 CHAPTER 24 RUTH As has already been stated, hitherto Slime had passed a greater number of his evenings at home, but during the following three weeks a change took place in his habits in this respect. He now went out nearly every night, and did not return until after ten o'clock. On meeting nights he always changed his attire, dressing himself as on Sundays, but on the other occasions he went out in his weekday clothes. Ruth often wondered where he went on those nights, but he never volunteered the information, and she never asked him. Easton had chummed up with a lot of the regular customers at the cricketers, where he now spent most of his spare time drinking beer, telling yarns, or playing shove hapeny, or hooks and rings. When he had no cash the old deer gave him credit until Saturday. Not first, the place had not had much attraction for him, and he really went there only for the purpose of keeping in with Crass, but after a time he founded a very congenial way of passing his evenings. One evening Ruth saw Slime meet Crass as if by appointment, and as the two men went away together she returned to her housework wondering what it meant. Meantime Crass and Slime proceeded on the way downtown. It was about half past six o'clock, the shops and streets were brilliantly lighted, and as they went along they saw numerous groups of men talking together in a listless way. Most of them were artisans and labourers out of employment, and evidently in no great hurry to go home. Some of them had neither tea nor fire to go to, and stayed away from home as long as possible so as not to be compelled to look upon the misery of those who are waiting there for them. Others hung about hoping against all probability that they might even yet, although it was so late. Here of some job to be started, somewhere or other. As they passed one of these groups they recognized and nodded to Newman and old Jack Linden, and the former lefty others and came up to Crass and Slime who did not pause, so Newman walked along with them. Anything fresh in, Bob? He asked. No, we ain't got hardly anything, replied Crass. I reckon we shall finish up at the cave next week, and then I suppose we shall all be stood off. We got several plumbers on, and I believe there's a little gas fit in the work on, but next to nothing on our line. I suppose you don't know of any other firm that's got anything? No, I don't, mate. Between you and me I don't take any of them as. They're all in about the same fix. I've not done anything since I left, you know," said Newman, and we've just about got as far as we can get at home. Slime and Crass said nothing and replied to this. They wished that Newman would take himself off, because they did not want him to know where they were going. However, Newman continued to accompany them, and an awkward silence succeeded. He seemed to wish to say something more, and they both guessed what it was. So they walked along as rapidly as possible in order not to give him any encouragement. At last Newman blurted out. I suppose you don't happen either of you to have a tanner you could lend me? I'll let you have a back when I get a job. I ain't, mate," replied Crass. I'm sorry. If I had one on me you should have it with pleasure. Slime also expressed his regret that he had no money with him, and at the corner of the next street Newman, ashamed of having asked, wished him good night and went away. Slime and Crass hurried along, and presently arrived at Rushton and Cole's shop. The windows were lit up with electric light, displaying an assortment of wallpapers, gas and electric light fittings, glass shades, tins of enamel, paint and varnish, several framed show cards, estimates free, first-class work only, at moderate charges, first-class workmen employed, and several others of the same type. On one side wall of the window was a large shield-shaped board covered with black velvet, on which a number of brass fittings for coffins were arranged. The shield was on an oak mount with the inscription, funerals conducted on modern principles. Slime waited outside while Crass went in. Mr. Budd, the shopman, was down at the far end near the glazed partition which separated Mr. Rushton's office from the front shop. As Crass entered, Budd, who was a pale-faced, unhealthy-looking undersized youth about twenty years of age, looked round and, with a grimace, motioned him to walk softly. Crass paused, wondering what the other meant, but the shopman beckoned him to advance, grinning and winking and jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the office. Crass hesitated, fearing that possibly the miserable Budd had gone or been driven out of his mind. But as the latter continued to beckon and grin and point towards the office, Crass screwed up his courage and followed him behind one of the showcases, and, applying his eye to a crack in the woodwork of the partition indicated by Budd, he could see Mr. Rushton in the act of kissing and embracing Miss Wade, the young lady-clerk. Crass watched him for some time, and then whispered to Budd to call Slime, and when the latter came they all three took turns at peeping through the crack in the partition. When they had looked their fill they came out from behind the showcase, almost bursting with suppressed merriment. Budd reached down a key from where it was hanging on a hook on the wall, and gave it to Crass, and the two resumed their interrupted journey. But before they had proceeded a dozen yards from the shop they were accosted by a short elderly man, with grey hair and a beard. This man looked about sixty-five years of age, and was very shabbily dressed. The end of the sleeves of his coat were frayed and ragged, and the elbows were worn thread-bear. His boots were patched, broken, and down at heel, and the knees and bottoms of the legs of his trousers were in the same condition as the sleeves of his coat. This man's name was Latham. He was the Venetian blind-maker and repairer. With his son he was supposed to be in business on his own account, but as most of their work was done for the trade, that is, for such firms as Rushton and Coe, they would be more correctly described as men who did peace-work at home. They had been in business, as he called it, for about forty years, working, working, always working. And ever since his son became old enough to labour, he had helped his father in the philanthropic task of manufacturing profits for the sweaters who employ them. They had been so busy running after work and working for the benefit of others, that they had overlooked the fact that they were only earning a better living for themselves, and now, after forty years hard labour, the old man was clothed in rags and on the verge of destitution. He rushed in there. He asked. Yes, I think so. reply'd Crass attempting to pass on, but the old man detained him. He promised to let us know about them blinds for the cave. We gave him a price for them about a month ago. In fact, we gave him two prices, because he said the force was too high. For even six a set, we asked them, take them right through the old house, one with the other, big and little, two coats of paint and new tapes and cards. That wasn't too much, was it? No, said Crass walking on. That was cheap enough. He said it was too much, continued lay them, said as he could get them done cheaper, but what he said is no one can do it and make a living. As he walked along talking between Crass and Slime, the old man became very excited. But we had nothing to do to speak of, so my son told him we'd do him for five bobbers set, and he said he'd let us know, but we ain't heard nothing from him yet, and I thought I'd try and see him tonight. Well, you'll find him in there now, said Slime with a peculiar look and walking faster, and good night. I won't take him on for no less, cried the old man as he turned back. I've got my livin' to get, and my son's got his wife and little ones to keep. We can't walk for nothin'. Certainly not, said Crass, glad to get away at last. Good night and good luck to you. As soon as they were out of hearing, they both burst out laughing at the old man's vehemence. "'Seems quite upset about it,' said Slime, and they laughed again. They now left the main road and pursued their way through a number of badly-lighted, mean-looking streets, and finally turning down a kind of alley arrived at their destination. On one side of this street was a small row of houses. Facing these were a number of buildings of a miscellaneous description, sheds and stables, and beyond these a plot of waste ground on which could be seen looming weirdly through the dusk, a number of empty carts and wagons with their shafts resting on the ground, or reared up into the air, threading their way carefully through these, and avoiding as much as possible the mud, pools of water, and rubbish which cover the ground, they arrived at a large gate, fastened with a padlock. Applying the key, Crass swung back the gate, and they found themselves in a large yard, filled with building materials and plant, ladders, huge trestles, planks and beams of wood, hand-carts and wheel-barrels, heaps of sand and mortar, and innumerable other things that assumed strange fantastic shapes in the semi-darkness. Crates and packing-cases, lengths of iron guttering and rain-pipes, old door-frames, and other woodwork that had been taken from buildings where alterations had been made, and all over these things a gloomy, indistinct and shapeless mass rose the buildings and sheds that comprised Rushton and Co's workshop. Crass struck a match, and slimes, stooping down, drew a key from a crevice in the wall near one of the doors, which he unlocked, and they entered. Crass struck another match, and lit the gas, at the jointed bracket fixed to the wall. This was the paint-shop. At one end was a fireplace without a grate, but with an iron bar fixed across the blackened chimney, for the purpose of suspending pales or pots over the fire, which was usually made of wood on the hard stone, all round the walls of the shop, which had once been whitewashed, but were now covered with smears of paint of every colour where the men had rubbed out their brushes, where rows of shelves with kegs of paint upon them. In front of the window was a long bench covered with an untidy litter of dirty paint-pots, including several earthenware mixing-bessels or mortars, the sides of these being tickly coated with dried paint. What mattered about the stone floor were a number of dirty pales, either empty or containing stale whitewash, and standing on a sort of low platform or shelf at one end of the shop were four large round tanks fitted with taps and labelled boiled oil, turps, linseed oil, and turps substitute. The lower parts of the walls were discoloured with moisture. The atmosphere was cold and damp and foul, with the sickening odour of the poisonous materials. It was in this place that Burt, the apprentice, spent most of his time, cleaning out pots and pales during slack periods when there were no jobs going on outside. In the middle of the shop, under a two-armed gas pendant, was another table or bench also tickly coated with old dry paint, and by the side of this were two large stands on which were hanging up to dry some of the lats of the Venetian blinds belonging to the cave, which class and slime were painting piecework in their spare time. The remainder of the lats were leaning against the walls or piled in stacks on the table. Crass shivered with coal as he lit the two gas jets. Make a bit of a fire-alph, he said, while I get the color ready. Slime went outside and presently returned with his arms full of old wood, which he smashed up and threw into the fireplace. Then he took an empty paint pot and filled it with turpentine from the big tank and emptied it over the wood. Amongst the pots on the mixing bench he found one full of old paint, and he threw this over the wood also, and in a few minutes he had made a roaring fire. Meantime Crassock prepared the paint and brushes and taken down the lats from the drying-frames. The two men now proceeded with the painting of the blinds, working rapidly, each lath being hung on the wires of the drying-frame after being painted. They talked freely as they worked, having no fear of being overheard by Rushd and our Nimrod. This job was piecework, so it didn't matter whether they talked or not. They waxed hilarious over old Latham's discomforture, and wondered what he would say if he could see them now. Then the conversation drifted to the subject of the private characters of the other men, who were employed by Rushd and Caul, and an impartial listener, had there been one there, would have been forced to come to the same conclusion as Crass and Slime did, namely that they themselves were the only two decent fellows on the firm. There was something wrong or shady about everybody else. That broke Barrington, for instance. It was a very funny business, you know, for a chap like him to be working as a labourer. It looked very suspicious. Nobody knowed exactly who he was or where he came from, but anyone could tell he'd been a tough. It was very certain he'd never been brought up to work for his living. The most probable explanation was that he'd committed some crime and been disowned by his family, pinned some money or forged a check or something like that. Then there was that Sawkins. He was no class, whatever. It was a well-known fact that he used to go round to Misery's house nearly every night to tell him every little thing that had happened on the job during the day. As for pain, the form and carpenter, the man was a perfect fool. He'd find out the difference if he ever got the slack from Rushd and went to work for some other firm. He didn't understand his trade, and he couldn't make a coffin properly to save his life. Then there was that Rotter Owen. There was a bright specimen for you. An atheist. Didn't believe in no God nor devil nor nothing. A pretty state of things there would be if these socialists should ever have their own way. If one thing, nobody would be allowed to work overtime. Crass and Slime worked and talked together in this manner till ten o'clock, and then they extinguished the fire by throwing some water on it, and put out the gas, and locked up the shop and the yard, dropping the key of the ladder into the letter-box at Rushd's office on their way home. In this way they worked at the blinds nearly every night for three weeks. When Saturday arrived the men working at the cave were again surprised that nobody was sacked, and they were divided in opinion as to the reason, some thinking that Nimrod was determined to keep them all on till the job was finished, so as to get it done as quickly as possible, and others boldly asserting the truth of a rumour that had been going about for several days, that the firm had another big job in. Mr. Sweater had bought another house, Rushden had to do it up, and they were all to be kept on to start this other work as soon as the cave was finished. Crass knew no more than anyone else, and he maintained a discreet silence, but the fact that he did not contradict the rumour served to strengthen it. The only foundation that existed for this report was that Rushden and Misery had been seen looking over the garden gate of a large empty house near the cave. But although it had such an insignificant beginning, the rumour had grown and increased in detail and importance day by day. That very morning at breakfast time the man on the pale announced that he had heard on the very best authority that Mr. Sweater had sold all his interest in the great business that bore his name, and was about to retire into private life, and that he intended to buy up all the house property in the neighbourhood of the cave. Another individual, one of the new hands, said that he had heard someone else in a public house, say that Rushden was about to marry one of Sweater's daughters, and that Sweater intended to give the couple a house to live in, as a wedding present. But the fact that Rushden was already married, and the father of four children, rather knocked the bottom out of this story, so it was regretfully dismissed. Whatever the reason, the fact remained that nobody had been discharged, and when paytime arrived they set out for the office in high spirits. That evening, the weather being fine, Slime went out as usual to his open-air meeting, but Easton departed from his usual custom of rushing off to the cricketers directly he had had his tea, having on this occasion promised to wait for Ruth, and to go with her to do the marketing. The baby was left at home asleep in the cradle. By the time they had made all their purchases they had a fairly heavy load. Easton carried the string-bag containing the potatoes and other vegetables, and the meat and Ruth the groceries. On their way home they had to pass the cricketers, and just before they reached that part of their journey they met Mr. and Mrs. Crass, who were also out-marketing. They both insisted on Easton and Ruth going in to have a drink with them. Ruth did not want to go, but she allowed herself to be persuaded, for she could see that Easton was beginning to get angry with her for refusing. Crass had on a new overcoat, and a new hat, with dark gray trousers and yellow boots, and a stand-up collar with a bright blue tie. His wife, a fat, vulgar-looking, well-preserved woman about forty, was arrayed in a dark red motor-costume, with hat to match. Both Easton and Ruth, whose best clothes had all been pawned to raise money to pay the poor rate, felt very mean and shabby before them. When they got inside, Crass paid for the first round of drinks, a pint of old six for himself, the same for Easton, half a pint for Mrs. Easton, and thrupe any worth of gin for Mrs. Crass. The besotted wretch was there, just finishing a game of hooks and rings with a semi-drunk, who had called round on the day after he was thrown out to apologise for his conduct to the old deer, and had since then become one of the regular customers. Philpot was absent. He had been there that afternoon, so the old deer said, but he had gone home about five o'clock, and had not been back since. He was almost sure to look in again in the course of the evening. Although the house was not nearly so full as it would have been if times had been better, there was a large number of people there, for the cricketers was one of the most popular houses in the town. Another thing that helped to make them busy was the fact that the two other public houses in the vicinity had recently been closed up. There were people in all the compartments. Some of the seats in the public bar were occupied by women, some young and accompanied by their husbands, some old and evidently sudden with drink. In one corner of the public bar, drinking beer or gin with a number of young fellows, were three young girls who worked at a steam laundry in the neighbourhood. Two large fat gypsy-looking women evidently hawkers, a fur on the floor beside them, were two baskets containing bundles of flowers, chrysanthemums, and nickel-nestazies. There were also two very plainly and shabbily dressed women about thirty-five years of age, who were always to be found there on Saturday nights, drinking with any man who was willing to pay for them. The behaviour of these two women was very quiet and their manners unobtrusive. They seemed to realise that they were only there on sufferance and their demeanour was shame-faced and humble. The majority of the guests were standing. The floor was sprinkled with saw-dust, which served to soak up the beer that slopped out of the glasses of those whose hands were too unsteady to hold them upright. The air was foul with the smell of beer, spirits and tobacco smoke, and the uproar was deafening. For nearly everyone was talking at the same time, their voices clashing discordantly with the strains of the polyphone, which was playing the garden of your heart. In one corner a group of men convulsed with laughter at the details of a dirty story related by one of their number. Several impatient customers were banging the bottoms of their empty glasses or putters on the counter, and shouting their orders for more beer. Olds, curses and obscene expressions resounded on every hand, coming almost as frequently from the women as the men. And all over the rattle of money, the ringing of the cash register, the clinking and rattling of the glasses and pewter-pots, as they were being washed, and the gurgling noises made by the beer as it poured into the drinking vessels from the taps of the beer engine, whose handles were almost incessantly manipulated by the barman, the old deer and the glittering landlady, whose silken blouse, bejeweled hair, ears, neck, and fingers, scintillated gloriously in the blaze of the gaslight. The scene was so novel and strange to Ruth that she felt dazed and bewildered. Previous to her marriage she had been a total abstainer, but since then she had occasionally taken a glass of beer with Easton for company's sake, with her Sunday dinner at home. But it was generally Easton who went out and bought the beer in a jug. Once or twice she had bought it herself at an off-license beer-shop near where they lived, but she had never before been in a public house to drink. She was so confused and ill at ease that she scarcely heard or understood Mrs. Crass, who talked incessantly, principally about their other residence in North Street where they both resided, and about Mr. Crass. She also promised Ruth to introduce her presently, if he came in, as he was almost certain to do, to Mr. Partaker, one of her two lodgers, a most superior young man, who had been with them now for over three years and would not leave on any account. In fact he had been their lodger in their old house, and when they moved he came with them to North Street, although it was farther away from his place of business than their former residence. Mrs. Crass talked a lot more of the same sort of stuff to which Ruth listened like one in a dream, and answered with an occasional yes or no. Meantime Crass and Easton, the latter had deposited the string bag on the seat at Ruth's side, and the semi-drunk and the besotted wretch arranged to play a match of hooks and rings, the losers to pay for drinks for all the party, including the two women. Crass and the semi-drunk tossed up for sides. Crass won and picked the besotted wretch, and the game began. It was a one-sided affair from the first. For Easton and the semi-drunk were no match for the other two. The end of it was that Easton and his partner had to pay for the drinks. The four men had a pint each of four ale, and Mrs. Crass had another trupony worth of gin. Ruth protested that she did not want any more to drink, but the others ridiculed this, and both the besotted wretch and the semi-drunks seemed to regard her unwillingness as a personal insult, so she allowed them to get her another half-pint of beer, which she was compelled to drink because she was conscious that the others were watching her to see that she did so. The semi-drunk now suggested a return match. He wished to have his revenge. He was a little out of practice, he said, and was only just getting his hand in as they were finishing the other game. Crass and his partner readily assented, and in spite of Ruth's whispered-in treaty that they should return home without further delay, Easton insisted on joining the game. Although they played more carefully than before, and notwithstanding the fact that the besotted wretch was very drunk, Easton and his partner were again beaten, and once more had to pay for the drinks. The men had a pint each as before. Mrs. Crass, upon whom the liquor so far seemed to have no effect, had another thruppany worth of gin, and Ruth consented to take another glass of beer on condition that Easton would come away directly their drinks were finished. Easton agreed to do so, but instead of keeping his word he began to play a four-handed game of shove-hapenny with the other three, the sides and stakes being arranged as before. The liquor by this time was beginning to have some effect upon Ruth. She felt dizzy and confused. Whenever it was necessary to reply to Mrs. Crass's talk, she found some difficulty in articulating the words, and she knew she was not answering very intelligently. Even when Mrs. Crass introduced her to the interesting Mr. Partaker, who arrived about this time, she was scarcely able to collect herself sufficiently to decline that fascinating gentleman's invitation to have another drink with himself and Mrs. Crass. After a time a kind of terror took possession of her, and she resolved that if Easton would not come when he had finished the game he was playing, she would go home without him. Meantime the game of shove-hapenny proceeded merrily, the majority of the male guests crowding round the board, applauding or censuring the players as occasion demanded. The semi-drunk was in high glee, for Crass was not much of a hand at this game, and the besotted wretch, although playing well, was not able to make up for his partner's want of skill. As the game drew near its end, and it became more and more certain that his opponents would be defeated, the joy of the semi-drunk was unbounded, and they challenged them to make it double or quits, a generous offer which they wisely declined, and then shortly afterwards, seeing that their position was hopeless, they capitulated, and prepared to pay the penalty of the vanquished. Crass ordered the drinks, and the besotted wretch halved the damage, a pint of forail for each of the men, and the same as before for the ladies. The old heir executed the order, but by mistake being very busy. He served two threes of gin instead of one. Ruth did not want any more at all, but she was afraid to say so, and she did not like to make any fuss about it being the wrong drink, especially as they all assured her that the spirits would do her more good than the beer. She did not want either. She wanted to get away, and would have liked to empty the stuff out of the glass on the floor, but she was afraid that Mrs. Crass or one of the others might see her doing so, and there might be some trouble about it. Anyway, it seemed easier to drink this small quantity of spirits and water than a big glass of beer, the very thought of which now made her feel ill. She drank the stuff which Easton handed to her at a single draught, and, handing back the empty glass with the shutter, stood up resolutely. "'Are you coming home now?' "'You've promised you would,' she said. "'All right, presently,' replied Easton. "'There's plenty of time. It's not nine yet.' "'That doesn't matter. It's quite late enough. You know we've left a child home alone in the house. You promised you'd come as soon as you'd finish that other game.' "'All right, all right,' answered Easton impatiently. "'Just wait a minute. I want to see this, and then I'll come.' This was the most interesting problem propounded by Crass, who had arranged eleven matches side by side on the shove-hapenny-board. The problem was to take none away, and yet leave only nine. Nearly all the men in the bar were crowding round the shove hapenny-board, some with knitted brows and drunken gravity, trying to solve the puzzle, and others waiting curiously for the result. Easton crossed over to see how it was done, and as none of the crowd were able to do the trick, Crass showed that it could be accomplished by simply arranging the eleven matches, so as to form the word nine. Everybody said it was very good indeed, very clever and interesting. But the semi-drunken, the besotted wretch were reminded by this trick of several others equally good, and they proceeded to do them. And then the men had another pint each all round as a reviver after the mental strain of the last few minutes. Easton did not know any tricks himself, but he was an interested spectator of those done by several others, until Root came over and touched his arm. "'That you're coming.' "'Wait a minute, can't you?' cried Easton roughly. "'Watch a hurry. "'I don't want to stay here any longer,' said Root hysterically. "'You said you'd come as soon as you saw that trick. "'If you don't come, I shall go home by myself. I don't want to stay in this place any longer.' "'Well, go by yourself if you want to,' shouted Easton fiercely, pushing her away from him. "'I'll stop here as long as I please, and if you don't like it, you can do the other thing.' Root staggered and nearly fell from the force of the push he gave her, and the man turned again to the table to watch the semi-drunk, who was arranging six matches so as to form the numeral twelve, and who said he could prove that this was equal to a thousand. Root waited a few minutes longer, and then, as Easton took no further notice of her, she took up the string-bag and the other parcels, and, without saying good-night to Mrs. Crass, who was earnestly conversing with the interesting partaker, she with some difficulty opened the door and went out into the street. The cold night-air felt refreshing and sweet after the foul atmosphere of the public house, but after a little while she began to feel faint and dizzy, and was conscious also that she was walking unsteadily, and she fancied that people stared at her strangely as they passed. The parcels felt very heavy and awkward to carry, and the string-bag seemed as if it were filled with lead. Although under ordinary circumstances it was only about ten minutes walk home from here, she resolved to go by one of the trams which passed by the end of North Street. With his intention she put down the bags on the pavement at the stopping-place and waited, resting her hand on the iron pillar at the corner of the street, where a little crowd of people were standing evidently with the same object as herself. Two trains passed without stopping, for they were already full of passengers, a common circumstance on Saturday nights. The next one stopped, and several persons alighted, and then ensued a fierce struggle amongst the waiting crowd for the vacant seats. Men and women pushed, pulled, and almost fought, shoving their fists and elbows into each other's sides and breasts and faces. Ruth was quickly thrust aside and nearly knocked down, and the tram, having taken aboard as many passengers as it had accommodation for, passed on. She waited for the next one, and the same scene was enacted with the same result for her, and then, reflecting that if she had not stayed for these trains she might have been at home by now, she determined to resume her walk. The parcels felt heavier than ever, and she had not proceeded very far before she was compelled to put the bag down again upon the pavement, outside an empty house. Leaning against the railing, she felt very tired and ill. Everything around her, the street, the houses, the traffic, seemed vague and shadowy and unreal. People looked curiously at her as they passed, but by this time she was scarcely conscious of her scrutiny. Slime had gone that evening to the usual open air conducted by the shining light mission. The weather being fine, they had a most successful meeting. The disciples, including Hunter, Rushden, Sweeter, Didlam, and Mrs. Starvam, Ruth's former mistress, assembled in great force so as to be able to deal more effectively with any infidels or hired critics or drunken scoffers, who might try to disturb the proceedings, and, possibly as an evidence of how much real faith there was in them, they had also arranged to have a police officer in attendance, to protect them from what they call the powers of darkness. One might be excused for thinking that, if they really believed, they would have relied rather upon those powers of light, which they professed to represent on this planet to protect them, without troubling to call in the aid of such a worldly force as the police. However, it came to pass that, on this occasion, the only infidels present were those who were conducting the meeting, but as these consisted for the most part of the members of the chapel, it would be seen that the infidel fraternity was strongly represented. On his way home after the meeting, Slive had to pass by the cricketers, and as he drew near the place, he wondered if Easton was there, but he did not like to go in and look, because he was afraid someone might see him coming away and perhaps think he had been in to drink. Just as he arrived opposite the house, another man opened the door of the public bar and entered, enabling Slive to catch a momentary glimpse of the interior, where he saw Easton and Crass, with a number of others who were strangers to him, laughing and drinking together. Slive hurried away. It had turned very cold, and he was anxious to get home. As he approached the place where the trams stopped to take up passengers, and he saw that there was a tram inside, he resolved to wait for it and ride home. But when the tram arrived, and there were only one or two seats vacant, and although he did his best to secure one of these, he was unsuccessful, and after a moment's hesitation he decided that it would be quicker to walk than to wait for the next one. He accordingly resumed his journey, but he had not gone very far when he saw a small crowd of people on the pavement, on the other side of the road outside an unoccupied house, and although he was in a hurry to get home, he crossed over to see what was the matter. There was about twenty people standing there, and in the centre close to the railing there were three or four women, whom Slive could not see although he could hear their voices. "'What's up?' he inquired of a man at the edge of the crowd. "'Ah, not a much,' returned the other. Some young woman. She's either ill, come over faint or something, or else she's had a drop too much. "'Poid a respectable look on party, too,' said another man. Several young fellows in the crowd were amusing themselves by making suggestive jokes about the woman, and causing some laughter by the expressions of mock sympathy. "'Doesn't anyone know who she is?' said the second man, who had spoken, and replied to Slime's inquiry. "'No,' said a woman who was standing a little nearer the middle of the crowd. Then she won't say where she lives.' "'She'll be all right now that she's had a glass of soda,' said another man, elbowing his way out of the crowd. As this individual came out, Slime managed to work himself a little further into the group of people, and he uttered an involuntary cry of astonishment as he caught sight of Ruth, very pale and looking very ill, as she stood clasping one of the railings with her left hand, and holding the packages of groceries in the other. She had by this time recovered sufficiently to feel overwhelmed with shame and confusion before the crowd of strangers who hemmed her in on every side, and some of whom she could hear laughing and joking about her. It was therefore with a sensation of intense relief and gratitude that she saw Slime's familiar face and heard his friendly voice as he forced his way through to her side. "'I can walk all right now,' she stammered and replied to his anxious questioning, if you wouldn't mind carrying some of these things for me. He insisted on taking all the parcels, and the crowd, having jumped to the conclusion that he was the young woman's husband, began to dwindle away, one of the jokers remarking, "'It's all over,' in a loud voice as he took himself off. It was only about seven minutes walk home from there, and as the streets along which they had to pass were not very brilliantly lighted, Ruth was able to lean on Slime's arm most of the way. When they arrived home, after she had removed her hat, he made her sit down in the arm-chair by the fire, which was burning brightly, and the kettle was singing on the hob, for she had banked up the fire with cinders and small coal before she went out. The baby was still asleep in the cradle, but his slumbers had evidently not been of the most restful kind, for he had kicked all the bed-clothes off him, and was lying all uncovered. Ruth obeyed passively when Slime told her to sit down, and lying back languidly in the arm-chair she watched him through half-closed eyes, and with a slight flush on her face as he deftly covered to sleeping child with the bed-clothes, and settled him more comfortably in the cot. Slime now turned his attention to the fire, and as he placed the kettle upon it, he remarked, "'As soon as the water boils, I'll make you some strong tea.' During the walk home she had acquainted Slime with the cause of her being in the condition in which he found her in the seat, and as she reclined in the arm-chair drowsily watching him, she wondered what would have happened to her if he had not passed when he did. "'Are you feeling better?' he asked, looking down at her. "'Yes, thanks. I feel quite well now, but I'm afraid I've given you a lot of trouble.' "'No, you haven't. Nothing I can do for you is trouble to me. But don't you think you'd better take your jacket off? Here, let me help you.' It took a very long time to get this jacket off, because, whilst he was helping her, Slime kissed her repeatedly and passionately, as she lay limp and unresisting in his arms. CHAPTER XXV The oblong. During the following week the work at the cave progressed rapidly towards completion, although the hours of daylight being so few, the men worked only from eight a.m. till four p.m., and they had their breakfasts before they came. This made forty hours a week, so that those who were paid seven pence an hour earned one pound three and four pence. Those who got six pence apony drew one pound one and eight pence. Those whose wages were five pence an hour were paid the princely sum of sixteen shillings eight pence for the week's hard labour, and those whose rate was four pence apony picked up fifteen shillings. And yet there are people who have the insolence to say that drink is the cause of poverty, and many of the persons who say this spend more than that on drink themselves every day of their useless lives. By Tuesday night all the inside was finished, with the exception of the kitchen and scullery. The painting of the kitchen had been delayed owing to the non-arrival of the new cooking-range, and the scullery was still used as the paint-shop. The outside work was also nearly finished. All the first coating was done, and the second coating was being proceeded with. According to the specification all the outside woodwork was supposed to have three coats, and the guttering, rain-pipes, and other iron work two coats. But Crass and Hunter had arranged to make two coats do for most of the windows and woodwork, and all the iron work was to be made do with one coat only. The windows were painted in two colours—the sashes, dark green, and the frames white. All the rest—gables, doors, railings, guttering, etc.—was dark green, and all the dark green paint was made with boiled linseed oil and varnish, no turpentine being allowed to be used on this part of the work. This is some bloody fine stuff to have to use, ain't it? remarked Harlow to Philpott on Wednesday morning. It's more like a lot of treacle than anything else. Yes, and I won't have blister next summer when it gets a bit of sun on it," replied Philpott, with a grin. We're supposed to be afraid that if they were to put a little torps in, it wouldn't bear out, and then they'd have to give it another coat. You can bet your life that's the reason," said Philpott. But all the same, all you mean to pinch a drop to put a mine as soon as Crass is gone. Come where? Why, don't you know, there's another funeral on to-day. Didn't you see that coffin plate that Owen was writing in the drawing-room last Saturday morning? No, he wasn't there. Don't you remember I was sent away to do a ceiling and a bit of painting over at Windley? Oh, of course I forgot," exclaimed Philpott. I reckon Crass and Slime must be making a small fortune out of all these funerals, said Harlow. This makes the fourth in the last fortnight. What is it that gets for them? A shillen for taking on the coffin and lifting in the corpse, and four bob for the funeral, five bob altogether. That's a bit of all right, ain't it? said Harlow. A couple of them in a week besides your week's wage are they? Five bob for two or three hours' work? Yeah, the money's all right, mate, but I welcome to do it for my part. I don't want to go missing about with no corpses," replied Philpott with a shudder. Who's this last party what's dead? asked Harlow after a pause. It's a person what used to belong to the shining light chapel. He'd been abroad on his holidays to Monte Carlo. It seems he was ill before he went away, but the change did him a lot of good. In fact, he was quite recovered, and he was coming back again. But while he was standing on the platform at Monte Carlo station waiting for the train, a porter runned into him with a barrel load of luggage, and he blow'd up. Blow'd up? Yes. Repeated, Philpott. Blow'd up? Busted? Exploded? All into pieces? But they swept him all up and put him in a coffin, and it's to be planted this afternoon. Harlow maintained an awestruck silence, and Philpott continued. I had a drink the other night with a butcher-blow, what used to serve this person with meat, and we was talking about what a strange sort of death it was. But he said he wasn't at all surprised to hear it. The only thing as he wondered at was that the man didn't blow up long ago, considering the amount of glue we used to make away with. He says the quantities of stuff as he took there, and seeing other tradesmen take, was something chronic—tons of it. What was the person's name? asked Harlow. Belcher. You must have noticed him about the town. A very fat chap, replied Philpott. I'm sorry I wasn't here on Sunday to see the coffin plate. Frank called me in to see the warden when he'd finished it. It had on Joanie Dab Belcher, born January 1st, 1849, ascended, December 8, 19-something. Oh, I know the bloke now, cried Harlow, or remember my youngsters, bringing home a subscription list of what they'd got up with the Sunday school to send him away for another day because he was ill, and I gave him a penny each to put on their cards, because I didn't want them to fail me in before the other young ones. Eh, it's the same party. Two or three young ones asked me to give something, to put on at the same time, and I see they've got another subscription list on now. I met one of New Men's children yesterday, and she showed it to me. It's for an entertainment and a Christmas tree for all the children what goes to the Sunday school, so I don't mind giving just a trifle for something like that. It seems to be getting colder, don't it? It's enough to freeze the ears off a blast monkey, remarked Easton, as he descended from a ladder close by, and placing his pot on the ground began to try to warm his hands by rubbing and beating them together. He was trembling, and his teeth were chattering with cold. I could just deal with a nice pint of beer now, he said, as he stamped his feet on the ground. That's just what I was thinking, said Philpott wistfully, and what's more, I mean to have one, too, at dinner time. I shall nip down to the cricketers, even if I don't get back till a few minutes after one, it won't matter, because class of Nimrod will be gone to the funeral. Will you bring me back a point with you, in a bottle?" asked Easton. Yes, certainly, said Philpott, and Harlow said nothing. He also would have liked a pint of beer, but as was usual with him he had not the necessary cash. Having restored the circulation to a certain extent, they now resumed our work, and only just in time, for a few minutes afterwards they observed misery peeping round the corner of the house at them, and they wondered how long he had been there, and whether he had overheard their conversation. At twelve o'clock Crass and Slime cleared off in a great hurry, and a little while afterwards Philpott took off his apron and put on his coat to go to the cricketers. When the others found out where he was going, several of them asked him to bring back a drink for them, and then someone suggested that all those who wanted some beer should give two pens each. This was done, one chilling of four pens was collected and given to Philpott, who was to bring back a gallon of beer in a jar. He promised to get back as soon as ever he could, and some of the shareholders decided not to drink any tea with their dinners, but to wait for the beer, although they knew that it would be nearly time to resume work before he could get back. There would be a quarter to one at the very earliest. The minutes dragged slowly by, and after a while the only man on the job who had a watch began to lose his temper and refused to answer any more inquiries concerning the time. So presently Bert was sent up to the top of the house to look at the church clock which was visible therefrom, and when he came down he reported that it was ten minutes to one. Symptoms of anxiety now began to manifest themselves amongst the shareholders, several of whom went down to the main road to see if Philpott was yet in sight, but each returned with the same report. They could see nothing of him. No one was formally in charge of the job during Crass's absence, but they all returned to their work promptly at one because they feared that soreness or some of their sneak might report any irregularity to Crass or Misery. At a quarter past one Philpott was still missing and the uneasiness of the shareholders began to develop into a panic. Some of them plainly expressed the opinion that he had gone on the razzle with the money. As the time wore on this became the general opinion. At two o'clock all hope of his return having been abandoned, two or three of the shareholders went and drank some of the cold tea. The fears were only too well founded, for they saw no more of Philpott till the next morning when he arrived looking very sheepish and repentant, and promised to refund all the money on Saturday. He also made a long rambling statement from which it appeared that on his way to the cricketers he met a couple of chaps whom he knew were out of work, and he invited them to come and have a drink. When they got to the pub they found there the semi-drunk and the besotted wretch. One drink led to another, and then they started arguing, and he had forgotten all about the gallon of beer until he woke up this morning. Next Philpott was making this explanation they were putting on their aprons and blouses, and Crass was serving out the lots of colour. Slime took no part in the conversation, but got ready as quickly as possible, and went outside to make a start. The reason for his haste soon became apparent to some of the others, for they noticed that he had selected and commenced painting a large window that was so situated as to be sheltered from the keen wind that was blowing. The basement of the house was slightly below the level of the ground, and there was a sort of trench or area about three feet deep in front of the basement windows. The banks of this trench were covered with rose-trees and evergreens, and the bottom was a mass of slimy, evil-smelling rain-sodden earth, foul with the excrement of nocturnal animals. To second-coat these basement windows Philpott and Harlow had to get down into and stand in all this filth which soaked through the worn and broken soles of their boots. As they worked the thorns of the rose-trees caught and tore their clothing and lacerated the flesh of their half-frozen hands. Owen and Easton were working on ladders and doing the windows immediately above Philpott and Harlow. Salkins on another ladder was painting one of the gables, and the other men were working at different parts of the outside of the house. The boy Burt was painting the iron railings of the front fence. The weather was bitterly cold. The sun was concealed by the dreary expanse of grey cloud that covered the wintry sky. As they stood there working, most of the time they were almost perfectly motionless, the only part of their bodies that were exercised being their right arms. The work they were now doing required to be done very carefully and deliberately, otherwise the glass would be messed up, or the white paint of the frames would run into the dark green of the sashes, both colours being wet at the same time, each man having two pots of paint and two sets of brushes. The wind was not blowing in sudden gusts, but swept by in a strong persistent current that penetrated their clothing and left them trembling and numb with cold. It blew from the right, and it was all the worst on that account because the right arm, being in use, left that side of the body fully exposed. They were able to keep their left hands in their trousers pockets, and the left arm close to the side most of the time. This made a lot of difference. Another reason why it is worse when the wind strikes upon one from the right side, is that the buttons on a man's coat are always on the right side, and consequently the wind gets underneath. Philpot realised this all the more because some of the buttons on his coat and waistcoat were missing. As they worked on, trembling with cold, and with their teeth chattering, their faces and hands became that pale violet colour generally seen on the lips of a corpse. Their eyes became full of water, and the lids were red and inflamed. Philpot's and Harlow's boots were soon wet through, with the water they absorbed from the damp ground, and their feet were sore and intensely painful with cold. Their hands, of course, suffered the most, becoming so numbed that they were unable to feel the brushes they held. In fact, presently as Philpot was taking a dip of colour, the brush fell from his hand into the pot, and then, finding that he was unable to move his fingers, he pushed his hand into his trousers pocket to thaw, and began to walk about, stamping his feet on the ground. His example was quickly followed by Owen, Easton, and Harlow, and they all went round the corner to the sheltered side of the house where slime was working, and began walking up and down, rubbing their hands, stamping their feet, and swinging their arms to warm themselves. If I thought Nimrod wasn't coming, I'd put my overcoat on and work on it, remarked Philpot, but he never knows when to expect a booger, and if he saw me in it, it would mean the bloody push. I wouldn't interfere with our workin' if we did wear them, said Easton. In fact, we'd be able to work all the quicker if we wasn't so cold. Even if misery didn't come, I suppose crass would have something to say if we put them on, continued Philpot. Well, you couldn't blame him if he did say something, could you? said Slime offensively. Crass would get into a row himself if Hunter came and saw us workin' in overcoats. They would look ridiculous. Slime suffered less from the cold than any of them, not only because he had secured the most sheltered window, but also because he was better clothed than most of the rest. What's Crass supposed to be doin' inside? Ask Easton, as he tramped up and down, with his shoulders hunched up and his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his trousers. "'Blood of, I know,' replied Philpot, messin' about touchin' up or makin' color. He never does his share of a job like this. He knows how to work things all right for his self. Well, what if he does? We'd be the same if he was in his place, and so would anybody else,' said Slime, and added sarcastically. Well, perhaps you'd give all the soft jobs to the other people, and do all the roughy ourselves. Slime knew that, although they were speaking of Crass, they were also alluding to himself, and, as he replied to Philpot, he looked slyly at Owen, who had so far taken no part in the conversation. "'It's not a question of what we would do,' chimed in Harlow, "'it's a question of what's fair, and it's not fair for Crass to pick all the soft jobs for himself, and leave all the rough ones for others, and the fact that we might do the same if we had the chance, don't make a right. No one can be blamed for doing the best he can for himself under the existing circumstances,' said Owen, in reply to Slime's questioning look. "'That is the principle of the present system, every man for himself, and the devil take their rest. For my own part I don't pretend to practice unselfishness, I don't pretend to guide my actions, by the rules laid down in the sermon on the mount, but it's certainly surprising to hear you, who profess to be a follower of Christ, advocating selfishness. Now, rather, it would be surprising if it were not that the name of Christian has ceased to signify one who follows Christ, and has come to me in only liar and hypocrite.' Slime made no answer. Possibly the fact that he was a true believer enabled him to bury this insult with meekness and humility. "'I wonder what time it is,' interposed Philpot. Slime looked at his watch. It was nearly ten o'clock. "'Jesus Christ, is that all?' growled Easton as they returned to work, two more hours before dinner. Only two more hours. But to these miserable half-starved ill-clad wretches, standing here in the bitter wind that pierced their clothing, and seemed to be tearing at their very hearts and lungs with icy fingers, it appeared like an eternity. To judge by the eagerness with which they longed for dinner-time, one might have thought that they had some glorious banquet to look forward to, instead of bread and cheese, and onions or bloters, and stewed tea. Two more hours of torture before dinner, and three more hours after that, and then, thank God, it would be too dark to see to work any longer. It would have been much better for them if, instead of being free men, they had been slaves, and the property, instead of hurling, of Mr. Rushton. As it was, he would not have cared if one or all of them had become ill or died from the effects of exposure. It would have made no difference to him. There were plenty of others out of work, and on the verge of starvation, who would be very glad to take their places. But as there had been Rushton's property, such work as this would have been deferred until it could be done without danger to the health and lives of the slaves, or at any rate, even if it were preceded with during such weather, there own would have seen to it that there were properly clothed and fed. He would have taken as much care of them as he would of his horse. People always take great care of their horses, if they were to overwork a horse and make it ill. It would cost something for medicine and the veterinary surgeon, to say nothing of the animals bored and lodging. If they were to work their horses to death, they would have to buy others. But none of these considerations applies to workmen. If they work a man to death, they can get another for nothing at the corner of the next street. They don't have to buy him. All they have to do is to give him enough money to provide him with food and clothing, of a kind, while he is working for them. If they only make him ill, they will not have to feed him or provide him with medical care while he is laid up. He will either go without these things or pay for them himself. At the same time, it must be admitted that the workman scores over both the horse and the slave, in as much as he enjoys the priceless blessing of freedom. If he does not like the hirest conditions, he need not accept them. He can refuse to work, and he can go and starve. There are no ropes on him. He is a free man. He is the heir of all the ages. He enjoys perfect liberty. He has the right to choose freely which he will do. Submit or starve, eat dirt or eat nothing. The wind blew colder and colder. The sky, which at first had shown small patches of blue through rifts in the masses of clouds, had now become uniformly grey. There was every indication of an impending fall of snow. The men perceived this with conflicting feelings. If it did commence to snow, they would not be able to continue this work, and therefore they found themselves involuntarily wishing that it would snow or rain or hail or anything that would stop the work. But on the other hand, if the weather prevented them getting on with the outside, some of them would have to stand off because the inside was practically finished. None of them wished to lose any time if they could possibly help it, because there were only ten days before Christmas. The morning slowly wore away, and the snow did not fall. The hands worked on in silence, for there were in no mood for talking, and not only that, but they were afraid that Hunter or Rushton or Crass might be watching them from behind some bush or tree, or through some of the windows. This dread possessed them to such an extent that most of them were almost afraid even to look round, and kept steadily on at work. None of them wished to spoil his chance of being kept on, to help to do the other house that was reported Rushton and Coe were going to do up for Mr. Sweater. Twelve o'clock came at last, and Crass's whistle had scarcely ceased to sound before they all assembled in the kitchen, before the roaring fire. Sweater had sent in two tons of coal, and had given orders that fires were to be lit every day, in nearly every room to make the house habitable by Christmas. I wonder if it's true that a firm's got another job to do for old Sweater, remarked Harlow, as he was toasting a blouter on the end of the pointed stick. Is it true? No, said the man on the pale scornfully. It's all bogie. You know that empty house, as they said, Sweater had bought, the one that Rushton and Nimrod were seeing looking at? Yes, replied Harlow, the other men listened with evident interest. Well, there wasn't pricing it up after all. The landlord of that house is abroad, and there were some plants in the garden as Rushton thought he'd like, and he was telling misery which ones he wanted. But afterwards all Punch's pilot came up with Ned Dawson and a truck. They made two or three journeys, and took bloody near everything in the garden as those were taken, while he didn't go to Rushton's place, went to Wander's. The disappointment of their hopes for another job was almost forgotten in their interest in this story. Who told you about it? Said Harlow. Ned Dawson himself. It's right enough what I say, ask him. Ned Dawson, usually called Bundy's maid, had been away from the house for a few days, down at the yard, doing odd jobs, and had only come back to the cave that morning. On being appealed to he corroborated Dick Wantley's statement. They'd be getting themselves into trouble if they ain't careful, remarked Easton. No, no they won't. Rushton's too artful for that. It seems the agent is a pal of his, and they worked it between them. What a bloody cheek, though! exclaimed Harlow. Ah, that's nothing to some of the things I've known them do before now, said the man on the pale. Boy, don't you remember, back in the summer, that carved oak table as Rushton pinched out at a house on Grand Parade? Yes, a little bit of all right, too, wasn't it? cried Philpot, and several of the others laughed. You know that big house we did up last summer, Number 596, Wantley continued, for the benefit of those not in the know. Well, it had been empty for a long time, and we found this air-table in a cupboard under the stairs. That bloody fine table it was, too. One of them bracket-tables, what you fixed to the wall, without no legs. It had a half-round marble top to it, and underneath was a carved oak figure, a mermade, with their arms up and over our head, holding up the table-top. Something splendid. The man on the pale waxed enthusiastically as he thought of it. It must have been worth at least five quid. Well, just as we pulled this air-table out, who should come in but rushed in? And when he seen it, he tells Crass to cover it over with a sack and not to let nobody see it. And then he clears off to the shop, and sends down the boy with a truck, and as it took down to his own house, and is there now, fixed in the front hall. I was sent up there a couple of months ago to paint and varnish the lobby doors, and I seen it myself. There's a picture called the Day of Judgment, hanging on the wall just over it. Tunder and lightning, and earthquakes, and corpses getting up out with our graves, something bloody horrible, and underneath the picture is a card with a text out with a Bible. Christ is the head of this house, the unknown guest at every mail, the silent listener to every conversation. I was walking there for three or four days, and I got to know it off by heart. "'Well, that takes the biscuit, don't it?' said Philpott. "'Yes, but the best of it was,' the man on the pale proceeded. "'The best of it was, when old misery aired about the table, he was so bloody wild, because he didn't get it himself, that he went upstairs and pinched one of the Venetian blinds, and had it took up to his own house with a boy. Then a few days afterwards, one of the carpenters had to go and fix it up in his bedroom. "'Now, wasn't it ever found out?' inquired Easton. "'Well, there was a bit of talk about it. The agent wanted to know where it was, but punches, pilots, swabs, black and white, as there hadn't been no blind in that room, and the end of it was that the firm got the order to supply a new one. "'What I can't understand is, who did the table belong to?' said Harlow. "'It was a fixture belonging to the house,' replied Wantley. "'But I suppose the former tenants had some piece of furniture of their own that they wanted to put in the hall where this table was fixed, so they took it down and stored it away in this air cupboard. Now, when they left the house, I suppose they didn't trouble to put it back again. Anyway, there was a mark on the wall where it used to be fixed, but when we did the staircase down, the place was papered over, and I suppose the landlord and the agent never give the table a thought. Then, yeah, Lushen got away with it all, right?' A number of similar stories were related by several others concerning the doings of different employers they had worked for. But after a time, the conversation reverted to the subject that was uppermost in their thoughts, the impending slaughter and the improbability of being able to obtain another job, considering the large number of men who were already out of employment. "'I can't make it out myself,' remarked Easton. "'Things seem to get worse every year, and there don't seem to be half the work about that there used to be, and even what there is, is messed up anyhow, as if the people who has it done can't afford to pay for it.' "'Yes,' said Harlow, "'that's true enough. "'Well, just look at the work that's in one of them houses on the Grand Parade. People must have had more money to spend in those days, you know. All those massive curtain-cornishes over the drawing and dining-room windows gilded solid, when nowadays they'd want all the bloody house done right down through, inside and out for the money that it cost to gild one of them.' "'It seems that nearly everybody is more or less hired up nowadays,' said Philpott, "'I'm jiggered if we can understand it. But there it is.' "'You should ask Owen to explain it to you,' remarked Crass with a jeering laugh. He knows all about what's the cause of poverty, but he won't tell nobody. He's been going to tell us what it is for a long time past, but it don't seem to come off.' Crass had not yet had an opportunity of producing the obscure cutting, and he made this remark in the hope of turning the conversation into a channel that would enable him to do so. But Owen did not respond, and went on reading his newspaper. "'We ain't had no lectures at all lately, have we?' said Harlow, in an injured tone. I think it's about time Owen explained what the real cause of poverty is. I'm beginning to get anxious about it.' The others laughed. CHAPTER 25 When Philpot had finished eating his dinner, he went out of the kitchen, and presently returned with a small pair of steps, which he opened and placed in a corner of the room, with a back of the steps facing the audience. "'There you are, my son,' he exclaimed to Owen. "'There's a pulpit for you.' "'Yes. Come on here,' cried Crass, feeling in his waistcoat pocket for the cutting, "'tell us what the real cause of poverty.' "'Ear, ear!' shouted the man on the pale. Get up into the bloody pulpit and give us a sermon.' As Owen made no response to the invitations, the crowd began to hoot and groan. "'Come on, man,' whispered Philpot, winking his goggle-eye persuasively at on, "'come on, just for a bit of fun, to pass the time away.' Owen accordingly ascended the steps, much to the secret delight of Crass, and was immediately greeted with a round of enthusiastic applause. "'There you are, you see,' said Philpot, addressing the meeting. "'It's no use boon and threatening, because he's one of them lecturers what can only be managed with kindness. If it hadn't been for me, he wouldn't have agreed to speak at all.' Philpot having been unanimously elected chairman, proposed by Harlow and seconded by the man on the pale, Owen commenced. "'Mr. Chairman and gentlemen, on a custom, as I am to public speaking, it is with some degree of hesitation that I venture to address myself to such a large, distinguished, fashionable, and intelligent-looking audience as that which I have the honour of seeing before me on the present occasion.' "'Applause!' "'One of the finest speakers I ever heard,' remarked the man on the pale and allowed whisper to the chairman, who motioned him to be silent. Owen continued, "'In some of my previous lectures I have endeavoured to convince you that money is, in itself, of no value, and of no real use, whatever. In this, I am afraid, I have been rather unsuccessful.' "'Not a bit of it, mate,' cried Crass sarcastically. "'We all agrees with it.' "'Ear, ere,' shouted Easton, "'if a bloke was to come in here now and offer me a quid, would refuse it.' "'So would I,' said Philpot. "'Well, whether you agree with me or not, the fact remains. A man might possess so much money that, in England, he would be comparatively rich, and yet if he went to some country where the cost of living is very high, he would find himself in a condition of poverty. A woman might conceivably be in a place where the necessaries of life could not be bought from money at all. Therefore, it is more conducive to an intelligent understanding of the subject, if we say that to be rich consists not necessarily of having much money, but in being able to enjoy an abundance of the things that are made by work, and that poverty consists not merely in being without money, but in being short of the necessaries and comforts of life, or, in other words, in being short of the benefits of civilisation, the things that are all without exception produced by work. Whether you agree or not, with anything else that I say, you will all admit that this is our condition at the present time. We do not enjoy a full share of the benefits of civilisation. We are all in a state of more or less abject poverty.' "'Question!' cried Kras, and there were loud murmurs of indignant dissent from several quarters as one proceeded. How does it happen that we are so short of the things that are made by work?' "'The reason why we are short of the things that are made by work,' interrupted Kras, mimicking Owen's manner, is that we ain't got the bloody money to buy them.' "'Yes,' said the man on the pale, and as I said before, if all the money in the country was shared out equal to-day, according to Owen's ideas, in six months' time it will be all back again in the same hands as it is now, and what are you going to do then?' "'Share it again, of course.' This answer came derisively from several places at the same instant, and then they all began speaking at once, vying with each other in ridiculing the foolishness of them their socialists, whom they called the sharers out. Barrington was almost the only one who took no part in the conversation. He was seated in his customary place, and as usual silently smoking, apparently oblivious to his surroundings. "'I never said anything about sharing out all the money,' said Owen, during a lull in the storm. And I don't know of any socialist who advocates anything of the kind. Can any of you tell me the name of someone who proposes to do so?' No one answered, as Owen repeated his inquiry, this time addressing himself directly to Kras, who had been one of the loudest in denouncing and ridiculing the sharers out. Thus cornered Kras, who knew absolutely nothing about the subject, for a few moments looked rather foolish, then they began to talk in a very loud voice. "'Hoy, it's a well-known fact. Everybody knows that's what they want. But they take bloody good care they don't act up to with their cells, though. Look at them, their Labour members of Parliament. A lot of boogers what's too bloody lazy to work for their living. What a bloody hell was they before they got there. Only working men, the same as you and me. But they've got the gift of the gab, and, yes, we know all about that,' said Owen, but what I'm asking you is to tell us who advocates taking all the money in the country and sharing it out equally. "'And I say that everybody knows that's what they're after,' shouted Kras. "'And you know it as well as I do.' "'A fine thing,' he added indignantly, according to that idea, a bloody scavenger or a farm labourer ought to get as much wages as you or me. We can talk about that some other time. What I want to know what present is, what authority have you for saying that socialists believe in sharing out all the money equally amongst all the people?' "'Well, that's what I've always understood they believe in doing,' said Kras rather lamely. "'There's a well-known fact,' said several others. "'Come to think of it,' continued Kras as he drew the obscure cutting from his waistcoat pocket. "'I've got a little thing here that I've been going to read to you. It's already obscure. I'd forgotten all about it.' Thinking that the print was too small for his own eyes, he passed a slip of paper to Harlow, who dead-allowed as follows. "'Prove your principles, or look at both sides.' "'I wish I could open your eyes to the true misery of our condition. Injustice, tyranny, and oppression,' said a discontented hack, to a weary-looking cob as they stood side by side in unhired cabs. "'I'd rather have them open to something pleasant. Thank you!' replied the cob. "'I am sorry for you. If you had entered into the noble aspirations,' the hack began. "'Talk plain. What would you have?' said the cob, interrupting him. "'What would I have? Why, equality, and share and share alike all over the world?' said the hack. "'You mean that?' said the cob. "'Of course I do. What right of those sleek, pampered hunters and racers to their warm stables and high-feed, their grooms and jockeys? It's really hard-sickening to think of it,' replied the hack. "'I don't know, but you may be right,' said the cob, and to show him in earnest, as no doubt you are, let me have half the good beans you have in your bag, and you shall have half the mousty oats and chaff I have in mine. There's nothing like proven one's principles.' Original parables by Mrs. Prozier. "'There you are!' cried several voices. "'What does that mean?' cried Crass triumphantly. "'Why don't you go and share your wages with the chaps that's out of work?' "'What does it mean?' replied Owen contemptuously. "'It means that if the editor of the obscure opotat in his paper as an argument against socialism, either he's a feeble intellect himself, or else he thinks that the majority of his readers are. "'That isn't an argument against socialism, it's an argument against the hypocrites who pretend to be Christians, the people who profess to love their neighbours as themselves, who pretend to believe in universal brotherhood, and that they do not love the world or the things of the world, and say that they are merely pilgrims on their way to a better land. "'As for why I don't do it, why should I? I don't pretend to be a Christian. But you're all Christians. Why don't you do it?' "'We're not talking about religion!' exclaimed Crass impatiently. "'Then what are you talking about? I never said anything about sharing out our bear and one's brother's burdens. I don't profess to give to everyone who asks of me, or to give my cloak to the man who took away my coat. I have read that Christ taught that his followers must do all these things. But as I do not pretend to be one of his followers, I don't do them. But you believe in Christianity. Why don't you do the things he said?' As nobody seemed to know the answer to this question, the lecturer proceeded. In this matter, the difference between so-called Christians and socialists is this. Christ taught the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of men. Those who today pretend to be Christ's followers hypocritically profess to carry out those teachings now. But they don't. They have arranged a battle of life system instead. The socialist, very much against his will, finds himself in the midst of this horrible battle, and he appeals to the other combatants to cease from fighting and to establish a system of brotherly love and mutual helpfulness. But he does not hypocritically pretend to practice brotherly love towards those who will not agree to his appeal, and who compel him to fight with them for his very life. He knows that in this battle he must either fight or go under. Therefore in self-defense he fights, but all the time he continues his appeal for the cessation of the slaughter. He pleads for the changing system. He advocates cooperation instead of competition. But how can he cooperate with people who insist on competing with him? No individual can practice cooperation by himself. Socialism can only be practiced by the community. That is the meaning of the word. In that present the other members of the community, the Christians, deride and oppose the socialists' appeal. It is these pretended Christians who do not practice what they preach, because all the time they are singing their songs of brotherhood and love, they are fighting with each other, and strangling each other, and trampling each other under their foot in their horrible battle of life. No socialists suggest sharing out money or anything else in the manner you say, and another thing. If you only had a little more sense, you might be able to perceive that this stark argument of yours is really an argument against the present system, in as much as it proves that money is in itself of no use whatever. Supposing all the money was shared out equally, and suppose there was enough of it for everyone to have ten thousand pounds, and suppose they then all thought they were rich and none of them would work, what would they live on? Their money. Could they eat it or drink it or wear it? It wouldn't take them very long to find out that this wonderful money which under the present system is the most powerful thing in existence is really of no more use than so much dirt. They would speedily perish, not from lack of money, but from lack of wealth, that is, from lack of things that are made by work. And further, it's quite true that if all the money were distributed equally amongst all the people tomorrow, it would all be open heaps again in a very short time. But that only proves that while the present money system remains, it will be impossible to do away with poverty, for heaps in some places mean little or nothing in other places. Therefore, while the money system lasts, we are bound to have poverty and all the evils it brings in its train. Oh, of course, everybody's an idiot except you, sneered crass, who was beginning to feel rather fogged. I rise a point of order, said Easton. And I rise to order a point, cried Philpott. Order what the bloody hell you like, remarked Harlow, so long as I haven't got the pay for it. Mine's a point of porter, observed a man on the pale. The point is, proceeded Easton. When does the lecturer intend to explain to us what is the real cause of poverty? Here, there, cried Harlow. That's what I want to know, too. And what we should like to know is, who is supposed to be given this ear-lector? Inquired the man on the pale. Well, you owe him a course, replied Harlow. Well, why don't you try to keep quiet for a few minutes and let him get on with it? The next bugle what interrupts, cried Philpott, rolling up his short sleeves and glaring threateningly around upon the meeting. The next bugle what interrupts, goes out through the bloody winder. At this everybody pretended to be very frightened and edged away as far as possible from Philpott. Easton, who was sitting next to him, got up and crossed over to Owen's vacant seat. The man on the pale was the only one who did not seem nervous, and perhaps he felt safer because he was, as usual, surrounded by a moat. Poverty, resumed the lecturer. Consists in a shortage of the necessaries of life are rather of the benefits of civilization. You said that about a hundred times before, snarled crass. I know I have, and I have no doubt that I shall have to say it about five hundred times more before you understand what it means. Get on with the bloody lecture, shouted the man on the pale. Never mind, are you, in the point? Well, keep order, can't you? cried Philpott fiercely, and give the man a chance. All these things are produced in the same way, proceeded Owen. They are made from the raw materials by those who work, aided by machinery. When we inquire into the cause of the present shortage of these things, the first question we should ask is, are there not sufficient of the raw materials in existence to enable us to produce enough to satisfy the needs of all? The answer to this question is, there are undoubtedly more than sufficient of all the raw materials. Insufficiency of raw materials is therefore not the cause. We must look in another direction. The next question is, are we short of labor? Is there not a sufficient number of people able and willing to work, or is there not enough machinery? The answer to these questions are, there are plenty of people able and willing to work, and there's plenty of machinery. These things being so, how comes this extraordinary result? How is it that the benefits of civilization are not produced in sufficient quantity to satisfy the needs of all? How is it that the majority of the people always have to go without most of the refinements, comforts, and pleasures of life, and very often even without the bare necessaries of existence? And plenty of materials, plenty of labor, plenty of machinery, and nearly everybody going short of nearly everything. The cause of this extraordinary state of affairs is that although we possess the means of producing more than abundance for all, we also have an imbecile system of managing our affairs. The present money system prevents us from doing the necessary work, and consequently causes the majority of the population to go short of the things that can be made by work. They suffer want in the midst of the means of producing abundance. They remain idle because they are bound and fettered with a chain of gold. Let us examine the details of this insane, idiotic, imbecile system. Owen now asked Philpott to pass him a piece of charred wood from under the grate, and having obtained what he wanted, he drew upon the wall a quadrangular figure about four feet in length and one foot deep. The walls of the kitchen had not yet been cleaned off, so it did not matter about disfiguring them. This represents the whole of the adult population of the country. To find out the cause of the shortage in this country of the things that can be made by work, it is first necessary to find out how people spend their time. Now, this square represents the whole of the adult population of this country. There are many different classes of people engaged in a great number of different occupations. Some of them are helping to produce the benefits of civilization, and some are not. All these people help to consume these things, but when we inquire into their occupations, we shall find that although the majority are workers, only a comparatively small number are engaged in actually producing either the benefits of civilization or the necessaries of life. Order being once more restored, the lecturer turned again to the drawing on the wall and stretched out his hand, evidently with the intention of making some addition to it, but instead of doing so, he paused irresolutely and, faltering, let his arm drop down again by his side. An absolute disconcerting silence reigned. His embarrassment and nervousness increased. He knew that they were unwilling to hear or talk or think about such subjects as the cause of poverty at all. They preferred to make fun of and ridicule them. He knew that they would refuse to try to see the meaning of what he wished to say, if it were at all difficult or obscure. How was he to put it to them that they would have to understand it, whether they wished to or not? It was almost impossible. It would be easy enough to convince them if they would only take a little trouble to try to understand. But he knew that they certainly would not worry themselves about such subjects as this. It was not as if it were some really important matter, such as a smutty story, a game of hooks and rings or shove hapeny, something concerning football or cricket, horse racing or the doings of some royal personage or aristocrat. The problem of the cause of poverty was only something that concerned their own and their children's future welfare, such an unimportant matter. Being undeserving of any earnest attention, must be put before them so clearly and plainly that they would be compelled to understand it at a glance, and it was almost impossible to do it. Observing his hesitation, some of the men began to snigger. He seems to have got himself into a bit of a fog, remarked crass and a loud whisper to slime, who laughed. The sound roused on, who resumed. All these people helped to consume the things produced by labour. We were now divided into separate classes. Those who helped to produce, those who do nothing, those who do harm, and those who were engaged in unnecessary work. And, sneered crass, those who were engaged in unnecessary talk. First we will separate those who not only do nothing, but do not even pretend to be of any use. People who would consider themselves disgraced if, by any chance, they did any useful work. This class includes tramps, beggars, the aristocracy, society people, great landowners, and generally all those possessed of hereditary wealth. As he spoke, he drew a vertical line across one end of the oblong. These people do absolutely nothing, except devour or enjoy the things produced by the labourers of others. Our next division represents those who do work of a kind, mental work, if you'd like to call it so. Work that benefits themselves and harms other people. Employers are rather exploiters of labour. Thieves, swindlers, pickpockets, profit-seeking shareholders, burglars, bishops, financiers, capitalists, and those persons humorously called ministers of religion. If you remember that the word minister means servant, you'll be able to see the joke. None of these people produce anything themselves, both by means of cunning and scheming. They contrive between them to obtain possession of a very large portion of the things produced by the labour of others. Number three stands for those who work for wages or salaries, doing unnecessary work, that is, producing things or doing things which, though useful and necessary to the imbecile system, cannot be described as the necessaries of life or the benefits of civilization. This is the largest section of all. It comprises commercial travellers, canvassers, business-advance agents, commission agents, the great number of shop assistants, workmen employed in the construction and adornment of business premises, people occupied with what they call business, which means being very busy without producing anything. Then there's a vast army of people engaged in designing, composing, painting or printing advertisements, things which are for the most part of no utility whatever. The object of most advertisements is merely to trade people to buy from one firm rather than from another. If you want some butter, it doesn't matter whether you buy it from Brown or Jones or Robinson. CHAPTER XXV During the delivery of this part of the lecture, the audience began to manifest symptoms of impatience and dissent, and perceiving this, Owen speaking very rapidly continued. If you go downtown, you'll see half a dozen draper shops within a stone's throw of each other, often even next door to each other, all selling the same things. You can't possibly think that all those shops are really necessary. You know that one of them would serve the purpose for which they are all intended to store and serve as a centre for the distribution of the things that are made by work. If you'll admit that five out of the six shops are not really necessary, you must also admit that the men who built them and the salesmen and women or other assistants engaged in them, and the men who design and write and print their advertisements are all doing unnecessary work, all really wasting their time and labour, time and labour that might be employed in helping to produce the things that we are a present short of. You must admit that none of these people are engaged in producing either the necessaries of life or the benefits of civilisation. They buy them and sell them and handle them and haggle over them, and display them in the plate glass windows of stores and emporiums and make profits out of them and use them, but these people themselves produce nothing that is necessary to life or happiness, and the things that some of them do produce are only necessary to the present imbecile system. What the hell sort of a bloody system do you think we ought to have, then?" interrupted the man on the pale. Yes, you're very good at finding fault, sneered slime, but why don't you tell us how it's all going to be put right? Well, that's not what we're talking about now, is it? replied Owen. It isn't we're only trying to find out how it is that there is not sufficient produce for everyone to have enough of the things that are made by work. Although most of the people in number three work very hard, they produce nothing. That's a lot of bloody rot!" exclaimed Crass impatiently. Even if there is more shops than what's actually necessary, cried Harlow, it all helps people to get a living. If half of them were shut up, it would just mean that all of them what works there will be out of a job. And let live, I say. All these things make work. There, there, shouted the man behind the moat. Yeah, I know it makes work," replied Owen, but we can't live on mere work, you know. To live in comfort we need the sufficiency of the things that can be made by work. A man might work very hard and yet be wasting his time if he were not producing something necessary or useful. Why are there so many shops and stores and emporiums? Do you imagine they exist for the purpose of giving those who build them or work in them a chance of earning a living? Nothing of the sort. They are carried on, and exorbitant prices are charged for the articles they sell, to enable the proprietors to amass fortunes and to pay extortionate rents to the landlords. That's why the wages and salaries of nearly all those who do the work created by these businesses are cut down to the lowest possible point. We know all about that," said Crass, but you can't get away from it that all these things make work, and that's what we want. Plenty of work. Cries of here, here, and expressions of dissent from the views expressed by the lecturer resounded through the room, nearly everyone speaking at the same time. After a while, when the row had, and some measures subsided, Owen resumed. The nature has not provided ready-made all the things necessary for the life and happiness of mankind. In order to obtain these things we have to work. The only rational labour is that which is directed to the creation of those things. Any kind of work which does not help us to attain this object is a ridiculous, idiotic criminal limousine waste of time. That is what the great army of people represented by Division Number 3 are doing at present. They're all very busy, working very hard, but to all useful intents and purposes they are doing nothing. Well, all right," said Harlow, avid your own way, but there's no need to keep on repeating the same thing over and over again. The next Division, resumed Owen, stands for those who are engaged in really useful work, the production of the benefits of civilization, the necessaries, refinements, and comforts of life. Hooray! shouted Philpott, leading off a cheer which was taken up enthusiastically by the crowd. Hooray! This is where we comes in. He added, nodding his head and winking his goggle eyes at the meeting. I wish to call the chairman to order," said the man on the pale. When Owen had finished writing in the list of occupations, several members of the audience rose to point out that those engaged in the production of beer had been omitted, Owen rectified this serious oversight and proceeded. As most of the people in Number 4 are out of work at least one quarter of their time, we must reduce the size of this division by one fourth, so the great part represents the unemployed. Ah, but some of the people in Number 3 are often unemployed as well, said Harlow. Yes, but as they produce nothing even when they are at work, we need not trouble to classify them unemployed, because our present purpose is only to discover the reason why there is not enough produced for everyone to enjoy abundance, and this, the present system of conducting our affairs, is the reason of the shortage, the cause of poverty. When you reflect that all the other people are devouring the things produced by those in Number 4, can you wonder why there is not plenty for all? Devouring is a good word, said Philpot, and the others laughed. The lecturer now drew a small square upon the wall, below the other drawing, this square he filled in solid black. This represents the total number of benefits of civilization and necessaries of life produced by the people in Number 4. We now proceed to share out the things in the same way as they are actually divided among the different classes of the population under the present imbecile system. As the people in Divisions 1 and 2 are universally considered to be the most worthy and deserving, we give them two-thirds of the whole. The remainder we give to be shared out amongst the rest represented by Divisions 3 and 4. Now you mustn't run away with the idea that the people in 3 and 4 take their share quietly and divide the things equally between themselves. Not at all. Some get very little. Some none. Some more than a fair share. It's in these two Divisions that the ferocious battle of life rages most fiercely, manned, of course, in this battle, the weak and the virtuous, fair, the worst. Even those whose exceptional abilities or opportunities enable them to succeed are compelled to practice selfishness, because a man of exceptional ability, who is not selfish, would devote his abilities to relieving the manifest sufferings of others, and not to his own prophet, and if he did a former, he would not be successful in the sense that the world understands the word. All those who really seek to love their neighbor as themselves, or to return good for evil, the gentle, the kind, and all those who refrain from doing to others the things they would not like to suffer themselves, all these are of necessity found amongst the vanquished, because only the worst, only those who are aggressive, cunning, selfish, and mean, are fitted to survive. And all these people in Numbers 3 and 4 are so fully occupied in this dreadful struggle to secure a little, that but few of them pause to inquire why there are not more other things they are fighting for, or why it is necessary to fight like this at all. For a few minutes silence prevailed, each man's mind being busy trying to think of some objection to the lecturer's arguments. How could a small number of people in Numbers 1 and 2 consume as much as you have given them in your drawing? They don't actually consume all of it, replied Owen. Much of it is wantonly wasted. They also make fortunes by selling some of it in foreign countries, but they consume a great part of it themselves, because the amount of labour expended on the things enjoyed by these people is greater than that expended on the production of the things used by the workers. Most of the people who do nothing get the best of everything. More than three-quarters of the time the working classes is spent in producing the things used by the wealthy. Where the quality and quantity of the clothing possessed by the wife or daughter of a rich man, with that of the wife or daughter of a walker. The time in labour spent on producing the one is twenty times greater in one case than in the other, and it's the same with everything else—their homes, their clothing, boots, hats, jewellery, and their food. Everything must be of the very best that art or long and painful labour can produce. But for most of those whose labour produces all these good things, anything is considered good enough. For themselves the philanthropic worker manufactures shoddy cloth, that is, cheap cloth made of old rags and dirt, and shoddy uncomfortable ironclad boots. If you see a workman wearing a really good suit of clothes, you may safely conclude that he is either leading an unnatural life, that is, he is not married, or that he is obtained from a tallyman on the higher system and has not yet paid for it, or that it is someone else's cast-off suit that he has bought second hand, or had given to him by some charitable person. All the ducks and geese, pheasants, partridges, and all the very best parts of the very best meat, all the souls and the finest place and salmon and trout— There, chuck it! quite harlow fiercely. We don't want to hear no more of it. And several others protested against the lecturer wasting time on such mere details. All the very best of everything is reserved exclusively for the enjoyment of the people in divisions one and two, while the hawkers subsist on block ornaments, margarine, adulterated tea, mysterious bear, and are content, only grumbling when they are unable to obtain even such fare as this. Owen paused, and a gloomy silence followed, but suddenly crass-brightened up. He detected a serious flaw in the lecturer's argument. You say all the people in one and two gets all the very best of everything, but what about the tramps and beggars? You've got them in division one. Yes, I know. You see, that's the proper place for them. They belong to a loafer class. They are no better mentally or morally than any of the other loafers in that division. Neither are they of any more use. Of course, when we consider them in relation to the amount they consume of the things produced by others, they are not so harmful as the other loafers, because they consume comparatively little. But all the same, they are in the right place in that division. All those people don't get the same share. The section represents not individuals, but the loafer class. But I thought you said you was going to prove that money was the cause of poverty, said Easton. So it is, said Owen. Can't you see that it's money that's caused all these people to lose sight of the true purpose of labour, the production of the things we need? All these people are suffering from the delusion that it doesn't matter what kind of work they do, or whether they merely do nothing, so long as they get money for doing it. Under the present extraordinary system, that's the only object they have in view, to get money. Their ideas are so topsy-turvy that they regard with contempt those who are engaged in useful work. With the exception of criminals and the poorer sort of loafers, the working classes are considered to be the lowest and the least worthy in the community. Those who manage to get money for doing something other than productive work are considered more worthy of respect on that account. Those who do nothing themselves, but get money out of the labour of others, are regarded as being more worthy still. But the ones who are esteemed most of all and are above the rest are those who obtain money for doing absolutely nothing. But I can't see as that proves that money is the cause of poverty, said Easton. Look here, said Owen. The people in number four produce everything, don't they? Yeah, we know all about that, interrupted Harlow, but they get paid for it, don't they? They get their wages. Yes, and what does their wages consist of? said Owen. When money, of course, replied Harlow impatiently. And what do you think they do with their money when they get it? Do they eat it, or drink it, or wear it? At this apparently absurd question several of those who had hitherto been attentive listeners laughed arisively. It was really very difficult to listen patiently to such nonsense. Of course they don't, answered Harlow scornfully. They buy the things they want with it. Do you think that most of them manage to save a part of their wages, put it away in the bank? Well, I can speak for myself," replied Harlow, a mid- laughter. It takes me all my bloody time to pay me rent and other expenses to keep my little lot in shoe leather, and it's a damn little I spend on beer, or perhaps a tanner or a bob a week at the most. A single man can save money if he likes, said Slime. I'm not speaking of single men, replied Owen. I'm referring to those who live natural lives. What about all the money what's in the post-office savings bank, and building and friendly societies? said Crass. A very large part of that belongs to people who are in business, or who have some other source of income than their own wages. They're exceptionally fortunate workers who happen to have good situations and higher wages than the ordinary run-of-work men. Then there are some who are so placed, by letting logins, for instance, that they are able to live rent-free. Others whose wives grew out to work, and others again, who have exceptional jobs and work a lot of overtime. But these are all exceptional cases. I say, as no worker man can save any money at all, shouted Harlow, not unless he goes without some of even the few things we are able to get, and makes his wife and kids go without as well. Here, there, said everybody except Crass and Slime, who are both thrifty working men, and each of them had saved money in one or other of the institutions mentioned. Then that means, said Owen, that the wages the people in Division Four receive is not equivalent to the work they do. What do you mean equivalent? cried Crass. Why the hell don't you talk plain English without dragging in a lot of words what nobody can't understand? I mean this, replied Owen, speaking very slowly. Everything is produced by the people in Number Four. In return for their work they are given money, and the things they have made become the property of the people who do nothing. Then, as the money is of no use, the workers go into the shops and give it away in exchange for some of the things they themselves have made. They spend, or give back, all their wages. But as the money they got as wages is not equal in value to the things they produced, they find that they are only able to buy back a very small part. So you see that these little discs of metal, this money, is a device for enabling those who do not work to rob the workers of the greater part of the fruits of their toil. The silence that ensued was broken by Crass. It sounds very pretty," he sneered, but I can't make no head or tail of it be self. Look here, cried Owen, the producing class, these people in Number Four, are supposed to be paid for their work. Their wages are supposed to be equal in value to their work, but it's not so. If it were, by spending all their wages, the producing class would be able to buy back all they had produced. Owen C. speaking, and silence once more ensued. No one gave any sign of understanding, or of agreeing or disagreeing with what he had said. Their attitude was strictly neutral. Barrington's pipe had gone out during the argument. He relitted from the fire with a piece of twisted paper. If their wages were really equal in value to the product of their labour, Owen repeated, they would be able to buy back not a small part, but the whole. At this, a remark from Bundy caused a shout of laughter, and when Wantley added point to the joke by making a sound like the discharge of a pistol, the merriment increased tenfold. Well, that's done it, remarked Easton, as he got up and opened the window. It's about time he was buried. It's a smell-dan to go by," said Harlow, addressing Wantley, who laughed and appeared to think he had distinguished himself. But even if we include the whole of the work and classes, continued Owen. That is, the people in number three, as well as those in number four, we find that their combined wages are insufficient to buy the things made by the producers. The total value of the wealth produced in this country during the last year was eighteen hundred million pounds, and the total amount paid on wages during the same period was only six hundred million pounds. In other words, by means of the money-trick, the workers were robbed of two-thirds of the value of their labour. All the people in number three and four are working and suffering and starving and fighting in order that the rich people in numbers one and two may live in luxury and do nothing. These are the wretches who cause poverty. They not only devour our waste or hoard the things made by the worker, but as soon as their own wants are supplied, they compel the workers to cease working and prevent them producing the things they need. Most of these people, cried Owen, his usual pale face flushing red and his eyes shining with sudden anger. Most of these people do not deserve to be called human beings at all, they are devils. They know that whilst they are indulging in pleasures of every kind, all around them men and women and little children, are existing in want or dying of hunger. The silence which followed was at length broken by Harlow. You say that the worker is entitled to all they produce, but you forget there's the raw materials to pay for, they don't make them you know. Of course the workers don't create the raw materials, replied Owen, but I'm not aware that the capitalists or the landlords do so either. The raw materials exist in abundance in and on the earth, but there is no use until labour has been applied to them. But then you say, the earth belongs to the landlords, cried Kras unguardedly. I know that, and of course you think it's right that the whole country should belong to a few people. I must call the lecturer to order," interrupted Philpott. The land question is not before the meeting at present. You talk about the producers being robbed of most of the value of what they produce, said Harlow, but you must remember that it ain't all produced by hard labour. What about the things what's made by machinery? The machines themselves are made by the workers, returned Owen, but of course they did not belong to the workers, who have been robbed of them by means of the money-trick. Ah, but who invented all the machinery? Cried Kras. That's more than you or I or anyone else can say, returned Owen, but it certainly wasn't the wealthy loafer classes or the landlords or the employers. Most of the men who invented the machinery lived and died unknown, in poverty and often in actual want. The inventors too were robbed by the exploiter of labour class. There were no men living at present who can justly claim to have invented the machinery that exists today. The most they can truthfully say is that they have added to or improved upon the ideas of those who lived and worked before them. Even Watt and Stevenson merely improved upon steam engines and locomotives already existing. Your question has really nothing to do with the subject we are discussing. We are only trying to find out why the majority of people have to go short of the benefits of civilisation. One of the causes is the majority of the population are engaged in work that does not produce these things. And most of what is produced is appropriated and wasted by those who have no right to it. The work has produced everything. If you walk through the streets of a town or a city and look around, everything that you can see—factories, machinery, houses, railways, tramways, canals, furniture, clothing, food, and the very road or pavement you stand upon are all made by the working class, who spend all their wages on buying back only a very small part of the things they produce. Therefore, what remains in possession of our masters represents the difference between the value of the work done and the wages paid for doing it. This systematic robbery has been going on for generations. The value of the accumulated loot is enormous, and all of it, all the wealth that is present in the possession of the rich, is rightly the property of the working class. It has been stolen from them by means of the money-trick. For some moments an oppressive silence prevailed. The men stared with puzzled, uncomfortable looks alternately at each other and at the drawings on the wall. They were compelled to do a little thinking on their own account, and it was a process to which they were unaccustomed. In their infancy they had been taught to distrust their own intelligence and to leave thinking to their pastors and masters, and to their betters generally. All their lives they had been true to this teaching. They had always had blind, unreasoning faith in the wisdom and humanity of their pastors and masters. That was the reason why they and their children had been all their lives on the verge of starvation and nakedness, while their betters, who did nothing but the thinking, went clothed in purple and fine linen, and fared sumptuously every day. Several men had risen from their seats, and were attentively studying the diagrams that own had drawn on the wall, and nearly all the workers were making the same mental efforts. They were trying to think of something to say in defence of those who robbed them of the fruits of their toil. I don't see no bloody sense in always running down the rich," said Harlow at last. There's always been rich and poor in the world, and there always will be. Of course, said Slime, it says in the Bible that the poor shall always be with us. What a bloody hell-kind of system do you think we ought to have, demanded Crass. If everything's wrong, how's it going to be altered? At this everybody brightened up again and exchanged looks of satisfaction and relief. Of course, it wasn't necessary to think about these things at all. Nothing could ever be altered. It had always been more or less the same, and it always would be. It seems to me that you all hope it is impossible to alter it," said Owen. Without trying to find out whether it could be done, you persuade yourselves that it's impossible, and then, instead of being sorry, you're glad. Some of them laughed in a silly, half-ashamed way. How do you reckon it could be altered? said Harlow. The way to alter it is this, first, to enlighten the people as to the real cause of their sufferings, and then— Well, interrupted Crass with a self-satisfied chuckle, it'll take a better bloody man than you to enlighten me. I don't want to be enlightened in the darkness, said Slime piously. But what sort of system do you propose then? repeated Harlow. After you've got them all enlightened, if you don't believe in sharing out all the money equal, how are you going to alter it? I don't know how he's going to alter it, sneered Crass looking at his watch and standing up. But I do know what the time is—two minutes past one. The next lecture, said Philpot, addressing the meeting as they all prepared to return to work, the next lecture will be postponed till tomorrow at the usual time, when it will be my painful duty to call upon Mr. Owen to give his well-known and most obnoxious address entitled Work and How to Avoid It. All them as once to be enlightened kindly attend. Or all them as don't get sacked tonight, remarked Easton grimly.