called it squashing or quashing. It was all the same as long as they nipped him in the bud. Cheers. The man was a disgrace to the council, always interfering and hindering the business. The mayor, Alderman Sweater, said that he did not think it consistent with the dignity of that council to waste any more time over this scurrilous amendment. Applauds. He was proud to say that it had never even been seconded, and therefore he would put Mr. Didlem's resolution, a proposition which he had no hesitation in saying reflected the highest credit upon that gentleman and upon all those who supported it. Vosiferous cheers. All those who were in favour signify their approval in the customary manner, and as Weakling was the only one opposed, the resolution was carried and the meeting proceeded to the next business. Councillor Rushton said that several influential ratepayers and employers of labour had complained to him about the high wages of the corporation workmen, some of whom were paid seven pence hapenny an hour. Seven pence an hour was the maximum wage paid to skilled workmen by private employers in that town, and he failed to see why the corporation should pay more. Here, here. It had a very bad effect on the minds of the men in the employment of private firms tending to make them dissatisfied with their wages. The same state of affairs prevailed with regard to the unskilled labourers in the council's employment. Private employers could get that class of labour for four pence hapenny or five pence an hour, and yet the corporation paid five pence hapenny and even six pence for the same class of work. Shame! It is not fair to the ratepayers. Here, here. Considering that the men in the employment of the corporation had almost constant work, if there was to be a difference at all they should not get more but less than those who worked for private firms. Cheers! He moved that the wages of the corporation workmen be reduced in all cases to the same level as those paid by private firms. Councillor Grinder seconded. He said it amounted to a positive scandal. Why, in the summertime, some of these men drew as much as thirty-five shillings in a week. Shame! And it was quite common for unskilled labourers, fellers who did nothing but the very hardest and most laborious work, such as carrying in sacks a cement, or digging up the roads to get at the drains and such like easy jobs, to walk off with twenty-five shillings a week. Sensation! He had often noticed some of these men swaggering about the town on Sundays, dressed like millionaires and cigarred up. They seemed quite a different class of men from those who worked for private firms, and to look at the way some of their children was dressed you'd think their fathers was cabinet minstrels. No wonder the ratepayers complained of the high rates. Another grievance was that all the corporation workmen were allowed two days holiday every year, in addition to the bank holidays, and were paid for them. Cries of shame, scandalous, disgraceful, etc. No private contractor paid his men for bank holidays, and why should the corporation do so? He had much pleasure in seconding Councillor Rushton's resolution. Councillor Wheatling opposed the motion. He thought that thirty-five shillings a week was little enough for a man to keep a wife and family with. Rot! Even if all the men got it regularly, which they did not, members should consider what was the average amount per week throughout the whole year, not merely the busy time, and if they did that they would find that even the skilled men did not average more than twenty-five shillings a week, and in many cases not so much. If this subject had not been introduced by Councillor Rushton, he, Dr. Wheatling, had intended to propose that the wages of the corporation workmen should be increased to the standard recognised by the trade unions, loud laughter. It had been proved that the notorious short lives of the working people, whose average span of life was about twenty years less than that of the well-to-do classes, their increasing the inferior physique and the high rate of mortality amongst their children was caused by the wretched remuneration they received for hard and tiring work, the excessive number of hours they have to work when employed, the bad quality of their food, the badly constructed and insanitary homes that poverty compels them to occupy, and the anxiety, worry, and depression of mind they have to suffer when out of employment. Cries of rot, Bosch, and loud laughter. Councillor Didlum said, Rot! It was a very good word to describe the disease that was sapping the foundations of society and destroying the health and happiness and the very lives of so many of their fellow countrymen and women. Renewed merriment and shouts of, Go on buy a red tie. He appealed to the members to reject the resolution. He was very glad to say that he believed it was true that the workmen in the employment of the corporation were a little better off than those in the employment of the private contractors, and if it were so, it was as it should be. They had need to be better off than the poverty-stricken half-starved poor wretches who worked for private firms. Councillor Didlum said that it was very evident that Dr. Weakling had obtained his seat on that council by false pretenses. If he had told the rate-payers that he was a socialist, they would never have elected him. Here, here. Practically every Christian minister in the country would agree with him, Didlum, when he said that the poverty of the working classes was caused not by the wretched remuneration they received as wages, but by drink. Loud applause. And he was very sure that the testimony of the clergy of all denominations was more to be relied upon than the opinion of a man like Dr. Weakling. Here, here. Dr. Weakling said that if some of the clergymen referred to or some of the members of the council had to exist and toil amid the same sordid surroundings, overcrowding and ignorance as some of the working classes, they would probably seek to secure some share of pleasure and forgetfulness in drink themselves. Great uproar and shouts of order. Withdraw. Apologize. Councillor Grinder said that even if it was true that the average lives of the working classes was twenty years shorter than those of the better classes, he could not see what it had got to do with Dr. Weakling. Here, here. So long as the working class was contented to die twenty years before their time, he failed to see what it had got to do with other people. They was not running short of workers, was they? There were still plenty of them left. Laughter. So long as the working class was satisfied to die off, let them die off. It was a free country. Applause. The working class hadn't asked Dr. Weakling to stick up for them, had they? If they wasn't satisfied, they would stick up for themselves. The working men didn't want the likes of Dr. Weakling to stick up for them, and they would let him know it when the next election came round. If he, Grinder, was a worldly man, he would not mind betting that the working men of Dr. Weakling's ward would give him the dirty kick-out next November. Applause. Councillor Weakling, who knew that this was probably true, made no further protest. Russian proposition was carried, and then the clerk announced that the next item was the resolution Mr. Didlam had given notice of at the last meeting, and the mayor accordingly called upon that gentleman. Councillor Didlam, who was received with loud cheers, said that unfortunately a certain member of that council seemed to think he had a right to oppose nearly everything that was brought forward. The majority of the members of the band glared malignantly at Weakling. He hoped that for once the individual he referred to would have the decency to restrain himself, because the resolution he, Didlam, was about to have the honour of proposing, was one that he believed no right-minded man, no matter what his politics or religious opinions, could possibly object to, and he trusted that for the credit of the council it would be entered on the records as an unopposed motion. The resolution was as follows, that from this date all the meetings of the council shall be opened with prayer and closed with the singing of the doxology. Loud applause! Councillor Rushton seconded the resolution, which is also supported by Mr. Griner, who said that at a time like the present, when there was such a lot of infidels about who said that we all came from monkeys, the council should be showing a good example to the working classes by adopting the resolution. Councillor Weakling said nothing, so the new rule was carried in them con, and as there was no more business to be done, it was put into operation for the first time there and then. Mr. Sweater conducting the singing with the roll of paper, the plan of the drain of the cave, and each member singing a different tune. Weakling withdrew during the singing, and afterwards, before the band dispersed, it was agreed that a certain number of them were to meet the chief at the cave, on the following evening, to arrange the details of the proposed raid of the finances of the town in connection with the sale of the electric lightworks. End of Chapter 39