 CHAPTER XXVI. The latter having an appointment to meet there, a gardener, to whom he wished to give instructions concerning the laying out of the grounds, which had been torn up for the purpose of putting in the new drains. Sweater had already arranged with the head gardener of the public park to steal some of the best plants from that place, and to have them sent up to the cave. These plants had been arriving in small lots for about a week. They must have been brought there either in the evening after the men had left off, or very early in the morning before they came. The two gentlemen remained at the house for about half an hour, and as they went away the mournful sound of the town hall bell, which was always told to summon meetings of the council, was heard in the distance, and the hands remarked to each other that another robbery was about to be perpetrated. Hunter did not come to the job again that day. He had been sent by Rushton to price some work for which the firm was going to tender an estimate. There was only one person who felt any regret at his absence, and that was Mrs. White, Bert's mother, who had been working at the cave for several days, scrubbing the floors. As a rule Hunter paid her wages every night, and on this occasion she happened to need the money even more than usual. As leaving off-time drew near she mentioned the matter to Crass, who advised her to call at the office on her way home and ask the young lady clerk for the money. As Hunter did not appear she followed the foreman's advice. When she reached the shop Rushton was just coming out. She explained to him what she wanted, and he instructed Mr. Bud to tell Miss Wade to pay her. The shopman accordingly escorted her to the office at the back of the shop, and the young lady bookkeeper, after referring to former entries to make quite certain of the amount, paid her the sum that Hunter had represented as her wages, the same amount that Miss Wade had on previous occasions given him to pay the charwoman. When Mrs. White got outside she found that she held in her hand half a crown instead of the two shillings she usually received from Mr. Hunter. At first she felt inclined to take it back, but after some hesitation she thought it better to wait until she saw Hunter, when she could tell him about it. But the next morning, when she saw the disciple at the cave, he broached the subject first and told her that Miss Wade had made a mistake, and that evening when he paid her he deducted the sixpence from the usual two shillings. The lecture announced by Philpott was not delivered. Anxiously awaiting the impending slaughter the men kept tearing into it as usual, for they generally keep working in the usual way, each one trying to outdo the others, so as not to lose his chance of being one of the lucky ones. Misery now went round and informed all the men with the exception of crass, owens, slime, and sarkens, that they would have to stand off that night. He told them that the firm had several jobs in view, work they had tended for and hoped to get. He said that they could look round after Christmas and he might possibly be able to start some of them again. They would be paid at the office tomorrow, Saturday at one o'clock as usual, but if any of them wished they could have their money to-night. The men thanked them, and most of them said they would come for their wages at the usual paytime, and would call round as he suggested after the holidays to see if there was anything to do. In all, fifteen men, including Philpott, Harlow, Easton, and Ned Dawson, were to stand off that night. They took their dismissals stolidly, without any remark, some of them even with an affectation of indifference, but there were few attempts at conversation afterwards. For the little work that remained to be done, they did in silence, every man oppressed by the same terror, the dread of the impending want, the privation and unhappiness that they knew they and their families would have to suffer during the next few months. Bundy and his mate Dawson were working in the kitchen, fixing the new range in place of the old one which they had taken out. They had been engaged on this job all day, and their hands and faces and clothes were covered with soot, which they had also contrived to smear and dab all over the surfaces of the doors and other woodwork in the room, much to the indignation of crass and slime, who had to wash it all off before they could put on the final coat of paint. You can't help making a little mess on a job of this kind, you know, remarked Bundy, as he was giving the finishing touches to the work, making good the broken parts of the wall with cement, whilst his mate was clearing away the debris. Yes, but there's no need to claw-hold at the bloody doors every time he goes in and out, snarred crass, and you could have put your tools on the floor instead of making a bench of the dresser. You can have the bloody place all to yourself in about five minutes, replied Bundy, as he assisted to lift a sack of cement weighing about two hundred weight onto Dawson's back, or finish now. When they had cleared away all the dirt and fragments of bricks and mortar, while crass and slime proceeded with the painting, Bundy and Dawson loaded up their hand-cart with the old range and bags of unused cement and plaster, which they took back to the yard. Meantime Misery was wandering about the house and grounds like an evil spirit seeking rest and finding none. He stood for some time gloomily watching the four gardeners, who were busily at work laying strips of turf, mowing the lawn, rolling the gravel paths and trimming the trees and bushes. The boy Burt, Philpot, Harlow, Easton and Salkins were loading a hand-cart with ladders and empty paint-pots to return to the yard. Just as they were setting out, Misery stopped them, remarking that the cart was not half-loaded. He said it would take a month to get all the stuff away if they went on like that. So by his directions they placed another long ladder on top of the pile, and once more started on their way. But before they had gone two dozen yards, one of the wheels of the cart collapsed, and the load was scattered over the roadway. Burt was at the same side of the cart as the wheel that had broken, and he was thrown violently to the ground where he lay half-stunned in the midst of the ladders and planks. When they got him out, they were astonished to find that, thanks to the special providence that watches over all small boys, he was almost unhurt, just a little dazed. That was all. And by the time Salkins returned with another cart, Burt was able to help to gather up the fallen paint-pots, and to accompany the men with the load to the yard. At the corner of the road they paused to take a last look at the job. "'There it stands,' said Harlow, tragically, extending his arms towards the house. "'There it stands, a job, that if they'd only have let us do it properly, could have been done with the number of hands we've had in less than four months, and there it is, finished, messed up, slobbered over and scamped in nine weeks. "'Yeah, and now we can all go to hell,' said Philpott, gloomily. At the yard they found Bundy and his mate, Ned Dawson, who helped them to hang up the ladders in their usual places. Philpott was glad to get out of assisting to do this, for he had contracted a rather severe attack of rheumatism when working outside at the cave. Whilst the others were putting the ladders away, he assisted Burt to carry the paint-pots and buckets into the paint-shop, and while there he filled the small medicine-bottle he had brought with him for the purpose, with turpentine from the tank, he wanted this stuff to rub into his shoulders and legs, and as he secreted the bottle in the inner pocket of his coat, he muttered, "'This is where we get some of our own back.'" They took the key of the art to the office, and as they separated to go home, Bundy suggested that the best thing they could do would be to sew their bloody mouths up for a few months, because there was not so much probability of their getting another job until about March. The next morning, while Crass and Slime were finishing inside, Owen wrote on the two gates. On the front entrance, the cave, and on the back, tradesman's entrance, in gilded letters. In the meantime, Salkins and Burt made several journeys to the yard with a hand-cart. Crass, working in the kitchen with Slime, was very silent and thoughtful. Ever since the job was started, every time Mr. Sweater had visited the house to see what progress was being made, Crass had been groveling to him in the hope of receiving a tip when the work was finished. He had been very careful to act upon any suggestion that Sweater had made from time to time, and on several occasions had taken a lot of trouble to get just the right tints of certain colors, making up a number of different shades and combinations, and doing parts of the skirtings or mouldings of a room in order that Mr. Sweater might see exactly, before they went on with it, what it would look like when finished. He made a great pretense of deferring to Sweater's opinion, and assured him that he did not care how much trouble he took as long as he, Sweater, was pleased. In fact, it was no trouble at all. It was a pleasure. And as the work neared completion, Crass began to speculate upon the probable amount of the donation he would receive as the reward of nine weeks of cringing, fawning, and abject servility. He thought it quite possible that he might get a quid. It would not be too much, considering all the trouble he had taken. It was well worth it. At any rate, he felt certain that he was sure to get ten bob. A gentleman like Sweater would never have the cheek to offer less. The more he thought about it, the more improbable it appeared that the amount would be less than a quid, and he made up his mind that whatever he got he would take good care that none of the other men knew anything about it. He was the one who had had all the worry of the job. He was the only one entitled to anything there was to be had. Besides, even if he got a quid, by the time he divided that up amongst a dozen or even amongst two or three, it would not be worth having. At about eleven o'clock Mr. Sweater arrived and began to walk over the house, followed by Crass, who carried a pot of paint on a small brush, and made believe to be touching up and finishing off parts of the work. As Sweater went from one room to another, Crass repeatedly placed himself in the way, in the hope of being spoken to, but Sweater took no notice of him whatever. Once or twice Crass's heart began to beat quickly as he furtively watched the great man, and saw him thrust his thumb and finger into his waistcoat pocket, but on each occasion Sweater withdrew his hand with nothing in it. After a while, observing that a gentleman was about to depart without having spoken, Crass determined to break the ice himself. Is a little better weather where I have a nowsore? Yes, replied Sweater. I was beginning to be afraid as I shouldn't be able to get everything finished in time for you to move in before Christmas or, Crass continued, but it's all done now, sir. Sweater made no reply. I kept the fire going in all the rooms, as you told me, sir, resumed Crass after a pause. I think you find a place as nice and dry, sir. The only place, as is a bit damp, is the kitchen and scullery, and the other rooms in the basement, sir, but, of course, that's nearly always the case, sir, when the rooms is partly underground, sir. But, of course, it doesn't matter so much about the basement, sir, because it's only the servants who has to use it, sir, and even down there it'll be all right in the summer, sir. One would scarcely think from the contemptuous way in which he spoke of servants that Crass's own daughter was in service, and what such was the case. Oh, yes, there's no doubt about that," replied Sweater, as he moved towards the door. There's no doubt it would be dry enough in the summer. Good morning. Good morning to you, sir," said Crass, following him. I hope such a well pleased with all the work, sir, and everything satisfactory, sir. Oh, yes, I think it all looks very nice—very nice indeed. I'm very pleased with it," said Sweater affably. Good morning. Good morning, sir," replied the foreman, with a sickly smile as Sweater departed. When the other was gone, Crass sat down dejectedly on the bottom step of the stairs, overwhelmed with the ruin of his hopes and expectations. He tried to comfort himself with the reflection that all hope was not lost, because he would have to come to the house again on Monday and Tuesday to fix the Venetian blinds. But all the same he could not help thinking that it was only a very faint hope, for he felt that if Sweater had intended giving anything he would have done so to-day, and it was very improbable that he would see Sweater on Monday or Tuesday at all, for the latter did not usually revisit the job in the early part of the week. However, Crass made up his mind to hope for the best, and, pulling himself together, he presently returned to the kitchen, where he found slime and salkins waiting for him. He had not mentioned his hopes of a tip to either of them, but they did not need any telling, and they were both determined to have their share of whatever he got. They eyed him keenly as he entered. What did he give you? demanded Salkins, going straight to the point. Give me, replied Crass, nothing. Slime laughed in a sneering and credulous way, but Salkins was inclined to be abusive. He averred that he had been watching Crass and Sweater, and he had seen the latter put his thumb and forefinger into his waistcoat pocket as he walked into the dining-room followed by Crass. It took the latter a long time to convince his two workmates of the truth of his own account, but he succeeded at last, and they all three agreed that old Sweater was a sanguinary rotter, and they lamented over the decay of the good old-fashioned customs. While at one time a day, said Crass, only a few years ago, if you went to a gentleman's house to paint one or two rooms, you could always be sure of a bobber-toe when you'd finished. By half past twelve everything was squared up, and, having loaded up the hand-cart with all that remained of the materials, dirty paint-pots, and plant, they all set out together for the yard, to put all the things away before going to the office for their money. Salkins took the handle of the cart, Slime and Crass walked at one side, and Owen and Bert at the other. There was no need to push, for the road was downhill most of the way. So much so that they all had to help to hold back the cart, which travelled so rapidly that Bert found it difficult to keep pace with the others and frequently broke into a trot to recover lost ground, and Crass, being fleshy and bloated with beer, besides being unused to much exertion, began to perspire and soon appealed to the others not to let it go so fast. There was no need to get done before one o'clock. CHAPTER 27 The March of the Imperialists It was an unusually fine day for the time of year, and as they passed along the grand parade which faced you south, they felt quite warm. The parade was crowded with richly dressed and bejeweled loafers, whose countenances, in many instances bore on mistakable signs of drunkenness and gluttony. Some of the females had tried to conceal the ravages of vice and dissipation by coating their faces with powder and paint. Minglingwith and part of this crowd were a number of well-fed looking individuals dressed in long garments of black cloth of the finest texture, and broad-brimmed soft-felt hats. Most of these persons had gold rings on their soft white fingers, and glove-like kid or cask in boots on their feet. They belonged to the great army of impostors who obtained an easy living by taking advantage of the ignorance and simplicity of their fellow men, and pretending to be the followers and servants of the lowly carpenter of Nazareth, the man of sorrows who had nowhere to lay his head. None of these black-garbed disciples were associating with the groups of unemployed carpenters, bricklayers, plasterers and painters who stood here and there in the carriageway, dressed in mean and shabby clothing, and with faces pale with privation. Many of these latter were known to our friends with the cart, and nodded to them as they passed. Now and then some of them came over and walked a little distance by their side, inquiring whether there was any news of another job at Rushton's. When they were about half-way down the parade, just near the fountain, Crass and his mates encountered a number of men on whose arms were white bands with the word collector in black letters. They carried collecting-boxes and accosted the people in the street begging for money for the unemployed. These men were a kind of skirmishers for the main body who could be seen some distance behind. As the procession drew near, Salken steered the cart into the curb, and halted as they went past. There were about three hundred men altogether, marching for a rest. They carried three large white banners with black letters, thanks to our subscribers. In aid of genuine unemployed, the children must be fed. Although there were a number of artisans in the procession, the majority of the men belonged to what is called the unskilled labourer class. The skilled artisan does not, as a rule, take part in such a procession, except as a very last resource, and all the time he strives to keep up an appearance of being well to do, and would be highly indignant if anyone suggested that he was really in a condition of abject, miserable poverty. Although he knows that his children are often not so well fed, as are the pet dogs and cats of his bedders, he tries to bluff his neighbours into thinking that he has some mysterious private means of which they know nothing, and conceals his poverty as if it were a crime. Most of this class of men was rather starved and beg. Consequently, not more than a quarter of the men in the procession were skilled artisans. The majority were labourers. There was also a sprinkling of those unfortunate outcasts of society. Tramps, destitutes, and drunken loafers. If the self-righteous hypocrites who despise these poor wretches had been subjected to the same condition, the majority of them would inevitably have become the same as these. Haggard and pale, shabbily or raggedly dressed, their boots broken and down at heel, they slouched past. Some of them stared about with a dazed or half-wild expression, but most of them walked with downcast eyes, or staring blankly straight in front of them. They appeared utterly broken-spirited, hopeless, and ashamed. "'Anyone can see what they are,' sneered Crass. "'There isn't fifty genuine tradesmen in the whole crowd, and most of them wouldn't work if they had the offer of it.' "'That's just what I was thinking,' agreed Sorkins, with a laugh. "'And there would plenty of time to say that when they'd been offered work and have refused to do it,' said Owen. "'This sort of thing, those are town a lot of harm,' remarked Slime. "'It oughtn't to be allowed. The police ought to stop it. It's enough to drive all the gentry out of the place.' "'Bloody disgraceful, I call it,' said Crass, marching along the grand parade on a beautiful day like this, just at the very time when most of the gentry is out enjoying the fresh air. "'I suppose you think they ought to stay at home and starve quietly,' said Owen. "'I don't see why these men should care about what harm they do to the town. The town doesn't seem to care much what becomes of them.' "'Do you believe in this sort of thing, then?' asked Slime. "'No, certainly not. I don't believe in begging as a favour for what one is entitled to demand as a right, from the thieves who have robbed them and who are now enjoying the fruits of their labour. From the luck of shame on their faces you might think that they were the criminals instead of being the victims.' "'Well, you must admit that most of them are very inferior men,' said Crass, with the self-satisfied air. There are very few mechanics amongst them.' "'What about it if they are? What difference does that make?' replied Owen, with their human beings, and they have as much right to live as anyone else. What is called unskilled labour is just as necessary and useful as yours and mine. I am no more capable of doing the unskilled labour that most of these men do, than most of them would be capable of doing my work. "'Well, if they were skilled tradesmen, they might find it easier to get a job,' said Crass. Owen laughed offensively. "'Do you mean to say that if all these men could be transformed into skilled carpenters, plasterers, bricklayers, and painters, that it would be easier for all those other chaps whom we passed a little while ago to get work? Is it possible that you or any other sane man can believe anything so silly as that?' Crass did not reply. "'If there is not enough work to employ all the mechanics whom we see standing idle about the streets, how would it help these labourers in the procession that they could all become skilled workmen?' Crass still did not answer, and neither Slime nor Sarkin came to his assistance. "'If that could be done,' continued Owen, it would simply make things worse for those who were already skilled mechanics. A greater number of skilled workers, keener competition for skilled workmen's jobs, a larger number of mechanics out of employment and, consequently, improved opportunities for employers to reduce wages. That's probably the reason why the Liberal Party, which consists for the most part of exploiters of labour, procured the great Jim Scalls to tell us that improved technical education is the remedy for unemployment and poverty. "'As opposed to you think Jim Scalls is a bloody fool, the same as everybody else what don't see things your way?' cried Sarkin. "'I should think he was a bloody fool if I thought he believed what he says, but I don't think he believes it. He says it because he thinks the majority of the working-classes are such fools that they will believe him. If he didn't think that most of us are fools, he wouldn't tell us such a yarn as that.' "'And I suppose you think his opinion ain't far wrong?' snarled Crass. "'Nah, we should be better able to judge that as the next general election,' replied Owen, "'if the working-classes again elect the majority of Liberal or Tory landlords and employers to rule over them, that'll prove that Jim Scalls's estimate of their intelligence is about right.' "'Well, anyhow,' persisted Slime, "'I don't think it's right that they should be allowed to go marching about like that, driving visitors out of the town.' "'What do you think they ought to do, then?' demanded Owen. "'Let the buggers go to the bloody work-house,' shouted Crass. "'But before they could be received there they would have to be absolutely homeless and destitute, and then the rate-payers would have to keep them. It cost about twelve shillings a week for each inmate, so it seems to me that it would be more sensible and economical for the community to employ them on some productive work.' They had by this time arrived at the yard. The steps and ladders were put away in their places, and the dirty paint-pots and pales were placed in the paint-shop, on the bench and on the floor. With what had been previously brought back, there were a great many of these things, all needing to be cleaned out, so Bert at any rate stood in no danger of being out of employment for some time to come. When they were paid at the office, Owen, on opening his envelope, found that it contained, as usual, a timesheet for the next week, which meant that he was not stood off, although he did not know what work there would be to do. Crass and Slime were both to go to the cave to fix the Venetian blinds, and Sarkin's also was to come to work as usual. Chapter 27 During the next week, Owen painted a sign on the outer wall of one of the workshops at the yard, and he also wrote the name of the firm on three of the hand-cards. These and other odd jobs kept him employed for a few hours every day, so that he was not actually out of work. One afternoon, there being nothing to do, he went home at three o'clock, but almost as soon as he reached the house, Bert White came with a coffin-plate which had to be written at once. The lad said he had been instructed to wait for it. Nora gave the boy some tea and bread and butter to eat while Stohan was doing the coffin-plate, and presently Frankie, who had been playing out in the street, made his appearance. The two boys were already known to each other, for Bert had been there several times before, on errands similar to the present one, or to take lessons on graining and letter-painting for Owen. "'I'm going to have a party next Monday after Christmas,' remarked Frankie. "'Mother told me I might ask you if you'll come.' "'All right,' said Bert. "'I'll bring my panda-rammer.' "'What is it? Is it alive?' asked Frankie with a puzzled look. "'Alive?' "'No, of course not,' replied Bert, with a superior air. "'It's a show like they have at the hippodrome or the circus. How big is it?' "'Not very big. It's made out of a sugar-box. I made it myself. It's not quite finished yet, but I shall get it done this week. There's a band as well, you know. I do that part with this. This was a very large mouth-organ, which he produced from the inner pocket of his coat. Play something now!' Bert accordingly played, and Frankie sang, at the top of his voice, a selection of popular songs, including The Old Bull and Bush, Has Anyone Seen a German Band, Waiting at the Church, and, finally, possibly, as a dirge for the individual whose coffin-plate Owen was writing, "'Goodbye, Mignanette, and I wouldn't leave my little wooden hut for you.' "'You don't know what's in that,' said Frankie, referring me to a large earthenware bread-pan, which Nora had just asked Owen to help her to lift from the floor onto one of the chairs. The vessel in question was covered with a clean, white cloth. "'The Christmas pudding,' replied Bert promptly. "'Guess right, first time,' cried Frankie. "'We got the things out of the Christmas club on Saturday. We've been paying ever since last Christmas. We're going to mix it now. You can have a stir, too, if you like, for luck.' While they were stirring the pudding, Frankie several times requested the others to feel his muscle. He said he felt sure that he would soon be strong enough to go out to work, and he explained to Bert that the extraordinary strength he possessed was to be attributed to the fact that he lived almost exclusively on porridge and milk. For the rest of the week, Owen continued to work down at the yard with sockens, crass, and slime, painting some of the ladder steps and other plant belonging to the firm. These things had to have two coats of paint, and the name Lushlin Coal written on them. As soon as they had got some of them second-coated, Owen went on with the writing, leaving the painting for the others, and so was to share the work as fairly as possible. Several times during the week one or other of them was taken away to do some other work. Once crass and slime had to go and wash off and whiten the ceiling somewhere, and several times sockens was sent out to assist the plumbers. Every day some of the men who had been stood off called at the yard to ask if any other jobs had come in. From these callers they heard all the news. Old Jack Linden had not succeeded in getting anything to do at the trade since he was discharged from Rushdens, and it was reported that he was trying to earn a little money by hawking bloaters from house to house. As for Philpot, he said that he had been round merely all the firms in town, and none of them had any work to speak of. Newman, the man whom the reader will remember was sacked for taking too much pains with his work, had been arrested and sentenced to a month's imprisonment because he had not been able to pay his poor rates, and the Board of Gardens were allowing his wife three shillings a week to maintain herself and the tree-children. Philpot had been to see them, and she told him that the landlord was threatening to turn them out into the street. He would have seized the furniture and sold it if it had been worth the expense of the doing. I feel ashamed of myself, Philpot added in confidence to Owen. When I think of all the money I chuck away on beer, if it wasn't for that, I shouldn't be in such a home myself now, and I might be able to lend them a helping hand. It ain't so much that I like the beer, you know, he continued. It's the company. When you ain't got no home, in a manner of speaking, like me, the pub is about the only place where you can get a little enjoyment, but you ain't very welcome there unless you spend your money. Is it three shillings all they have to live on? I think she goes out charred on when she can get it," replied Philpot, but I don't see if she can do a great deal of that with three young ones to look after, and from what I hear, she's only just got over an illness, and ain't fit to do much. Oh, my God, said Owen. I'll tell you what, said Philpot, I've been thinking we might get up a bit of a subscription for them. There's several chaplain work that knows Newman, and if they was each to give a trifle, we could get enough to pay for a Christmas dinner, anyway. I brought a sheet of fool's-cap with me, and I was going to ask you to write out the heading for me. As there was no pen available at the workshop, Philpot waited till four o'clock, and then accompanied Owen home, where the heading of the list was written. Owen put his name down for a shilling, and Philpot his for a similar amount. Philpot stayed to tea, and accepted an invitation to spend Christmas Day with him, and to come to Frankie's party on the one day after. The next morning Philpot brought the list to the yard, and Crasse and Slime put their names down for a shilling each, and Salkins for Trubbins, it being arranged that the money was to be paid on Payday, Christmas Eve. In the meantime Philpot was to see as many as he could of those who were in work at other firms, and get as many subscriptions as possible. At Paytime on Christmas Eve Philpot turned up with the list, and Owen and the others paid him the amount they had put their names down for. From other men he had succeeded in obtaining nine and sixpence, mostly in sixpences and thruppences. Some of this money he had already received, but for the most part he had made appointments with the subscribers to call at their homes that evening. It was decided that Owen should accompany him, and was also to go with him to hand over the money to Mrs. Newman. It took them nearly three hours to get in all the money, for the places they had to go were in different localities, and in one or two cases they had to wait because their man had not yet come home, and sometimes it was not possible to get away without wasting a little time and talk. In three instances those who had put their names down for thruppence increased the amount to sixpence, and one who had promised sixpence gave a shilling. There were two items at thruppence each which they did not get at all, the individuals who had put their names down having gone upon the drink. Another cause of delay was that they met or called on several other men who had not yet been asked for a subscription, and there were several others, including some members of the Painter's Society, whom Owen had spoken to during the week who had promised him to give a subscription. In the end they succeeded in increasing the total amount to nineteen and ninepence, and then they put three havens each to make it up to a pound. The Newmans lived in a small house, the rent of which was six shillings per week and taxes. To reach the house one had to go down a dark and narrow passage between two shops, the house being in a kind of well surrounded by the high walls of the back parts of larger buildings, chiefly business premises and offices. The air did not circulate very freely in this place, and the rays of the sun never reached it. In the summer the atmosphere was close and foul with the various odours which came from the backyards of the adjoining buildings, and in the winter it was dark and damp and gloomy, a culture ground for bacteria and microbes. The majority of those who profess to be desirous of preventing and curing the disease called consumption must be either hypocrites or fools, for they ridicule the suggestion that it is necessary first to cure and prevent the poverty that compels badly clothed and half-starved human beings to sleep in dens such as this. The front door opened into the living-room, or rather kitchen, which was dimly lighted by a small paraffin lamp on the table, where there were also some teacups and saucers each of a different pattern, and the remains of a loaf of bread. The wallpaper was old and discoloured, a few almanacs and unframed prints were fixed to the walls, and on the mantel shelf were some cracked and worthless vases and ornaments. At one time they had possessed a clock and an over-mantle and some framed pictures, but they had all been sold to obtain money to buy food. Nearly everything of any value had been parted with for the same reason—the furniture, the pictures, the bed-clothes, the carpets, and the oil-cloth. Piece by piece nearly everything that had once constituted the home had been either pawned or sold to buy food or to pay rent during the times when Newman was out of work—periods that had occurred during the last few years with constantly increasing frequency and duration. Now there was nothing left with these few old broken chairs and the deal-table which no one would buy, and upstairs the wretched bed-steads and mattresses whereon they slept that night, covering themselves with worn-out remnants of blankets and the clothes they wore during the day. In answer to Philpott's knock the door was opened by a little girl about seven years old who had once recognised Philpott, and called out his name to her mother, and the latter came also to the door, closely followed by her two other women—a little, fragile-looking girl about three and a boy about five years of age—who held on to her skirt and peered cautiously at the visitors. Mrs. Newman was about thirty, and her appearance confirmed the statement of Philpott that she had only just recovered from an illness. She was very white and thin and dejected-looking. When Philpott explained the object of her visit and handed her the money, the poor woman burst into tears, and the two smaller children, thinking that this piece of paper betoken some fresh calamity, began to cry also. They remembered that all their troubles had been preceded by the visits of men who brought pieces of paper, and it was rather difficult to reassure them. That evening, after Frankie was asleep, Owen and Nora went out to do their Christmas marketing. They had not much money to spend, for Owen had brought home only seventeen shillings. He had worked thirty-three hours that came to nineteen entrapments. One shilling and three half-pence had gone on the subscription list, and he had given the rest of the coppers to a ragged wreck of a man who was singing a hymn in the street. The other shilling had been deducted from his wages in repayment of a sub he had had during the week. There was a great deal to be done with his seventeen shillings. First of all, there was a rent—seven shillings. That left ten. Then there was the week's bread-bill—one and three pence. They had a pint of milk every day, chiefly for the boy's sake. That came to one and two. Then there was one and eight for a hundred weight of coal that had been bought on credit. Fortunately, there was no groceries to buy, for the things they had obtained with their Christmas club money would be more than sufficient for the ensuing week. Frankie's stockings were all broken and beyond mending, so it was positively necessary to buy him another pair for five pence, three farthings. These stockings were not much good. A pair at double their price would have been much cheaper, for they would have lasted three or four times longer, but they could not afford to buy the dearer kind. It was just the same with the coal. If they had been able to afford it, they could have bought a ton of the same class of coal for twenty-six shillings, but buying it as they did, by the hundred weight, they had to pay at the rate of thirty-three shillings and four pence a ton. It was just the same with nearly everything else. This is how the working classes are robbed, although their incomes are lowest, they are compelled to buy the most expensive articles, that is, the lowest priced articles. Everybody knows that good clothes, boots or furniture are really the cheapest in the end, although they cost more at the first, but the working classes can seldom or never afford to buy good things. They have to buy cheap rubbish, which is dear at any price. Six weeks previously Owen bought a pair of second-hand boots for three shillings, and they were now literally falling to pieces. No issues were in much the same condition, but as she said it did not matter so much about hers, because there was no need for her to go out as the weather were not fine. In addition to the articles already mentioned, they had to spend four pence for half a gallon of paraffin oil, and to put six pence into the slot of the gas stove. This reduced the money to five and seven pence farthing, and of this it was necessary to spend a shilling on potatoes and other vegetables. They both needed to buy some new under-clothing for what they had was so old and worn that it was quite useless for the purpose it was supposed to serve. But there was no use thinking of these things, for they now had only four shillings and seven pence farthing left, and all that would be needed for toys. They had to buy something special for Frankie for Christmas, and it would also be necessary to buy something for each of the children who were coming to the party on the following Monday. Unfortunately there was no meat to buy, for Nora had been paying into the Christmas club at the Butchers as well as at the grocers, so this necessary was already paid for. They stopped to look at the display of toys at Sweater's Emporium. For several days past Frankie had been talking of the wonders contained in these windows, so they wished if possible to buy him something here. They recognized many of the things from the description the boy had given them, but nearly everything was so dear that for a long time they looked in vain for something it would be possible to buy. That's the engine he talked so much about," said Nora, indicating a model railway locomotive. That one marked five shillings. It might just as well be marked five pounds, as far as we're concerned," replied Owen. As they were speaking one of the salesmen appeared at the back of the window, and reaching forward removed the engine. It was probably the last one of the kind, and had evidently just been sold. Owen and Nora experienced a certain amount of consolation in knowing that even if they had the money they would not have been able to buy it. After lengthy consideration they decided on a clockwork engine at a shilling, but the other toys they resolved to buy at a cheaper shop. Nora went into the Emporium to get the toy, and whilst Owen was waiting for her Mr. and Mrs. Rushton came out, they did not appear to see Owen, who observed that the shape of one of the several parcels they carried suggested that it contained the engine that had been taken from the window a little while before. When Nora returned with her purchase they went in search of a cheaper place, and after a time they found what they wanted. For sixpence they bought a cardboard box that had come all the way from Japan, and contained a whole family of dolls, father, mother, and four children of different sizes, a box of paints, threepence, a sixpony tea-service, a threepony drawing slate, and a rag-doll sixpence. On the way home they called that the green-grosses were Owen had ordered and paid for a small Christmas tree a few weeks before, and as they were turning the corner of the street where they lived they met Kras, half drunk, with a fine fat goose slung over his shoulder by its neck. He greeted Owen jovially, and held up the bird for their inspection. "'Not a bad Tanner's, were they?' he hiccuped. "'This makes two, we've got. I won this on a box of cigars—fifty for a Tanner.' "'And the other one I got out of our club at the Church Mission Hall—threepence a week for twenty-eight weeks. That makes seven, Bob.' "'But,' he added confidentially, "'you couldn't buy them for that price at a shop, you know. They cost the committee a good bit more than on that wholesale. But we got some rich gents in our committee, and they makes up the difference. And with a nod and cunning layer he lurched off.' Frankie was sleeping soundly when they reached home, and so was the kitten which was curled up on the quilt on the foot of his bed. After that they had some supper, although it was after eleven o'clock. Owen fixed a tree in a large flowerpot that had served a similar purpose before, and Nora brought out from the place where it had been stored away since last Christmas a cardboard box containing a lot of glittering tinsel ornaments, globes of silvered or gilded or painted glass, birds, butterflies and stars. Some of these things had done duty three Christmases ago, and although they were in some instances slightly tarnished, most of them were as good as new. In addition to these and the toys they had bought that evening, they had a box of bonbons and a box of small-coloured wax candles, both of which had formed a part of the things they had got from the grocers with the Christmas club money, and there were also a lot of little-coloured paper bags of sweets and a number of sugar and chocolate toys and animals which had been bought two or three at a time for several weeks past and put away for this occasion. There was something suitable for each child that was coming with the exception of Bert White. They had intended to include a sixpony pocket knife for him in their purchases that evening, but as they had not been able to afford this Owen decided to give him an old set of steel painting combs which he knew the lad had often longed to possess. The tin containing these tools was accordingly wrapped in some red tissue paper and hung on the tree with the other things. They moved about as quietly as possible so as not to disturb those who were sleeping in the rooms beneath, because long before they were finished the people in other parts of the house had all retired to rest, and silence had fallen on the deserted streets outside. As they were putting the final touches to their work, the profound stillness of the night was suddenly broken by the voices of a band of carol singers. The sound overwhelmed them with memories of other and happier times, and Nora stretched out her hands impulsively to Owen who drew her close to his side. They had been married just over eight years, and although during all that time they had never been really free from anxiety for the future, yet on no previous Christmas had they been quite so poor as now. During the last few years periods of unemployment had gradually become more frequent and protracted, and the attempt he had made in the early part of the year to get work elsewhere had only resulted in plunging them into even greater poverty than before. But all the same there was much to be thankful for, poor though there were, there were far better off than many thousands of others, for they still had food and shelter, and they had each other and the boy. Before they went to bed Owen carried the tree into Frankie's bedroom, and placed it so that he would be able to see it in all its glittering glory as soon as he awoke on Christmas morning. CHAPTER XXIX Although the party was not supposed to begin till six o'clock, Bert turned up about half-past four bringing the Pandorama with him. At about half-past five the other guests began to arrive. Elsie and Charlie Linden came first. The girl in a pretty blue frock trimmed with white lace, and Charlie resplendent in a new suit, which, like his sister's dress, had been made out of somebody's cast-off clothes that had been given to their mother by a visiting lady. It had taken Mrs. Linden many hours of hard work to contrive these garments, in fact more time than the things were worth, for although they looked all right, especially Elsie's, the stuff was so old that they would not wear very long. But this was the only way in which she could get clothes for the children at all. She certainly could not afford to buy the money, so she spent hours and hours making things that she knew would fall to pieces almost as soon as they were made. After these came Nelly, Rosie and Tommy Newman. These presented a much less prosperous appearance than the other two. Their mother was not so skilful at contriving new clothes out of old. Nelly was wearing a grown-up woman's blouse, and by way of Ulster she had on an old-fashioned jacket of thick cloth with large pearl buttons. This was also a grown-up woman's garment. It was shaped to fit the figure of a tall woman with wide shoulders and a small waist. Consequently, it did not fit Nelly to perfection. The waist reached below the poor child's hips. Tommy was arrayed in the patched remains of what had once been a good suit of clothes. They had been purchased at a second-hand shop last summer, and had been its best for several months. They were now much too small for him. Little Rosie, who was only just over three years old, was better off than either of the two, for she had a red cloth dress that fitted her perfectly. Indeed, as the district visitor who gave it to her mother had remarked, it looked as if it had been made for her. It's not much to look at, observed Nelly referring to her big jacket, but all the same she was very glad of it when the rain came on. The coat was so big that by withdrawing her arms from the sleeves, and using it as a cloak or shawl, she had managed to make it do for all three of them. Tommy's boots were so broken that the wet had got in and saturated his stockings, so Nora made him take them off and wear some old ones of frankies, whilst his own were drying at the fire. Philpott, with two large bags of oranges and nuts, arrived just as they were sitting down to tea, nor rather cocoa, for, with the exception of Bert, all the children expressed a preference for the latter beverage. Bert would have liked to have cocoa also, but hearing that the grown-ups were going to have tea, he thought it would be more manly to do the same. This question of having tea or cocoa for tea became the cause of much uproarious merriment on the part of the children, who asked each other repeatedly which they liked best, tea-tea or cocoa-tea. They thought it so funny that they said it over and over again, screaming with laughter all the while, until Tommy got a piece of cake stuck in his throat, and became nearly black in the face, and then Philpott had to turn him upside down and punch him in the back to save him from choking to death. This rather sobered the others, but for some time afterwards, whenever they looked at each other, they began to laugh afresh, because they thought it was such a good joke. When they had filled themselves up with cocoa-tea and cakes and bread and jam, Elsie Linden and Nellie Newman helped to clear away the cups and saucers, and then only lit the candles on the Christmas tree and distributed the toys to the children. And a little while afterwards, Philpott, who had got a funny-looking mask out of one of the bonbons, started a fine game pretending to be a dreadful wild animal, which he called a pandroculous, and, crawling about on all fours, rolled his goggle eyes and growled out that he must have a little boy or girl to eat for his supper. He looked so terrible that, although they knew it was only a joke, they were almost afraid of him, and ran away laughing and screaming, to shelter themselves behind Nora or Owen. But all the same, whenever Philpott left off playing, they entreated him to be it again, so that he had to keep on being a pandroculous, until exhaustion compelled him to return to his natural form. After this, they all sat around the table and had a game of cards. Snap, they called it, but nobody paid much attention to the rules of the game. Everyone seemed to think that the principal thing to do was to kick up as much row as possible. After a while, Philpott suggested a change to beggar my neighbor, and won quite a lot of cards, before they found out that he had hidden all the jacks in the pockets of his coat. And then they mobbed him for a cheat. He might have been seriously injured, if it had not been for Bert, who created a diversion by standing on a chair and announcing that he was about to introduce, to their notice, Bert White's world-famed panorama, as exhibited before all the nobility and crowned heads of Europe, England, Ireland and Scotland, including North America and Wales. Loud cheers greeted the conclusion of Bert's speech. The box was placed on the table, which was then moved to the end of the room, and the chairs were arranged in two rows in front. The panorama consisted of a stage front made of painted cardboard, and fixed on the front of a wooden box about three feet long by two feet six inches high, and about one foot deep from back to front. The show was a lot of pictures cut out of illustrated weekly papers and pasted together, end to end, so as to form a long strip or ribbon. Bert had coloured all the pictures with watercolours. Just behind the wings of the stage front, at each end of the box, was an upright roller, and the long strip of pictures was rolled up on this. The upper ends of the rollers came through the top of the box, and had handles attached to them. When these handles were turned, the pictures passed across the stage, unrolling from one roller and rolling on to the other, and they were illuminated by the light of three candles placed behind. The idea of constructing this machine had been suggested to Bert by a panorama entertainment which he had been to see some time before. The style of the decorations, he remarked, alluding to the painted stage front, is moorish. He lit the candles at the back of the stage, and, having borrowed a tea tray from Nora, desired the audience to take their seats, when they had all done so, he requested Owen to put out the lamp and the candles on the tree, and then he made another speech, imitating the manner of the lecturer at the panorama entertainment before mentioned. Ladies and gentlemen, with your kind permission, I am about to introduce to you or notice some pictures of events in different parts of the world. As each picture appears on stage, I will give a short explanation of the subject, and, afterwards, the band will play a suitable collection of appropriated music, consisting of hymns and all the latest and most popular songs of the day, and the audience is kindly requested to join in the chorus. Our first scene, continued Bert as he turned the handles and brought the picture into view, represents the docks at Southampton. The magnificent steamer which you see lying alongside the shore is the ship which is waiting to take us to foreign parts. As we have already paid our fare, we will now go on board and set sail. As an accompaniment to this picture, Bert played the tune of Good-bye Dolly, I Must Leave You, and by the time the audience had finished singing the chorus, he had rolled on to another scene which depicted a dreadful storm at sea, with a large ship evidently on the point of foundering. The waves were running mountains high, and the inky clouds were riven by forked lightning. To increase the terrifying effect Bert rattled the tea-tree, and played the Bay of Biscay, and the children sung the chorus whilst he rolled the next picture into view. This scene showed the streets of a large city, mounted police with drawn swords who were dispersing a crowd. Several men had been ridden down and were being trampled under the foot of the horses, and a number of others were bleeding profusely from wounds on the head and face. After a rather stormy passage we arrived safely at the beautiful city of Berlin in Germany, just in time to see the procession of unemployed workmen being charged with the military police. This picture is entitled, Tariff Reform Means Work for All. As an appropriate musical selection, Bert played the tune of a well-known song, and the children sang the words to be there, to be there, or I knew what it was to be there, and when they tore me clothes, blacked me eyes, and broke me nose, then I knew what it was to be there. During the singing Bert turned the handle backwards again and brought on the picture of the storm at sea. As we don't want to get knocked on the head, we clear out of Berlin as soon as we can, while we're safe, and once more embarks upon our gallant ship, and after a few more turns of the handle we find ourselves back once more in merry England, where we see the inside of a blacksmith's shop with a lot of half-starved women making iron chains. They work seventy hours a week for seven shillings. Our next scene is entitled, The Hook and Eye Carders. Here we see the inside of a room in Slumtown with a mother and three children, and the old grandmother sewing hooks and eyes on cards to be sold in draper shops. It says underneath the picture that 384 hooks and 384 eyes have to be joined together and sewed on the cards for one penny. While this picture was being rolled away, the band played and the children sang with great enthusiasm. Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves. Britons never, never, never shall be slaves. Our next picture is called, An Englishman's Home. Here we see the inside of a room in Slumtown with a father and mother and four children sitting down to dinner, bread and drippin' and tea. It says underneath the picture that there's thirteen millions people in England always on the verge of starvation. These people that you see in the picture might be able to get a better dinner than this if it wasn't that most of the money that the bloke earns has to pay the rent. Again we turn to the handle and presently we come to another very beautiful scene. Early morning in Trafalgar Square. Here we see a lot of Englishmen might have been sleeping out all night because they ain't got no homes to go to. As a suitable selector for this picture, Bert played the tune of a music hall song, the words of which were familiar to all the youngsters who sang at the top of their voices. I live in Trafalgar Square with four lines to guard me. Pictures and statues all over the place. Lord Nelson staring me straight in the face. Of course it's rather drafty, but still I'm sure you'll agree. If it's good enough for Lord Nelson, it's quite good enough for me. Next we have a view of the dining hall at the topside hotel in London, where we see the table set for a millionaire's banquet. The folks and spoons is made of solid gold and the plates is made of silver. The flowers that you see on the tables and hanging down from the ceilings and walls is worth 2,000 pounds, and it cost a bloke what gives a supper over 30,000 pounds for this one vino. A few more turns of the handle shows us another glorious banquet, the King of Rhineland being entertained by the people of England. Next we find ourselves looking on at the Lord Mayor's Supper at the mansion house. All the fat men that you see sitting at the tables is liberal and Tory members of parliament. After this we have a very beautiful picture entitled Four-Footed Horistocrats. Here you see Lady Slamrent's pet dog sitting up on chairs at their dinner table with white linen napkins tied around their necks, eating off silver plates like human people, and being waited on by real-life waiters in heathen and dress. Lady Slamrent is very fond of her pretty pets, and she does not allow them to be fed on anything but the very best food. They get chicken, rump steak, mutton chops, rice pudding, jelly, and custard. We should order the pet dog, don't you? remarked Tommy Newman to Charlie Linden. Not half, replied Charlie. Here we see another unimplied procession, continued Burt as he rolled another picture into sight. Two thousand able-bodied men who are not allowed to walk. Next we see the interior of an industrial home, blind children and cripples working for their living. Our next scene is called Cheap Labour. Here we see a lot of small boys about twelve and thirteen years old being served with their labour certificates, which gives them the right to go to work and earn money to help their unemployed fathers to pay the slum rent. Once more we turn the handle and brings on one of our finest scenes. This lovely picture is entitled The Angel of Charity. It shows us the beauty of a lady's slum rent seated at the table in the cosy corner of her charming boudoir writing out a little check for the relief of the poor of Slumtown. Our next scene is called The Rival Candidates or A Scene During the General Election. On the left you'll observe standing up in the motor car, a swell bloke with an eyeglass stuck in one eye, and an overcoat with a big four-colour and cuffs addressing the crowd. This is the honourable Augustus Slum Rent, the conservative candidate. On the other side of the road we see another motor car and another swell bloke with a round pane of glass in one eye, and an overcoat with a big four-colour and cuffs standing up in the car and addressing the crowd. This is Mr. Mann Driver, the liberal candidate. The crowds of shabby-looking chaps standing around the motor cars waving their hats and cheering his working men. Both the candidates is telling them the same old story, and each of them is asking the working man to elect them to parliament, and promising to do something or other to make things better for the lower hoarders. As an appropriate selection to go with this picture, bear to play the tune of a popular song, the words being well known to the children, who sang enthusiastically, clapping their hands and stamping their feet on the floor in time with the music. We've both been there before, many a time, many a time. We've both been there before, many a time, where many a gallon of beer has gone to colour his nose and mind. We've both been there before, many a time, many a time. At the conclusion of the singing, Bert turned another picture into view. Here we have another election scene. At each side we see the two candidates the same as in the last picture. In the middle of the road we see a man lying on the ground, covered with blood, with a lot of liberal and Tory workmen kicking him, jumping on him and stamping on his face with their obnail boots. The bloke on the ground is a socialist, and the reason why they're kicking his face is because he said the only difference between slum-rent and man-driver is that they was both alike. While the audience was admiring this picture, Bert played another well-known tune, and the children sang the words, Two lovely black eyes, oh what a surprise, only for telling a man he was wrong, two lovely black eyes. Bert continued to turn the handles of the roller, and a long succession of pictures passed across the stage, to the delight of the children, who cheered and sang as occasion demanded, but the most enthusiastic outburst of all greeted the appearance of the final picture, which was a portrait of the king. Directly the children saw it, without waiting for the band, they gave three cheers and began to sing the chorus of the national anthem. A round of applause for Bert concluded the Pandorama performance. The lamp and the candles of the Christmas tree were relit, for although all the toys had been taken off, the tree still made a fine show with the shining glass ornaments. And then they had some more games, Blind Man's Buff, A Tug of War in which Philpot was defeated with great laughter, and a lot of other games. When they were tired of these, each child said a piece, or sung a song, learned specially for the occasion. The only one who had not come prepared in this respect was little Rosie, and even she, as always to be the same as the others, insisted on reciting the only piece she knew. Kneeling on the hearth rug, she put her hands together, palm to palm, and, shutting her eyes very tightly, she repeated the verse she always said every night before going to bed. Gently Jesus, meek and mild, look on me, a little child, pity my simplicity, suffer me to come to thee. Then she stood up and kissed everyone in turn, and Philpot crossed over and began looking out of the window, and coughed and blew his nose, because a nut he had been eating had gone down the wrong way. Most of them were by this time quite tired out, so after supper the party broke up. Although they were nearly all very sleepy, none of them were very willing to go, but they were consoled by the thought of another entertainment to which they were going later on in the week, the band of hope tea and prize distribution at the shining light chapel. Bert undertook to see Elsie and Charlie safely home, and Philpot volunteered to accompany Nelly and Tommy Newman, and to carry Rosie, who was so tired that she fell asleep on his shoulder before they left the house. As they were going down the stairs, Frankie had a hurried consultation with his mother, with the result that he was able to shout after them an invitation to come again next Christmas. CHAPTER XXXV of the Ragged Trousard Philanthropists This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Tye Hines, the Ragged Trousard Philanthropists by Robert Tressel, CHAPTER XXXX, The Brigands Hold a Council of War. It being now what is usually called the festive season, possibly because at this period of the year a greater number of people are suffering from hunger and cold than at any other time, the reader will not be surprised at being invited to another little party, which took place on the day after the one we have just left. The scene was Mr. Sweater's office. Mr. Sweater was seated at his desk, but with his chair swung round to enable him to face his guests, Messrs. Ruchton, Didlum and Grindr, who were also seated. Something will have to be done, and that very soon, Grindr was saying. We can't go on much longer as we are doing at present. For my part, I think the best to do is to chuck up the sponge at once. The company is practically bankrupt now, and the longer we wait, the water it will be. That's just my opinion, said Didlum dejectedly. If we could supply the electric light at the same price as the gas, or a little cheaper, we might have some chance, but we can't do it. The fact is, that the machinery we've got is no damn good. It's too small, and it's wore out. Consequently, the light we supply is inferior to gas, and costs more. Yes, I think we're fairly beaten this time, said Ruchton. Why, even if the gas company hadn't moved our works beyond the borough boundary, still we shouldn't have been able to compete with them. Of course not, said Grindr. The truth of the matter is, just what Didlum says. Our machinery is too small. It's worn out. It's good for nothing, but to be trod on the scrap-heap. So there's only one thing left to do, and that is go into liquidation. And I don't see it. Remarked sweater. Well, what do you propose, then? Demanded Grindr. Reconstruct the company. Ask the shareholders for more money. Pull down the works, and build fresh, and buy some new machinery, and then most likely not make a do of it after all. Not for me old chap. I've had enough. You won't catch me chucking good money away after bad in that way. Not me, either, said Ruchton. Dead off. Remarked Didlum, very dejectedly. Sweater laughed quietly. I'm not such a fool as to suggest anything of that sort, he said. You seem to forget that I am one of the largest shareholders myself. No. What I propose is that we sell out. Sell out? replied Grindr, with a contemptuous laugh in which the others joined. Who's going to buy shares of a concern that's practically bankrupt and never paid a dividend? I've tried to sell my little lot several times already, said Didlum, with a sickly smile, but nobody won't buy them. Who's to buy? repeated Sweater, replied to Grindr. The municipality, of course. The ratepayers. Why shouldn't Mugsborough go in for socialism as well as other towns? Ruchton, Didlum, and Grindr fairly gasped for breath. The audacity of the chief's proposal nearly paralysed them. I'm afraid we could never get away with it, ejaculated Didlum, as soon as he could speak. When the people tumble to it, there'll be no end of a row. People? Row? repeated Sweater scornfully. The majority of the people will never know anything about it. Listen to me. Are you quite sure we can't be overheard? Interrupted Ruchton, glancing nervously at the door and round the office. It's all right, answered Sweater, who nevertheless lowered his voice almost to a whisper, and the others drew their chairs closer and bent forward to listen. You know we still have a little money in hand. Well what I propose is this, that the annual meeting which, as you know, comes off next week, will arrange for the secretary to read a highly satisfactory report, and will declare a dividend of fifteen percent. We can arrange it somehow between us. Of course we'll have to cook the accounts a little, but I'll see that it's done properly. The other shareholders are not going to ask any awkward questions, and we all understand each other. Sweater paused and regarded the other three brigands intently. You follow me?" He asked. Yes, yes. Said Didlem eagerly. Go on with it. And Ruchton and Grinder nodded ascent. Afterwards, resumed Sweater, I'll arrange for a good report of the meeting to appear in the weekly Ananias. I'll instruct the editor to write it himself, and I'll tell him just what to say. I'll also get him to write a leading article about it, saying that electricity is sure to supersede gas for lighting purposes in the very near future. Then the article will go on to refer to the huge profits made by the gas company, and to say how much better it would have been if the town had bought the gasworks years ago. So that these profits might have been used to reduce the rates, the same as had been done in other towns. Finally, the article would declare that it's a great pity that the electric light supply should be in the hands of a private company, and to suggest that an effort be made to acquire it for the town. In the meantime, we can all go about in a very quiet and judicious way, of course, bragging about what a good thing we've got and saying we don't mean to sell. We should say that we've overcome all the initial expenses and difficulties connected with the installation of the works, that we are only just beginning to reap the reward of our industry and enterprise, and so on. Then, continued the Chief, we can arrange for it to be proposed in the council that the town should purchase the electric lightworks. But not by one of us four, you know, said Drinder with a cunning leer. No, certainly not, that would give the show away at once. There are, as you know, several members of the band who are not shareholders in the company. We'll get some of them to do most of the talking. We, being the directors of the company, must pretend to be against selling, and stick out for our own price, and when we do finally consent, we must make out that we are sacrificing our private interests for the good of the town. We'll get a committee appointed. We'll have an expert engineer down from London. I know a man that will suit our purpose admirably. We'll pay him a trifle, and he'll say whatever we tell him to, and we'll rush the whole business through before they can say Jack Robinson, and before the rate payers have time to realise what's been done. Not that we need to worry ourselves much about them. Most of them take no interest in public affairs, but even if there is something said, it won't matter much to us once we've got the money. It'll be a nine days' wonder, and then we'll hear no more of it. As the Chief Seats speaking, the other brigands also remained silent, speechless with admiration of his cleverness. Well, what do you think of it? He asked. Think of it, cried Grinder enthusiastically. I think it's splendid. Nothing could be better. If we could only get away with it, I reckon it would be one of the smartest things we've ever done. Smart ate the word for it, observed Rushton. There's no doubt it's a grand idea, exclaimed Didlum. I just thought of something else that might be done to help it along. We could arise to have a lot of leather sent to, the editor of the Obscurer, and to the editor of the Ananias, and to the editor of the Weekly Chloroform, in favour of the scheme. Yeah, that's a very good idea, said Grinder. For that matter, the editors could write them to themselves and sign them Progress, Ratepayer, Advance, Mugsborough, and such like. Yes, that's all right, said the Chiefs heartfully, but we must be careful not to overdo it. Of course, there will have to be a certain amount of publicity, but we don't want to create too much interest in it. Come to think of it, observed Rushton arrogantly, why should we trouble ourselves about the opinion of the Ratepayer at all? Why should we trouble to fake the books or declare a dividend, or have the articles in the newspaper or anything else? We've got the game in our own hands. We've got the majority of the Council, and as Mr. Sweater says, very few people even take the trouble to read the reports of the meetings. Yes, that's right enough, said Grinder, but it's just them few what could make a lot of trouble and talk. They're the very people we ask to think about. If we can only manage to put them in a fog, we'll be all right, and the way to do it is as Mr. Sweater proposes. Yes, I think so, said the Chief, we must be very careful. I can work it all right in the Ananias and the Chloriform, and of course you'll see that the obscure all backs us up. I'll take care of that, said Grinder grimly. The three local papers were run by limited companies. Sweater held nearly all the shares of the Ananias and of the Weakly Chloriform, and controlled their policy and contents. Grinder occupied the same position with regard to the Obscurer. The editors were sort of marionettes who danced as Sweater and Grinder pulled the strings. I wonder how Dr. Weakling will take it, remarked Rushden. That's the very thing I was just thinking about, cried Didlem. What do you think it would be a good plan if we could arrange to have somebody took bad? You know, fall down in a fit or something in the street just outside the town hall, just before the matter is brought forward in the council, and then have someone come and call him out to attend to the party what's ill, and keep him out till the business is done. Yes, that's a capital idea, said Grinder thoughtfully. But who could we get to have that fit? It would have to be someone we could trust you know. How about Rushden? You wouldn't mind doing it, would you?" inquired Didlem. I should strongly object, said Rushden, haughtily. He regarded the suggestion that he should act such an undignified part as a kind of sacrilege. Then I'll do it myself if necessary, said Didlem. I'm not proud with his money to be made, anything for an honest living. Well, I think we'll all agree so far, remarked Sweater. The others signified assent. But I think we all deserve a drink, the chief continued, producing a decanter and a box of cigars from a cupboard by the side of his desk. Pass that water-bottle from behind you, Didlem. You might suppose nobody won't be coming in, said the latter anxiously. I'm a tea-totally, you know. Oh, it's all right, said Sweater, taking four glasses out of the cupboard and pouring out the whisky. I've given orders that were not to be disturbed for anyone. Say when? Well, his success to socialism, cried Grinder, raising his glass and taking a big drink. Amen. Irrear I mean, said Didlem, hastily correcting himself. What I like about this air-business is that we're not only doing ourselves a bit of good, continued Grinder with a laugh. We're not only doing ourselves a bit of good, but likewise we're doing the socialists a lot of harm. When the repairs have bought the works, and they begin to kick up a row because they'll lose their money over it, we can tell them that it's socialism. And then they'll say that if that's socialism, they don't want no more of it. The other brigands laughed gleefully, and some of Didlem's whisky went down the wrong way and nearly sent them into a fit. You might as well kill a man at once, he protested as he wiped the tears from his eyes. You might as well kill a man at once as choke him to death. And now I've got a bit of good news for you, said the chief as he put his empty glass down. The others became serious at once. Although we've had a very rough time of it in our contest with a gas-works company, and although we've got the worst of it, it hasn't been all lavender for them, you know. They've not enjoyed themselves either. We hit them pretty hard when we put up the cold-juice. A damn good job, too, said Grinder malignantly. Well, continued sweater. They're just as sick of the fight as they want to be. Because, of course, they don't know exactly how badly we've been hit. For all they know, we could have continued the struggle indefinitely. But, if I can, well, to make a long story short, I've had a talk with the managing director and one or two others, and they're willing to let us in with them, so that we can put the money we gets for the electric light-works in the gas-shares. This was such splendid news that they had another drink on the strength of it, and Didlum said that one of the first things they would have to do would be to totally abolish the cold-juice, because they pressed so hard on the poor. CHAPTER XXXI About the end of January, slime left Easton's. The latter had not succeeded in getting anything to do since the work at the cave was finished, and latterly the quality of the food had been falling off. The twelfth shilling slime paid for his board and lodging was all that Ruth had to keep house with. She tried to get some work to do herself, but generally without success. There were one or two jobs that she might have had had she been able to give her whole time to them. But, of course, that was not possible. The child and the housework had to be attended to, and slime's meals had to be prepared. Nevertheless, she can try to get away several times when she had a chance of earning a few shillings by doing a day's charring for some lady or other, and then she left everything in such order at home that Easton was able to manage all right while she was away. On these occasions she usually left the baby with Owen's wife, who was an old schoolmate of hers. Nora was the more willing to render her this service because Frankie used to be so highly delighted whenever it happened. He never tired of playing with the child, and for several days afterwards he used to worry his mother with entreaties to buy a baby of their own. Owen earned a few shillings occasionally. Now and then he got a job to clean windows, and once or twice he did a few days or hours work with some other painter who had been fortunate enough to get a little job on his own, such as a ceiling to wash and whiten, or a room or two to paint, but such jobs were few. Sometimes when they were very hard up they sold something. The Bible that used to lie on the little table in the Bay window was one of the first things to be parted with. Ruth raised the inscription from the fly-leave, and then they sold the book at a second-hand shop for two shillings. As time went on they sold nearly everything that was saleable, except of course the things that were obtained on the higher system. Slime could see that they were getting very much into debt, and behind with the rent, and on two occasions already Eastern had borrowed five shillings from him, which she might never be able to pay back. Another thing was that Slime was always in fear that Ruth, who had never wholly abandoned herself to wrongdoing, might tell Eastern what had happened. More than once she had talked of doing so, and the principal reason why she refrained was that she knew that even if he forgave her he could never think the same of her as before. Slime repeatedly urged this view upon her, pointing out that no good could result from such a confession. Laterally the house had become very uncomfortable. It was not only that the food was bad and that sometimes there was no fire, but Ruth and Eastern were nearly always quarreling about something or other. She scarcely spoke to Slime at all, and avoided sitting at the table with him whenever possible. He was in constant dread that Eastern might notice her manner towards him, and seek for some explanation. Altogether the situation was so unpleasant that Slime determined to clear out. He made the excuse that he had been offered a few weeks' work at a place some little distance outside the town. After he was gone they lived for several weeks in semi-starvation, on what credit they could get, and by selling the furniture or anything else they possessed that could be turned into money. The things out of Slime's room were sold almost directly he left. CHAPTER XXXII The veteran. Old Jack Linden had tried hard to earn a little money by selling bloters, but they often went bad, and even when he managed to sell them all the profit was so slight that it was not worth doing. Before the work at the cave had finished Philpot was a good friend to them. He frequently gave old Jack sixpence or a shilling, and often brought a bag of cakes or buns for the children. Sometimes he came to tea with them on Sundays as an excuse for bringing a tin of salmon. Elsie and Charlie frequently went to Owen's house to take tea with Frankie. In fact whilst Owen had anything to do, they almost lived there for both Owen and Nora, knowing that the Linden's had nothing to live on except the earnings of the young woman, encouraged the children to come often. Old Jack made some hopeless attempts to get work, work of any kind, but nobody wanted him, and to make things worse, his eyesight, which had been failing for a long time, became very bad. Once he was given a job by a big provision firm to carry an advertisement about the streets, the man who had been carrying it before, an old soldier, had been sacked the previous day for getting drunk while on duty. The advertisement was not an ordinary pair of sandwich boards, but a sort of box without any bottom or lid, a wooden frame, four sides covered with canvas, on which were pasted printed bills advertising margarine. Each side of this box or frame was rather larger than an ordinary sandwich board. Old Linden had to get inside this thing and carry it about the streets, two straps fixed across the top of the frame, and passing one over each of his shoulders enabled him to carry it. It swayed about a good deal as he walked along, especially when the wind caught it, but there were two handles inside to hold it steady by. The pay was eighteen pence a day, and he had to travel a certain route up and down the busiest streets. At first the frame did not feel very heavy, but the weight seemed to increase as the time went on, and the straps hurt his shoulders. He felt very much ashamed also whenever he encountered any of his old mates, some of whom laughed at him. In consequence of the frame requiring so much attention to keep it steady, and being unused to the work, and his sight so bad, he several times narrowly escaped being run over. Another thing that added to his embarrassment was the jeering of the other sandwich men, the loafers outside the public houses, and the boys who shouted, old Jack in the box, after him. Sometimes the boys threw refuse at the frame, and once a decayed orange thrown by one of them knocked his hat off. By the time evening came he was scarcely able to stand for weariness. His shoulders, his legs and his feet ached terribly, and as he was taking the thing back to the shop he was accosted by a ragged, dirty-looking, beard-sodden old man whose face was inflamed with drink and fury. This was the old soldier who had been discharged the previous day. He cursed and swore in the most awful manner, and accused Lyndon of taking the bread out of his mouth, and shaking his fist fiercely at him, shouted that he had a good mind to knock his face through his head and out of the back of his neck. He might possibly have tried to put this tread into practice, but for the timely appearance of a policeman, when he calmed down at once and took himself off. Jack did not go back the next day. He felt that he would rather starve than have any more of the advertisement frame, and after this he seemed to abandon all hope of earning money. Wherever he went it was the same. No one wanted him. So he just wandered about the street samelessly, now and then meeting an old workmate who asked him to have a drink. But this was not often, for nearly all of them were out of work and penniless. CHAPTER XXXIII The soldier's children. During most of this time Jack Lyndon's daughter-in-law had plenty of work, making blouses and pinafores for sweater and co. She had so much to do that one might have thought that the Tory millennium had arrived, and that tariff reform was already an accomplished fact. She had plenty of work. At first they had employed her exclusively on the cheapest kind of blouses, those that were paid for at the rate of two shillings a dozen, but they did not give her many of that sort now. She did the work so neatly that they kept her busy on the better qualities, which did not pay her so well because although she was paid more per dozen, there was a great deal more work in them than in the cheaper kinds. Once she had a very special one to make, for which she was paid six shillings, but it took her four and a half days, working early and late to do it. The lady who bought this blouse was told that it came from Paris and paid three guineas for it, but of course Mrs. Lyndon knew nothing of that, and even if she had known, it would have made no difference to her. After the money she earned went to pay the rent, and sometimes there was only two or three shillings left to buy food for them all, but sometimes not even so much, because although she had plenty of work, she was not always able to do it. There were times when the strain of working the machine was unendurable, her shoulders ached, her arms became cramped, her eyes pained so that it was impossible to continue. Then for a change she would leave the sewing and do some housework. Once when they owed four weeks rent, the agent was so threatening that they were terrified at the thought of being sold up and turned out of the house, and so she decided to sell the round mahogany table and some of the other things out of the sitting-room. Nearly all the furniture that was in the house now belonged to her, and had formed her home before her husband died. The old people had given most of their things away at different times to their other sons, since she had come to live there. These men were all married and all in employment. One was a fitter at the gas-works, the second was a railway porter, and the other was a butcher. But now that the old man was out of work, they seldom came to the house. The last time they had been there was on Christmas Eve, and then there had been such a terrible row between them that the children had been awakened by it and frightened nearly out of their lives. The cause of the row was that some time previously they had mutually agreed to give a shilling a week to the old people. They had done this for three weeks, and after that the butcher had stopped his contribution. It had occurred to him that he was not to be expected to help to keep his brother's widow and her children. If the old people liked to give up the house and go and live in a room somewhere by themselves, he would continue paying his shilling a week, but not otherwise. Upon this the railway porter and the gas-fitter also ceased paying. They said it wasn't fair that they should pay a shilling a week each, when the butcher, who was the eldest and earned the best wages, paid nothing. Provided he paid, they would pay. But if he didn't pay anything, neither would they. On Christmas Eve they all happened to come to the house at the same time. Each denounced the others, and after nearly coming to blows they all went away raging and cursing, and had not been near the place since. As soon as she decided to sell the things, Mary went to Didlum's second-hand furniture store, and the manager said he would ask Mr. Didlum to call and see the table and other articles. She waited anxiously all the morning, but he did not appear, so she went once more to the shop to remind him. When he did come at last he was very contemptuous of the table, and of everything else she offered to sell. Five shillings was the very most he could think of giving for the table, and even then he doubted whether he would ever get his money back. Eventually he gave her thirty shillings for the table, the over mantle, the easy chair, three other chairs, and the two best pictures, one a large steel engraving of the Good Samaritan, and the other Christ blessing the children. He paid the money at once. Half an hour afterwards the van came to take the things away, and when they were gone Mary sank down on the hearth-rug in the recta-room and sobbed as if her heart would break. This was the first of several similar transactions. Slowly, piece by piece, in order to buy food and to pay the rent, the furniture was sold. Every time Didlam came he effected to be doing them a very great favour by buying the things at all, almost an act of charity. He did not want them, business was so bad, it might be years before he could sell them again, and so on. Once or twice he asked Mary if she did not want to sell the clock, the one that her late husband had made for his mother, but Mary shrank from the thought of selling this, until at last there was nothing else left that Didlam would buy, and one week when Mary was too ill to do any needlework, it had to go. He gave them ten shillings for it. Mary had expected the old woman to be heartbroken at having to part with this clock, but she was surprised to see her almost indifferent. The truth was, that lately both the old people seemed stunned and incapable of taking any intelligent interest in what was happening around them, and Mary had to attend to everything. From time to time nearly all their other possessions, things of inferior value that Didlam would not look at, she carried out and sold at small second-hand shops in back streets, or pledged at the pawnbrokers, the feather pillows, sheets, and blankets, bits of carpet or oil cloth, and as much of their clothing as was saleable or pawnable. They felt the loss of the bedclothes more than anything else, for although the clothes they wore during the day, and all the old clothes and dresses in the house, and even the old colour tablecloth, were put on the beds at night, they did not compensate for the blankets, and they were often unable to sleep on account of the intense cold. A lady-district visitor who called occasionally sometimes gave Mary an order for a hundred weight of coal, or a shillings' worth of groceries, or a ticket for a quart of soup, which Elsie fetched in the evening from the soup-kitchen, but this was not very often, because, as the lady said, there were so many cases similar to theirs, that it was impossible to do more than a very little for any one of them. Elsie and Mary became so weak and exhausted through overwork, worry, and the lack of proper food, that she broke down altogether for the time being, and positively could not do any work at all. Then she used to lie down on the bed in her room and cry. Whenever she became like this, Elsie and Charlie used to do the housework when they came home from school, and make tea and toast for her, and bring it to her bedside on a chair so that she could eat lying down. When there was no margarine or dripping to put on the toast, they made it very thin and crisp, and pretended it was a biscuit. The children rather enjoy these times. The quiet and leisure was so different from other days. When her mother was so busy, she had no time to speak to them. They would sit on the side of the bed, the old grandmother and her chair opposite, with the cat beside her, listening to the conversation and purring or mewing whenever they stroked or spoke to it. They talked principally of the future. Elsie said she was going to be a teacher, and earn a lot of money to bring home to her mother to buy things with. Charlie was thinking of opening a grocer's shop and having a horse and cart. When one has a grocer's shop, there's always plenty to eat. Even if you have no money, you can take as much as you like out of your shop. Good stuff, too. Tins of salmon, jam, sardines, eggs, cakes, biscuits, and all those sort of things. And one was almost certain to have some money every day, because it wasn't likely that a whole day would go by without someone or other coming into the shop to buy something. When delivering the groceries with a horse and cart, he would give rides to all the boys he knew, and in the summer time, after the work was done and the shop shut, mother and Elsie and granny could also come for long rides in the country. The old grandmother, who had laterally become quite childish, used to sit and listen to all this talk with a superior air. Sometimes she argued with the children about their plans and ridiculed them. She used to say with a chuckle that she had heard people talk like that before, lots of times, but it never came to nothing in the end. One week about the middle of February, when there were in very sore straits indeed, old Jack applied to the secretary of the Organized Benevolent Society for Assistance. It was about eleven o'clock in the morning when he turned the corner of the street where the office of the society was situated, and saw a crowd of about thirty men waiting for the doors to be opened in order to apply for soup-tickets. Some of these men were of the tramp or the drunken loafer classes, some were old, broken-down workmen like himself, and others were labourers wearing corduroy or mould-skin trousers with straps round their legs under their knees. Lyndon waited at a distance until all these were gone before he went in. The secretary received him sympathetically and gave him a big form to fill up, but as Lyndon's eyes were so bad and his hands so unsteady, the secretary very obligingly wrote in the answers himself, and informed him that he would inquire into the case and lay his application before the committee at the next meeting, which was to be held on the following Thursday. It was then Monday. Lyndon explained to him that they were actually starving. He had been out of work for sixteen weeks, and during all that time they had lived for the most part on the earnings of his daughter-in-law. But she had not done anything for nearly a fortnight now, because the firm she worked for had not any work for her to do. There was no food in the house, and the children were crying for something to eat. All last week they had been going to school hungry, for they had had nothing but dry bread and tea every day, but this week, as far as he could see, they would not even get that. After some further talk, the secretary gave him two soup-tickets and an order for a loaf of bread, and repeated his promise to inquire into the case and bring it before the committee. As Jack was returning home he passed the soup-kitchen, where he saw the same lot of men who had been to the office of the organized benevolent society for soup-tickets. They were waiting in a long line to be admitted, the premises being so small, the proprietors served them in batches of ten at a time. On Wednesday the secretary called at the house, and on Friday Jack received a letter from him to the effect that the case had been duly considered by the committee, who had come to the conclusion that as it was a chronic case they were unable to deal with it, and advise them to apply it to the Board of Gargents. This was what Jack had hitherto shrunk from doing, but the situation was desperate. They owed five weeks' rent, and to crown their misfortune his eyesight had become so bad that even if there had been any prospect of obtaining work it was very doubtful if he could have managed to do it. So Lyndon, feeling utterly crushed and degraded, swallowed all that remained of his pride, and went like a beaten dog to see the relieving officer, who took him before the Board, who did not think it was a suitable case for out-relief, and after some preliminaries it was arranged that Lyndon and his wife were to go into the work-house, and Mary was to be allowed three shillings a week to help her to support herself and the two children. As for Lyndon's sons, the Gargents intimated their intention of compelling them to contribute towards the cost of their parents' maintenance. Mary accompanied the old people to the gates of their future dwelling-place, and when she returned home she found there a letter addressed to J. Lyndon. It was from the house-agent, and contained a notice to leave the house before the end of the ensuing week. Nothing was said about the rent that was due. Perhaps Mr. Sweater thought that, as he had already received nearly six hundred pounds in rent from Lyndon, he could afford to be generous about the five weeks that were still owing, or perhaps he thought that there was no possibility of getting the money. However that may have been, there was no reference to it in the letter. It was simply a notice to clear out, addressed to Lyndon, but meant for Mary. It was about half-past three o'clock in the afternoon when she returned home and found this letter on the floor in the front passage. She was faint with fatigue and hunger, for she had had nothing but a cup of tea and a slice of bread that day, and her fare had not been much better for many weeks past. The children were at school, and the house now almost destitute of furniture, and without carpets or oil-cloth on the floors, was deserted and cold and silent as a tomb. On the kitchen table were a few cracked cups and saucers, a broken knife, some lead teaspoons, a part of a loaf, a small basin containing some dripping, and a brown, earthenware teapot, with a broken spout. Near the table were two broken kitchen chairs, one with the top cross-piece gone from the back, the other with no back to the seat at all. The bareness of the walls was relieved only by a coloured almanac and some paper pictures which the children had tacked up upon them, and by the side of the fireplace was the empty wicker chair where the old woman used to sit. There was no fire in the grate, and the cold hearth was untidy with an accumulation of ashes, for during the trouble of these last few days she had not had the time or the heart to do any housework. The floor was unswept and littered with scraps of paper and dust, and in one corner was a heap of twigs and small branches of trees that Charley had found somewhere and brought home for the fire. The same disorder prevailed all through the house. All the doors were open, and from where she stood in the kitchen she could see the bed she shared with Elsie, with its heterogeneous heap of coverings. The sitting-room contained nothing but a collection of odds and ends of rubbish which belonged to Charley, his things, as he called them, bits of wood, string and rope, one wheel of a power-ambulator, a top, an iron hoop, and so on. Through the other door was visible the dilapidated bedstead that had been used by the old people, with a similar lot of bedclothes to those on her own bed, and the torn, ragged covering of the mattress, through the side of which the flock was protruding and falling on particles onto the floor. As she stood there with a letter in her hand, faint and weary in the midst of all this desolation, it seemed to her as if her whole world were falling to pieces, and crumbling away all around her.