 Chapter 43 Part 2 As a result of all the hurrying and scamping, every now and then the men found that they had worked themselves out of a job. Several times during the summer the firm had scarcely anything to do, and nearly everybody had to stand off for a few days or weeks. When Newman got his first start in the early part of the year, he had only been working for about a fortnight when, with several others, he was stood off. Fortunately, however, the day after he left Rushton's, he was lucky enough to get a start with another firm—Driver and Botchett—where he worked for nearly a month, and then he was given a job at Rushton's, who happened to be busy again. He did not have to lose much time, for he finished up with Driver and Botchett on a Thursday night, and on the Friday he interviewed Misery, who told him that they were about to commence a fresh job on the following Monday morning at six o'clock, and that he could start with them. So this time Newman was only out of work the Friday and Saturday, which was another stroke of luck, because it often happens that a man has to lose a week or more after finishing up for one firm before he gets another job. All through the summer, Crass continued to be the general color man, most of his time being spent at the shop mixing up colors for all the different jobs. He also acted as a sort of lieutenant to hunter, who, as the listener has already been informed, was not a practical painter. When there was a price to be given for some painting work, Misery sometimes took Crass with him to look over it, and to help him to estimate the amount of time and material it would take. Crass was thus in a position of more than ordinary importance, not only being superior to the hands, but also ranking above the other sub-forman who had charge of the jobs. It was Crass and these sub-forman who were to blame for most of the scamping and driving, because if it had not been for either of them, Rushton nor Hunter would have known how to scheme the work. Of course Hunter and Rushton wanted to drive and scamp, but not being practical men they would not have known how if it had not been for Crass and the others who put them up to all the tricks of the trade. Crass knew that when the men stayed till half-past seven they were in the habit of ceasing work for a few minutes to eat a mouthful of grub about six o'clock, so he suggested to Misery that as it was not possible to stop this, it would be a good plan to make the men stop work altogether from half-past five till six and lose half an hour's pay, and to make up the time instead of leaving off at seven-thirty they could work till eight. Misery had known of and winked at the former practice, for he knew that the men could not work all that time without something to eat, but Crass's suggestion seemed a much better way, and so it was adopted. When the other masters and mugs were ahead of this great reform they all followed suit, and it became the rule in that town whenever it was necessary to work overtime for the men to stay till eight instead of half-past seven as formerly, and they got no more pay than before. Previous to this summer it had been the almost invariable rule to have two men in each room that was being painted, but Crass pointed out to Misery that under such circumstances they wasted time talking to each other, and they also acted as a check on one another. Each of them regulated the amount of work he did by the amount the other did, and if the job took too long it was always difficult to decide which of the two was to blame. But if they were made to work alone, each of them would be on his metal. He would not know how much the others were doing, and the fear of being considered slow in comparison with others would make them all tear into it all they could. Misery thought this a very good idea, so the solitary system was introduced, and, as far as practicable, one room one man became the rule. They even tried to make the men distemper large ceilings single-handed, and succeeded in one or two cases, but several ceilings had been spoiled and had to be washed off and done over again, so they gave that up. But nearly all the other work was now arranged on the solitary system, and it worked splendidly. Each man was constantly in a state of panic as to whether the others were doing more work than himself. Another suggestion that Crass made to Misery was that the sub-formance should be instructed never to send a man into a room to prepare it for painting. "'If he sends a man into a room to get her ready,' said Crass, he makes a meal of it. There's much time messing about, rubbing down and stopping up as it would take to paint it. But,' he added with a cunning leer, "'give him a bit of putty, and a little bit of last paper, and a paint at the start, and then he gets it in his mind he's going in there to paint it, and he doesn't mess about much over the preparing of it.' These and many other suggestions, all sorts of devices for scamping and getting over the work, were schemed out by Crass and the other sub-formant, who put them into practice and showed them to Misery and Rushton in the hope of currying favour with them and being kept on. And between the lot of them they made life a veritable hell for themselves and the hands and everybody else around them, and the mainspring of it all was the greed and selfishness of one man who desired to accumulate money. For this was the only object of all the driving on bullying and hatred and cursing and unhappiness to make money for Rushton, who evidently considered himself a deserving case. It is sad and discreditable, but nevertheless true, that some of the more selfish of the philanthropists often became weary of well-doing and lost all enthusiasm for the good cause. At such times they used to say that they were bloody well fed up with the whole business and tired of tearing their bloody guts out for the benefit of other people, and every now and then some of these fellows would chuck up work and go on the booze, sometimes stopping away for two or three days or a week at a time. And then, when it was all over, they came back very penitent to ask for another start, but they generally found their places had been filled up. If they happened to be good sloggers, men who made a practice of tearing their guts out when they did work, they were usually forgiven and, after being admonished by misery, permitted to resume work with the understanding that if ever it occurred again they would be given the infernal, which means the final and irrevocable sack. There was once a job at a shop that had been a high-class restaurant kept by a renowned Italian chef. It had been known as Macaroni's Royal Italian Café. Situated on the Grand Parade, it was a favourite resort for the elite who frequented it for afternoon tea and coffee, and for little suppers after the theatre. It had plate-glass windows, resplendent with gilding, marble-topped tables with snow-white covers, vases of flowers, and all the other appurtenances of glittering cut glass and silver. The obsequious waiters were in evening-dress, the walls were covered with lofty plate-glass mirrors in carved and gilded frames, and at certain hours of the day and night an orchestra consisting of two violins and a harp, disgorced selections of classic music. But of late years the business had not been paying, and finally the proprietor went bankrupt and was sold out. The place was shut up for several months before the shop was led to a firm of dealers and fancy articles, and the other part was transformed into flats. Russian had the contract for the work. When the men went there to do it up, they found the interior of the house in a state of indescribable filth. The ceilings discoloured with smoke and hung with cobwebs. The wall-papers smeared and blacked with grease. The handrails and the newell posts of the staircase were clammy with filth, and the edges of the doors near the handles were blackened with greasy dirt and finger-marks. The tops of the skirtings, the mouldings of the doors, the sashes of the windows, and the corners of the floors were thick with the accumulated dust of years. In one of the upper rooms which had evidently been used as a nursery or play-room for the children of the renowned chef, the wallpaper, for about two feet above the skirting, was blackened with grease, and ornamented with childish drawings made with burnt sticks and blackened pencils. The door being covered with similar artistic efforts, to say nothing of some rude attempts at carving, evidently executed with an axe or a hammer. But all this filth was nothing compared with the unspeakable condition of the kitchen and scullery, a detailed description of which would cause the blood of the listener to curdle, and each particular hair of his head to stand on end. Let it suffice to say that the walls, the ceiling, the floor, the paintwork, the gas stove, the kitchen range, the dresser, and everything else were uniformly absolutely and literally black, and the black was composed of soot and grease. In front of the window there was a fixture, a kind of bench or table, deeply scored with marks of knives like a butcher's block. The sill of the window was about six inches lower than the top of the table, so between the glass and the lower sash of the window, which had evidently never been raised, and the back of the table there was a long narrow cavity or trough about six inches deep, four inches wide and as long as the width of the window, the sill forming the bottom of the cavity. This trough was filled with all manner of abominations, fragments of fat and decomposed meat, legs of rabbit and fowls, vegetable matter, broken knives and forks and hair, and the glass of the window was caked with filth of the same description. This job was the cause of the sacking of the semi-drunk and another man named Bill Bates, who were sent into the kitchen to clean it down and prepare it for painting and the stempering. They commenced to do it, but it made them feel so ill that they went out and each had a pint, and after that they made another start at it. But it was not long before they felt that it was imperatively necessary to have another drink, so they went over to the pub, and this time they had two pints each. Bill paid for the first two, and then the semi-drunk refused to return to work unless Bill would consent to have another pint with him before going back. When they had drunk the two pints, they decided, in order to save themselves the trouble and risk of coming away from the job, to take a couple of quarts back with them in two bottles which the landlord of the pub lent them, charging tuppence on each bottle, to be refunded when they were returned. When they got back to the job, they found a coddy in the kitchen looking for them, and he began to talk and grumble, but the semi-drunk soon shut him up. He told him he could either have a drink out of one of the bottles, or a punch on the bloody nose, whichever he liked, or, if he did not fancy either of these alternatives, he could go to hell. As the coddy was a sensible man, he took the beer, and advised him to pull themselves together and try to get some work done before misery came, which they promised to do. When the coddy was gone, they made another attempt at the work. Misery came a little while afterwards, and began shouting at them because he said he could not see what they had done. It looked as if they had been asleep all the morning. Here it was nearly ten o'clock, and as far as he could see they had done nothing. When he was gone they drank the rest of the beer, and then they began to feel inclined to laugh. What did they care for, hunter or russian, either? To hell with both of them. They left off scraping and scrubbing, and began throwing buckets of water over the dresser and the walls, laughing uproariously all the time. We'll show the buggers how the wash-down paint work. Shouted the semi-drunk. As he stood in the middle of the room and hurled a pailful of water over the door of the cupboard. Bring us another bucket of water, Bill. Bill was out in the scullery, filling his pail under the tap, and laughing so much that he could scarcely stand. As soon as it was fully past it to the semi-drunk who threw it bodily, pail and all, onto the bench in front of the window, smashing one of the panes of glass. The water poured off the table and all over the floor. Bill brought the next pailful in and threw it at the kitchen door, splitting one of the panes from top to bottom, and then they threw about half a dozen more pailfuls over the dresser. We'll show the buggers how the clean paint work. They shouted as they hurled the buckets at the walls and doors. By this time the floor was deluged with water, which mingled with the filth and formed a sea of mud. They left the two taps running in the scullery, and as the waste-pipe of the sink was choked up with dirt, the sink filled up and overflowed like a miniature Niagara. The water ran out under the doors into the back yard and along the passage out to the front door, but Bill Bates and the semi-drunk remained in the kitchen, smashing the pails at the walls and doors and the dresser and cursing and laughing hysterically. They had just filled the two buckets and were bringing them into the kitchen when they heard Hunter's voice in the passage, shouting out inquiries as to where all that water had come from. Then they heard him advancing towards them, and they stood waiting for him with the pails in their hands, and directly he opened the door and put his head into the room. They let fly the two pails at him. Unfortunately they were too drunk and excited to aim straight. One pail struck the middle rail of the door, and the other the wall by the side of it. Misery hastily shut the door again and ran upstairs, and presently the coddy came down and called them out from the passage. They went to see what he wanted, and he told them that Misery had gone to the office to get their wages ready. They were to make out their timesheets and go for their money at once. Misery had said that if they were not there in ten minutes he would have the pair of them locked up. The semi-drunk said that nothing would suit them better than to have their pieces at once, and they had spent all their money and wanted another drink. Bill Bates concurred, so they borrowed a piece of black-led pencil from the coddy and made out their timesheets, took off their aprons, put them into their tool-bags, and went to the office for their money, which Misery passed out to them through the trapped door. The news of this exploit spread all over the town during that day and evening, and although it was in July, the next morning at six o'clock there were half a dozen men waiting at the hour to ask Misery if there was any chance of a job. Bill Bates and the semi-drunk had had their spray and had got the sack for it, and most of the chap said it served them right. Such conduct as that was going too far. Most of them would have said the same thing no matter what the circumstance might have been. They had very little sympathy for each other at any time. Often when, for instance, one man was sent away from one job to another, the others would go into his room and look at the work he had been doing, and pick out all the faults they could find and show them to each other, making all sorts of ill-nature remarks about the absent one meanwhile. Just run your nose over that door, Jim," one would say in a tone of disgust. What do you think of it? Did you ever see such a mess in all your life? Calls a self a painter. And the other man would shake his head sadly and say that although the one who had done it had never been up too much as a workman, he could do a bit better than that if he liked. But the fact was that he never gave himself time to do anything properly. He was always tearing his bloody guts out, while he'd only been in this room about four hours from start to finish. He ought to have a water and car to follow him about, because he worked at such a hell of a rate you couldn't see him for dust. And then the first man would reply that other people could do as they liked, but for his part he was not going to tear his bloody guts out for nobody. The second man would applaud these sentiments and say that he wasn't going to tear his out either, and then they would both go back to their respective rooms and tear into the work for all they were worth, making the same sort of job as the one they had been criticising, and afterwards when the other's back was turned each of them in turn would sneak into the other's room and criticise it and point out the faults to anyone else who happened to be near at hand. Harlow was working at the place that had been Macaroni's cafe when one day a note was sent to him from Hunter at the shop. It was written on a scrap of wallpaper, and worded in the usual manner of such notes, as if the writer had studied how to avoid all suspicion of being unduly civil. Harlow, go to the yard at once and take our tools with you. Castle tell you what you have to do. J.H. They were just finishing their dinners when the boy brought this note, and after reading it aloud for the benefit of the others, Harlow remarked that it was worded in much the same way in which one would speak to a dog. The other said nothing, but after he was gone the other men, who all considered that it was ridiculous for the likes of us to expect or wish to be treated with common civility, laughed about it, and said that Harlow was beginning to think he was somebody. Suppose it was through reading all those books that Owen was always lending them, and then one of them got a piece of paper and wrote a note to be given to Harlow at the first opportunity. This note was properly worded, written in a manner suitable for a gentleman like him, neatly folded and addressed. Mr. Harlow, Esquire, Kerav, Macaroni's Royal Cafe. Dear sir, would you kindly oblige me by coming to the paint shop as soon as you can make a convenient, as there's a ceiling to be whitewashed, hoping this is not troubling you too much? I remain, yours respectfully, Pontius Pilate. This note was read out for the amusement of the company, and afterwards stored away in the writer's pocket, till such a time as an opportunity should occur of giving it to Harlow. As the writer of the note was on his way back to his room, to resume work, he was accosted by a man who had gone into Harlow's room to criticise it, and had succeeded in finding several faults which he pointed out to the other, and of course they were both very much disgusted with Harlow. I can't think whether Coddy keeps him on the job, said the first man, between you and me, if I had charged him a job, and misery sent Harlow there, I'd send him back to the shop. Same as you," agreed the other as he went back to tear into his own room. Same as you, old man, I shouldn't have him, neither. It must not be supposed from this that either of these two men were on exceptionally bad terms with Harlow. They were just as good friends with him to his face as they were with each other, to each other's faces, and it was just their way. That was all. If it had been one or both of these two who had gone away instead of Harlow, just the same things would have been said about them by the others who remained. It was merely the usual way of speaking about each other behind each other's backs. It was always the same. If any one of them made a mistake or had an accident or got into any trouble, he seldom got any sympathy from his fellow workmen. On the contrary, most of them at such times seemed rather pleased than otherwise. There was a poor devil, a stranger in the town. He came from London, who got the sack for breaking some glass. He had been sent to burn off some old paint of the woodwork of a window. He was not very skillful with the use of the burning off-lamp, because on the firm when he had been working in London, it was a job that the ordinary hands or seldom are never called upon to do. There were one or two men who did it all. For that matter, not many of Rushton's men were very skillful at it either. It was a job that everybody tried to get out of, because nearly always the lamp went wrong, and there was a row about the time the work took. So they worked this job onto the stranger. This man had been out of work for a long time before he got a start at Rushton's, and he was very anxious not to lose the job, because he had a wife and family in London. When the Coddy told him to go and burn off this window, he did not like to say that he was not used to the work. He hoped to be able to do it. But he was very nervous, and the end was that although he managed to do the burning off all right, just as he was finishing he accidentally allowed the flame of the lamp to come in contact with a large pane of glass, and broke it. They sent to the shop for a new pane of glass, and the man stayed late that night to put it in, in his own time, thus bearing half the cost of repairing it. Things were not very busy just then, and on the following Saturday two of the hands were stood off. The stranger was one of them, and nearly everybody was very pleased. At mealtimes the story of the broken window was repeatedly told amidst jeering laughter. It really seemed as if a certain amount of indignation was felt that a stranger, especially such an inferior person as this chap who did not know how to use a lamp, should have had the cheek to try to earn his living at all. One thing was very certain, they said gleefully. He would never get another job at Rushton's. That was one good thing. And yet they all knew that this accident might have happened to any one of them. Once a couple of men got the sack because the ceiling they distempered had to be washed off and done again. It was not really the men's fault at all. It was the ceiling that needed special treatment, and they had not been allowed to do it properly. But all the same when they got the sack most of the others laughed and sneered and were glad. Perhaps because they thought that the fact that those two unfortunates had been disgraced increased their own chances of being kept on, and so it was with nearly everything. With a few exceptions they had an immense amount of respect for Rushton and Hunter, and very little respect or sympathy for each other. Exactly the same lack of feeling for each other prevailed amongst the members of all the different trades. Everybody seemed glad if anybody got into trouble for any reason whatever. There was a garden gate that had been made at the carpenter's shop. It was not very well put together, and for the usual reason the man had not been allowed the time to do it properly. After it was fixed one of his shopmates wrote upon it with lead pencil and big letters. This is good work for a joiner. Order one ton of putty. But to hear them talking in the pub of a Saturday afternoon just after paytime one would think them the best of friends and mates and the most independent spirits in the world. Fellows whom it would be very dangerous to trifle with and who would stick up for each other through thick and thin. All sorts of stories were related of the wonderful things they had done and said, of jobs they had chucked up and masters they had told off, of pales of whitewash thrown over offending employers, and of horrible assaults and batteries committed upon the same. But strange to say for some reason or other it seldom happened that a third party ever witnessed any of these prodigies. It seemed as if a chivalrous desire to spare the feelings of their victims had always prevented them from doing or saying anything to them in the presence of witnesses. When he had drunk a few pints Crass was a very good hand at these stories. Here is what he told in the barrel of the cricketers on the Saturday afternoon of the same week that Bill Bates and the semi-drunk got the sack. The cricketers was only a few minutes walk from the shop and at paytime a number of the men used to go there to take a drink before going home. Last Thursday night about five o'clock, Unter comes into the paint shop and he says to me, I want to pay the whitewash made up tonight, Crass, he says, ready for forcing in the morning, he says. Oh, I says, looking him straight in the bloody eye. Oh, you do, do you, just like that? Yes, he says. Well, you can bloody well make it yourself, I says, because I ain't going to make it, I says, just like that. What the hell do you bloody mean, says I, by coming in here this time of night with an order like that, I says. You're laughed, continued Crass as he wiped his mouth with a back of his hand after taking another drink out of his glass and looking round to note the effect of the story. You'd have laughed if you'd been there. He was fairly flabbergasted, and when I said that to him, I see his jaw drop, and then he started apologizing and says as he hadn't meant no offence, but I told a bloody straight not to come no more of it. You bring the order at a reasonable time, I says, just like that, and I'll attend to it, I says, but not otherwise, I says. As he concluded this story, Crass drained his glass and gazed around upon the audience, who are now full of admiration. They looked at each other, and at Crass, and nodded their heads approvingly. Yes, undoubtedly, that was the proper way to deal with such bounders as Nimrod. Take up a strong attitude, and let him see as he'll stand no nonsense. You don't blame me, do you? continued Crass. Why should we put up with a lot of old book from the likes of him? We're not a lot of bloody Chinamen, are we? So far from blaming him, they all assured him that they would have acted in precisely the same way under similar circumstances. For my part, I'm a bloke like this, said a tall man with a very loud voice, a chap who nearly fell down dead every time rushed in our misery looked at him. I'm a bloke like this here, I never stands no cheek from no gaffers. If a governor says two bloody words to me, I downs me tools, and I says to him, what, I don't sue your governor, I ain't done enough of you. Very good. Give me me bleeding apence. Quite right, too, said everybody. That was a way to serve him. If only everyone would do the same as a tall man, who had just paid for another round of drinks, things would be a lot more comfortable than there was. Last summer I was walking for old bouncer, said a little man with a cutaway coat several sizes too large for him. I was walking for old bouncer over at Windley, and he all knows he don't have Laura. Well, one day when I know he was on the drunk, I had to first coat a room out, white, so I think to myself, if I book up, I shall be able to get this lot done by about four o'clock, and then I can clear off home, because I reckon as he'd be about flattened out by that time. And you know he ain't got no foreman. So I tears into it, and I get this air room done about quarter past four, and I just got me things put away for the night, when who should come falling up the bloody stairs but old bouncer, drunk as a howl. And now sooner he gets into the room, then he starts yapping and ramping. Is this air all you've done? He shouts out. What you been doing all day? He says, and he keeps on shouting and swearing till at last I couldn't stand it no longer, because you can guess I wasn't in a very good temper with him coming along just when I thought I was going to get off a bit early. So when he kept on shouting, I never made no answer to him. But up's when we fist, and I give him a slush in the dial and stop this clock. Then I chuck the pot of white paint over him, and kick them down the bloody stairs. Serve him bloomin' all right, too," said Crass, as he took a fresh glass of beer from one of the others, who had just stood another round. What did the booger say to that? inquired the tall man. Not a bloody word, replied the little man. He picked himself up, and called a cab what was passin' and got into it, and went home. And I never seen no more of him till about half past eleven the next day, when I was second coatin' the room, and he comes up with a new suit of clothes on, and asks me if I'd like to come over to the pub, and have a drink. So he goes over, and he calls for a whiskey and soda for himself, and asks me what I'd have. So I had the same. And while he was gettin' this down on us, he says to me, ah, guard, she says, you lose your temper with me yesterday, he says. There you are, you see," said the tall man. There's an example for you. If you hadn't served them as you did, you'd most likely have had to put up with a lot more old buck. They all agreed that the little man had done quite right. They all said that they didn't blame him in the least. They would all have done the same. In fact, this was the way they all conducted themselves whenever occasion demanded it. To hear them talk, one would imagine that such affairs as the recent exploit of Bill Bates and the semi-drunk were constantly taking place, instead of only occurring about once in a blue moon. Crassed of the final round of drinks, and as he evidently thought that circumstances deserved to be signalized in some special manner, he proposed the following toast which was drunk with enthusiasm. To hell with the man! May he never grow fat, for Carrie's two faces unknown one had. Russian and Co did a lot of work that summer. They did not have many big jobs, but there were a lot of little ones, and the boy Bert was kept busy running from one to the other. He spent most of his time dragging a hand-cart with loads of paint, or planks, and steps, and seldom would out to work with the men. For when he was not taking things out to the various places where the philanthropists were working, he was in the paint-shop at the yard, scraping out dirty paint-pots, or helping crass to mix up colours. Although scarcely any one seemed to notice it, the boy presented a truly pitiable spectacle. He was very pale and thin. Dragging the hand-cart did not help him to put on flesh, for the weather was very hot, and the work made him sweat. His home was right away on the other side of Windley. It took him more than three-quarters of an hour to walk to the shop, and as he had to be at work at six, that meant he had to leave home at a few minutes past five every morning, so that he always got up about half past four. He was wearing a man's coat, or rather jacket, which gave the upper part of his body a bulky appearance. The trousers were part of a suit of his that were somewhat narrowly cut, as is the rule with boy's cheap ready-made trousers. These tin legs appearing under the big jacket gave him a rather grotesque appearance, which is heightened by the fact that all his clothes, cap, coat, waistcoat, trousers, and boots were smothered with paint and distemper of various colors, and there were generally a few streaks of paint of some sort or other upon his face, and of course his hands, especially around the fingernails, were grime with it. But the worst of all were the dreadful hob-nailed boots. The leather of the uppers of these was a eighth of an inch thick and very stiff. Across the four part of the boots this hard leather had warped into ridges and valleys which chafed his feet and made them bleed. The soles were five-eighths of an inch thick covered with hob-nails, and were as hard and inflexible and almost as heavy as iron. These boots hurt his feet dreadfully and made him feel very tired and miserable, for he had such a lot of walking to do. He used to be jolly glad when dinnertime came, for then he used to get out of sight in some quiet spot and lie down for the whole hour. His favorite dining-spot was up in the loft over the carpenter shop, where they store the mouldings and architraves. No one ever came there at that hour, and after he had eaten his dinner he used to lie down and think and rest. He nearly always had an hour for dinner, but he did not always have it at the same time. Sometimes he had it at twelve o'clock, and sometimes not till two. It all depended on what stuff had to be taken to the job. Often it happened that some men at a distant job required some material to use immediately after dinner, and perhaps Crass was not able to get it ready till twelve o'clock, so that it was not possible to take it before dinnertime, but if Bert left it till after dinner, the men would be wasting their time waiting for it, so in such cases he took it there first and had his dinner when he came back. Sometimes he got back about half past twelve, and it was necessary for him to take out another lot of material at one o'clock. In such cases he charged half an hour over time on his timesheet. He used to get twopens an hour for overtime. Sometimes Crass sent him with a hand-cart to one job to get a pair of steps or trestles or a plank or some material or other, and take them to another job, and on these occasions it was often very late before he was able to take his meals. Instead of getting his breakfast at eight, it was often nearly nine before he got back to the shop, and frequently he had to go without dinner until half past one or two. Sometimes he could scarcely manage to carry the pots of paint to the jobs, his feet were so hot and sore, and when he had to push the cart it was worse still, and often when knocking off time came he felt so tired that he could scarcely manage to walk home. But the weather was not always hot or fine, sometimes it was quite cold, almost like winter, and there was a lot of rain that summer. At such times the boy frequently got wet through several times a day as he went from one job to another, and he had to work all the time in his wet clothes and boots, which are usually old and out of repair and let in the water. One of the worst jobs that he had to do was when a new stock of white lead came in. This stuff came in wooden barrels containing two hundred weight, and he used to have to dig it out of these barrels with a trowel and put it into a metal tank, where it was kept covered with water, and the empty barrels were returned to the makers. When he was doing this work he usually managed to get himself smeared all over with the white lead, and in this circumstance, and the fact that he was always handling paint or some poisonous material or other, was doubtless the cause of the terrible pains he often had in his stomach, pains that sometimes caused him to throw himself down and roll on the ground in agony. CHAPTER 43 PART 3 One afternoon Crass sent him with a hand-cart to a job that Easton, Philpot, Harlow, and Owen were just finishing. He got there about half-past four, and helped the men to load up the things, and afterwards walked alongside the cart with them back to the shop. On the way they all noticed and remarked to each other that the boy looked tired and pale, and that he seemed to limp, but he did not say anything, although he guessed that they were talking about him. They arrived at the shop a little before knocking off-time, about ten past five. Bert helped them to unload, and afterwards, while they were putting their things away and charging up the unused materials they had brought back, he pushed the cart over to the shed where it was kept, on the other side of the yard. He did not return to the shop at once, and a few minutes later, when Harlow came out into the yard to get a bucket of water to wash their hands with, he saw the boy leaning on the side of the cart crying, and holding one foot off the ground. Harlow asked him what was the matter, and while he was speaking to him the others came out to see what was up. The boy said he had rheumatism or growing pains or something in his leg, just here, near the knee. But he did not say much, he just cried miserably and turned his head slowly from side to side, avoiding the looks of the men because he felt ashamed that they should see him cry. When they saw how ill and miserable he looked, the men all put their hands in their pockets to get some coppers to give him so that he could ride home on the tram. They gave him fivepins altogether, more than enough to ride all the way, and Crass told him to go at once, there was no need to wait till half-past. But before he went, Philpott got a small glass bottle out of his tool-bag and filled it with oil and turps, two of turps and one of oil, which he gave to Bert to rub into his leg before going to bed. The turps, he explained, was to cure the pain, and the oil was to prevent it from hurting the skin. He was to get his mother to rub it in if he were too tired to do it himself. Bert promised to observe these directions, and, drawing his tears, took his dinner-basket and limped off to catch the tram. It was a few days after this that Hunter met with an accident. He was tearing off on his bicycle to one of the jobs, about five to twelve, to see if he could catch anyone leaving off for dinner before the proper time, and, while going down a rather steep hill, the front brake broke. The rubbers of the rear-wound were worn out and failed to act, so misery to save himself from being smashed against the railings of the houses at the bottom of the hill, threw himself off the machine, with the result that his head and face and hands were terribly cut and bruised. He was so badly knocked about that he had to remain at home for nearly three weeks, much to the delight of the men, and the annoyance, one might even say indignation, of Mr. Rushton, who did not know enough about the work to make out estimates without assistance. There were several large jobs to be tended for at the same time, so Rushton sent his specification round to Hunter's house for him to figure out the prices, and nearly all the time that misery was at home, he was sitting up in bed, swathing bandages, trying to calculate the probable costs of these jobs. Rushton did not come to see him, but he sent Bert nearly every day, either with some specifications or some accounts or something of that sort, or with a note inquiring when Hunter thought he would be able to return to work. All sorts of rumours became prevalent amongst the men concerning Hunter's condition. He had broken his spiral column. He had conjunction of the brain, or he had injured his innards and would probably never be able to do no more slave-driving. Crass, who had helped Mr. Rushton to price up several small jobs, began to think it might not be altogether a bad thing for himself if something were to happen to Hunter, and he began to put on side and to assume heirs of authority. He got one of the lightweights to assist him in his work of colour-man, and made him do all the hard work while he spent part of his own time visiting the different jobs, to see how the work progressed. Crass's appearance did him justice. He was wearing a pair of sporting trousers, the pattern of which consisted of large black-and-white squares. The previous owner of these trousers was taller and sleighter than Crass, so although the legs were about a couple of inches too long, they fitted him rather tightly. So much so that it was fortunate that he had his present job of colour-man, for if he had to do any climbing up and down ladders or steps, the trousers would have burst. His jacket was also two or three sizes too small, and the sleeves were so short that the cuffs of his flannelette shirt were visible. This coat was made of surge, and its colour had presumably once been blue, but it was now a sort of heliotrope and violet, the greater part being of the former tint, and the parts under the sleeves of the latter. This jacket fitted very tightly across the shoulders and back, and being much too short, left his tightly-clad posteriors exposed to view. He however seemed quite unconscious of anything peculiar in his appearance, and was so bumpious and offensive that most of the men were almost glad when Nimrod came back. They said that if Crass ever got the job he would be a damn sight worse than Hunter. As for the latter, for a little while after his return to work it was said that his illness had improved his character. He had had time to think things over, and in short he was ever so much better than before. But it was not long before this story began to be told the other way round. He was worse than ever, and a thing that happened about a fortnight after his return caused more ill-feeling and resentment against him and Drushton than ever had existed previously. What led up to it was something that was done by Bundy's mate, Ted Dawson. This poor wretch was scarcely ever seen without a load of some sort or other, carrying a sack of cement or plaster, a heavy ladder, a big bucket of mortar, or dragging a load of scaffolding on a cart. He must have been nearly as strong as a horse, because after working in this manner for Drushton and Cole from six in the morning till half past five at night, he usually went to work in his garden for two or three hours after tea, and frequently went there for an hour or so in the morning before going to work. The poor devil needed the produce of his garden to supplement his wages, for he had a wife and three children to provide for, and he earned only, nor rather to be correct, he was paid only fourpence an hour. There was an old house to which the men were making some alterations and repairs, and there was lots of old wood taken out of it—old, decayed floorboards and stuff of that kind—wood that was of no use whatever except to burn. Bundy and his mate were working there, and one night, misery came a few minutes before half past five, and caught Dawson in the act of tying up a small bundle of this wood. When Hunter asked him what he was going to do with it, he made no attempt at prevarication or concealment. He said he was going to take it home for firewood, because it was of no other use. Misery kicked up a devil of a row, and ordered him to leave the wood where it was. It had to be taken to the yard, and it was nothing to do with Dawson or anyone else whether it was any use or not. If he caught anyone taking wood away, he would sack them on the spot. Hunter shouted very loud, so that all the others might hear, and as they were all listening attentively in the next room, whether they were taking their aprons off preparatory to going home, they got the full benefit of his remarks. The following Saturday when the hands went to the office for the money, they were each presented with a printed card, bearing the following legend. Under no circumstances is any article or material, however trifling, to be taken away by workmen for their private use, whether waste material or not, from any workshop or place where work is being done. Four men are hereby instructed to see that this order is obeyed, and to report any such act coming to their knowledge. Any man breaking this rule will be either dismissed, without notice, or given into custody. Rusted and Co. Most of the men took these cards with the envelopes containing their wages, and walked away without making any comment. In fact, most of the men were some distance away before they realized exactly what the card was about. Two or three of them stood a few steps away from the pay window in full view of rushed and misery, and ostentatiously tore the thing into pieces, and threw them into the street. One man remained at the pay window, while he read the card, and then flung it with an obscene curse into Rushden's face, and demanded his back day, which they gave him without any remark or delay, the other men who were not yet paid having to wait while he made out his time sheet for that morning. The story of this card spread all over the place in a very short time. It became the talk of every shop in the town. Whenever any of Rushden's men encountered the employees of another firm, the latter used to shout after them, however trifling, or, look how chaps, here comes some of Rushden's pickpockets. Amongst Rushden's men themselves it became a standing joke or form of greeting to say when one met another, remember, however trifling. If one of their number was seen going home with an unusual amount of paint or whitewash on his hands or clothes, the others would threaten to report them for stealing the material. They used to say that however trifling the quantity it was against orders to take it away. Harlow drew up a list of rules which he said Mr. Rushden had instructed him to communicate to the men. One of these rules provided that everybody was to be weighed upon arrival at the job in the morning and again at leaving off-time, and any man found to have increased in weight was to be discharged. There was also much cursing and covert resentment about it. The men used to say that such a thing as that looked well coming from the likes of Rushden and Hunter, and they used to remind each other of the affair of the marble-topped console-table, the barometer, the Venetian blinds, and all the other robberies. None of them ever said anything either to misery or Rushden about the cards, but one morning when the latter was reading his letters at his breakfast-table, on opening one of them he found that it contained one of the notices smeared with human excrement. He did not need any more of his breakfast that morning. It was not to be much wondered at that none of them had the courage to openly resent the conditions under which they had to work, for, although it was summer, there were many men out of employment, and it was much easier to get the sack than it was to get another job. None of the men were ever caught stealing anything however trifling, but all the same, during the course of the summer five or six of them were captured by the police and sent to jail, for not being able to pay their poor rates. All through the summer Owen continued to make himself objectionable and to incur the ridicule of his fellow workmen by talking about the causes of poverty and of ways to abolish it. Most of the men kept two shillings or half a crown of their wages back from their wives, for pocket money which they spent on beer and tobacco. There were very few who spent a little more than this, and there were a still smaller number who spent so much in this way that their families had to suffer in consequence. Most of those who kept back half a crown or three shillings from their wives did so on the understanding that they were to buy their clothing out of it. Some of them had to pay a shilling a week to a tally-man or credit-clothier. These were the ones who indulged in shoddy new suits at long intervals. Others bought or got their wives to buy for them their clothes at second-hand shops, paying off about a shilling or so a week and not receiving the things until they were paid for. There were a very large proportion of them who did not spend even a shilling a week for a drink, and there were numerous others who, while not being formally total abstainers, yet often went for a week together without either entering a public house or tasting intoxicating drink in any form. Then there were others who, instead of drinking tea or coffee or cocoa with their dinners or supper, drank beer. This did not cost more than the tea-total drinks, but all the same there were some persons who say that those who swelled the nation's drink-bill by drinking beer with their dinners or suppers are a kind of criminal and that they ought to be compelled to drink something else, that is, if they were working people. As for the idle classes, they, of course, were allowed to continue to make merry, drinking whiskey, wine, and cherry, to say nothing of having their beer in by the barrel and their dozen or forty dozen bottles. But, of course, that's a different matter, because these people make so much money out of the labour of the working classes that they can afford to indulge in this way without depriving their children of the necessaries of life. There is no more cowardly, dastardly slander than is contained in the assertion, that the majority or any considerable proportion of working men neglect their families through drink. It is a condemned lie. There are some who do it, but they are not even a large minority. They are few and far between and are regarded with contempt by their fellow workmen. It will be said that their families had to suffer for want of even the little that most of them spent in that way, but the persons that used this argument should carry it to its logical conclusion. Tea is an unnecessary and harmful drink. It has been condemned by medical men so often that to enumerate its evil qualities here would be a waste of time. The same can be said for nearly all of the cheap temperance drinks. They are unnecessary and harmful and cost money, and, like beer, are drunk only for pleasure. What right does anyone to say to working men that when their work is done they should not find pleasure in drinking a glass or two of beer together in a tavern or anywhere else? Let those who would presume to condemn them carry their argument to its logical conclusion and condemn pleasure of every kind. Let them persuade the working classes to lead still simpler lives, to drink water instead of such unwholesome things as tea, coffee, beer, lemonade, and all other harmful and unnecessary stuff. They would then be able to live ever so much more cheaply, and as wages are always and everywhere regulated by the cost of living, they would be able to work for lower pay. These people are fond of quoting the figures of the nation's drink-bill, as if all this money were spent by the working classes, but if the amount of money spent in drink by the aristocracy, the clergy, and the middle classes were deducted from the nation's drink-bill, it would be seen that the amount spent per head by the working classes is not so alarming after all, and would probably not be much larger than the amount spent on drink by those who consume tea and coffee, and all the other unwholesome and unnecessary temperance drinks. The fact that some of Ruston's men spent about two shillings a week on drink while they were in employment was not the cause of their poverty. If they had never spent a farthing for drink, and if their wretched wages had been increased by fifty percent, they would still have been in a condition of the most abject and miserable poverty, for nearly all the benefits and privileges of civilization, nearly everything that makes life worth living, would still have been beyond their reach. It is inevitable so long as men have to live and work under such heartbreaking, uninteresting conditions as at present that a certain proportion of them will seek forgetfulness and momentary happiness in the tavern, and the only remedy for this evil is to remove the cause, and while that is in process there is something else that can be done, and that is, instead of allowing filthy drinking dens presided over by persons whose interest is to encourage men to drink more bad beer than is good for them, or than they can afford, to have civilized institutions run by the state or the municipalities for use and not merely for profit, decent pleasure-houses where no drunkenness or filthiness will be tolerated, where one could buy real beer or coffee or tea or any other refreshments, where men could repair when their day's work was over and spend an hour or two in rational intercourse with their fellows, or listen to music and singing, taverns to which they could take their wives and children without fear of defilement for a place that is not fit for the presence of a woman or a child is not fit to exist at all. Owen, being a tea-totaler, did not spend any of his money on drink, but he spent a lot on what he called the cause. Every week he bought some penny or two-penny pamphlets or some leaflets about socialism, which he lent or gave to his mates, and in this way, and by means of much talk, he succeeded in converting a few to his party. Philpot, Harlow, and a few others used to listen with interest, and some of them even paid for the pamphlets they obtained from Owen, and after reading them themselves, had passed them on to others, and also occasionally got up arguments on their own accounts. Others were simply indifferent, or treated the subject as a kind of joke, ridiculing the suggestion that it was possible to abolish poverty. They repeated that there had always been rich and poor in the world and there always would be, so there was an end of it. But the majority were bitterly hostile, not to Owen, but to socialism. For the man himself most of them had a certain amount of liking, especially the ordinary hands, because it was known that he was not a master's man, and that he had declined to take charge of jobs which misery had offered to him. But to socialism they were savagely and malignantly opposed. Some of them, who had shown some symptoms of socialism during the past winter when they were starving, had now quite recovered and were stout defenders of the present system. Barrington was still working for the firm and continued to maintain his manner of reserve, seldom speaking unless addressed, but all the same for several reasons it began to be rumoured that he shared Owen's views. He always paid for the pamphlets that Owen gave him, and on one occasion when Owen bought a thousand leaflets to give away, Barrington contributed a shilling towards the half-crown that Owen paid for them. But he never took any part in the arguments that sometimes raged during the dinner-hour or at breakfast time. It was a good thing for Owen that he had his enthusiasm for the cause to occupy his mind. Socialism was to him what drink was to some of the others, the thing that enabled them to forget and to tolerate the conditions under which they were forced to exist. Some of them were so muddled with beer and others so besotted with admiration of their liberal and Tory masters that they were oblivious to the misery of their own lives, and in a similar way Owen was so much occupied in trying to rouse them from their lethargy, and so engrossed in trying to think out new arguments to convince them of the possibility of bringing about an improvement in their condition, that he had no time to dwell upon his own poverty. The money that he spent on leaflets and pamphlets to give away might have been better spent on food and clothing for himself, because most of those to whom he gave them were by no means grateful, but he never thought of that, and after all nearly everyone spends money on some hobby or other. Some people deny themselves the necessaries or comforts of life in order that they may be able to help to fatten a publican. Others deny themselves in order to enable a lazy person to live in idleness and luxury, and others spend much time and money that they really need for themselves in buying socialist literature to give away to people who don't want to know about socialism. One Sunday morning towards the end of July a band of about twenty-five men and women on bicycles invaded the town. Two of them, who rode a few yards in front of the others, had affixed to the handlebars of each of their machines a slender upright standard from the top of one of which fluttered a small flag of crimson silk with international brotherhood of peace in gold letters. The other standard was similar in size and colour but with a different legend, one for all and all for one. As they rode along they gave leaflets to the people in the streets, and whenever they came to a place where there were many people they dismounted and walked about giving their leaflets to whoever would accept them. They made several long halts during their progress along the grand parade where there was a considerable crowd, and then they rode over the hill to Windley which they reached a little before opening time. There were little crowds waiting outside the several public houses and a number of people passing through the streets on the way home from church and chapel. The strangers distributed leaflets to all those who would take them, and they went through a lot of side streets putting leaflets under the doors and in the letter boxes. When they had exhausted their stock they remounted and rolled back the way they came. Meantime the news of their arrival had spread, and as they returned through the town they were greeted with jeers and booing, presently someone threw a stone, and as there happened to be plenty of stones just there several others followed suit, and began running after the retreating cyclists throwing stones hooting and cursing. The leaflets which had given rise to all this fury read as follows. What is socialism? At present the workers with hand and brain produce continually food, clothing, and all useful and beautiful things in great abundance. But they labour in vain, for they are mostly poor and often in want. They find it a hard struggle to live, their women and children suffer, and their old age is branded with pauperism. Socialism is a plan by which poverty will be abolished, and everyone enabled to live in plenty and comfort with leisure and opportunity for amperer life. If you wish to hear more of this plan come to the field at the crossroads on the hill at Windley, and choose the evening next at eight p.m. and look out for the socialist van. The cyclists rode away amid showers of stones without sustaining much damage. One had his hand cut, and another, who happened to look round, was struck on the forehead, but these were the only casualties. On the following Tuesday evening, long before the appointed time, there was a large crowd assembled at the crossroads, on the hill at Windley, waiting for the appearance of the van, and they were evidently prepared to give the socialists a warm reception. There was only one policeman in uniform there, but there were several in plain clothes amongst the crowd. Crass, Dick Wantley, the semi-drunk, sarkens, bill-baits, and several other frequenters of the cricketers were amongst the crowd, and there were also a sprinkling of tradespeople, including the old deer and Mr. Smallman, the grocer, and a few ladies and gentlemen, wealthy visitors. But the bulk of the crowd were working men, labourers, mechanics, and boys. As it was quite evident that the crowd meant mischief, many of them had their pockets filled with stones and were armed with sticks, several of the socialists were in favour of going to meet the van, to endeavour to persuade those in charge from coming, and with that object they withdrew from the crowd, which was already regarding them with menacing looks, and went down the road in the direction from which the van was expected to come. They had not gone very far, however, before the people, dividing what they were going to do, began to follow them, and while they were hesitating what course to pursue, the socialist van, escorted by five or six men on bicycles, appeared round the corner at the bottom of the hill. As soon as the crowd saw it they gave an exultant cheer, or rather yell, and began running down the hill to meet it, and in a few minutes it was surrounded by a howling mob. The van was drawn by two horses, there was a door and a small platform at the back, and over this was a sign with white letters on a red ground—socialism, the only hope of the workers. The driver pulled up, and another man on the platform at the rear attempted to address the crowd, but his voice was inaudible in the din of howls, catcalls, hooting, and obscene curses. After about an hour of this, as the crowd began pushing against the van and trying to overturn it, the terrified horses commenced to get restive and uncontrollable, and the man on the box attempted to drive up the hill. This seemed to still infuriate the horde of savages who surrounded the van. Numbers of them clutched the wheels and turned them the reverse way, screaming that it must go back to where it came from. Several of them accordingly seized the horses' heads, and amid cheers turned them round. The man on the platform was still trying to make himself heard, but without success. The strangers who had come with the van, and a little group of local socialists who had forced their way through the crowd and gathered together close to the platform in front of the would-be speaker, only increased the din by their shouts of appeal to the crowd to give the man a fair chance. This little bodyguard closed around the van as it began to move slowly downhill, but there were not sufficiently numerous to protect it from the crowd, which, not being satisfied with the rate at which the van was proceeding, began to shout to each other to run it away, take off the brake, and several savage rushes were made with the intention of putting these suggestions into execution. Some of the defenders were hampered with their bicycles, but they resisted as well as they were able and succeeded in keeping the crowd off until the foot of the hill was reached, and then someone threw the first stone, which by a strange chance happened to strike one of the cyclists whose head was already bandaged. It was the same man who had been hit on Sunday. This stone was soon followed by others, and the man on the platform was next to be struck. He got it right on the mouth, and as he put up his handkerchief to staunch the blood another struck him on the forehead just above the temple, and he dropped forward on his face onto the platform as if he had been shot. As the speed of the vehicle increased a regular hail of stones fell upon the roof and against the sides of the van and whizzed past the retreating cyclists, while the crowd followed close behind cheering, streaking out volleys of obscene curses and howling like wolves. We'll give the bugger socialism, shouted Crass, who was literally foaming at the mouth. We'll teach them to come here trying to wound on mine our bloody morality, how old Dick Wantley as he hurled a lump of granite that he had torn up from the macadamized road at one of the cyclists. They ran after the van until it was out of range, and then they betawed themselves of the local socialists, but they were nowhere to be seen. They had prudently withdrawn as soon as the van had got fairly under way, and the victory being complete the upholders of the present system returned to the piece of waste ground on the top of the hill, where a gentleman in a silk hat and frock coat stood up on a little hillock and made a speech. He said nothing about the distress committee or the soup-kitchen or the children who went to the school without proper clothes or food, and made no reference to what was to be done next winter, when nearly everybody would be out of work. These were matters that he and they were evidently not at all interested in. But he said a good deal about the glorious empire and the flag and the royal family. The things he said were received with rapturous applause, and at the conclusion of his address, the crowd sang the national anthem with great enthusiasm and dispersed, congratulating themselves that they had shown to the best of their ability what Mugsborough thought of socialism, and the general opinion of the crowd was that they would hear nothing more from the socialist van. But in this they were mistaken. For the very next Sunday evening a crowd of socialists suddenly materialized at the crossroads. Some of them had come by train, others had walked from different places, and some had cycled. A crowd gathered and the cyclists held a meeting. Two speeches being delivered before the crowd recovered from their surprise at the temerity of these other Britishers, who apparently had not sense enough to understand that they had been finally defeated and obliterated last Tuesday evening, and when the cyclist with the bandaged head got up on the hillock, some of the crowd actually joined in the hand-capping with which the socialists greeted him. In the course of his speech he informed him that the man who had come with a van and who had been felt whilst attempting to speak from the platform was now in hospital. For some time it had been probable that he would not recover, but he was now out of danger, and as soon as he was well enough there was no doubt that he would come there again. Upon this Crass shouted that if ever the vanners did return they would finish what they had begun last Tuesday. He would not get off so easy next time. But when he said this, Crass, not being able to see into the future, did not know what the reader will learn in due time that the man was to return to that place under different circumstances. When they had finished their speech-making one of the strangers who was acting as chairman invited the audience to put questions, but as nobody wanted to ask any, he invited anyone who had disagreed with what had been said to get up on the hillock and state his objections, so that the audience might have an opportunity of judging for themselves which side was right, but this invitation was also neglected. Then the chairman announced that they were coming there again next Sunday, at the same time when a comrade would speak on unemployment and poverty, the cause and the remedy, and then the strangers sang a song called England Arise, the first verse being, England Arise, the long, long night is over, faint in the east, behold the dawn appear, out of your evil dream of toil and sorrow Arise, O England, for the day is here. During the progress of the meeting several of the strangers had been going out amongst the crowd giving away leaflets which many of the people gloomily refused to accept, and selling penny pamphlets of which they managed to dispose of about three dozen. Before declaring the meeting closed, the chairman said that the speaker who was coming next week resided in London. He was not a millionaire, but a workman, the same as nearly all those who were present. They were not going to pay him anything for coming, but they intended to pay his rail fare. Therefore, next Sunday after the meeting, there will be a collection, and anything over the amount of the fare would be used for the purchase of more leaflets such as those they were now giving away. He hoped that anyone who thought that any of the money went into the pockets of those who held the meeting would come and join. Then they could have their share. The meeting now terminated, and the socialists were suffered to depart in peace. Some of them, however, lingered amongst the crowd after the main body had departed, and for a long time after the meeting was over little groups remained in the field excitedly discussing the speeches of the leaflets. The next Sunday evening, when the socialists came, they found the field at the crossroads in the possession of a furious hostile mob, who refused to allow them to speak, and finally they had to go away without having held a meeting. They came again the next Sunday, and on this occasion they had a speaker with a very loud, literally a stentorian voice, and he succeeded in delivering an address, but as only those who were very close to him were able to hear him, and as they were all socialists, it was not of much effect upon those for whom it was intended. They came again the next Sunday, and nearly every other Sunday during the summer. Sometimes they were permitted to hold their meetings in comparative peace, and at other times there was a row. They made several converts, and many people declared themselves in favour of some of the things they advocated, but they were never able to form a branch of their society there, because nearly all those who were convinced were afraid to publicly declare themselves lest they should lose their employment or their customers. End of Chapter 43 Part 3 Chapter 44 Part 1 of The Ragged Trousard Philanthropists. This is a boevox recording, is in the public domain. Recording by Tide Hines. The Ragged Trousard Philanthropists by Robert Tressel. Chapter 44 Part 1 The Beano Now and then a transient gleam of sunshine penetrated the gloom in which the lives of the philanthropists were passed. The cheerless monotony was sometimes enlivened with a little innocent merriment. Every now and then there was a funeral which took misery and crass away for the whole afternoon, and although they always tried to keep the dates secret, the men generally knew when they were gone. Sometimes the people in whose houses they were working regaled them with tea, bread, and butter, cake, or other light refreshments, and occasionally even with beer—very different stuff from the petrifying liquid they bought at the cricketers for two pence apoint. At other places where the people of the house were not so generously disposed, the servants made up for it and entertained them in a similar manner without the knowledge of their masters and mistresses. Even when the mistresses were too cunning to permit this, they were seldom able to prevent the men from embracing the domestics, who, for their part, were quite often willing to be embraced. It was an agreeable episode that helped to vary the monotony of their lives, and there was no harm done. It was rather hard lines on the philanthropists sometimes when they happened to be working in inhabited houses of the better sort. They always had to go in by the back way, generally through the kitchen, and the crackling and hissing of the poultry and the joints of meat roasting in the ovens, and the odours of fruit pies and tarts and plum puddings and sage and onions were simply maddening. In the backyards of these houses there were usually huge sacks of empty beer, stout, and wine bottles, and others that had contained whisky, brandy, or champagne. The smells of the delicious vians that were being prepared in the kitchen often penetrated into the dismantled rooms that the philanthropists were renovating, sometimes just as they were eating their own wretched fare out of their dinner baskets, and washing it down with drafts of the cold tea or the petrifying liquid they sometimes brought with them in bottles. Sometimes, as has been said, the people of the houses used to send up some tea and bread and butter, or cakes or other refreshments to the workmen, but whenever Hunter got to know of this being done he used to speak to the people about it, and request that it be discontinued, as it caused the men to waste their time. But the event of the year was the bino, which took place on the last Saturday in August, after they had been paying in for about four months. The cost of the outing was to be five shillings ahead, so this was the amount each man had to pay in, but it was expected that the total cost, the hire of the breaks, and the cost of the dinner would come out at a trifle less than the amount stated, and in that case the surplus would be shared out after the dinner. The amount of the share-out would be greater or less according to other circumstances, for it generally happened that apart from the subscriptions of the men the bino fund was swelled by charitable donations from several quarters, as will be seen later on. When the eventful day arrived the hands, instead of working till one, were paid at twelve o'clock and rushed off home to have a wash and change. The breaks were to start from the cricketers at one, but it was arranged for the convenience of those who lived at Windley that they would be picked up at the crossroads at one thirty. There were four breaks altogether, three large ones for the men, and one small one for the accommodation of Mr. Rushton and a few of his personal friends, Didlam, Grinder, Mr. Toonorf, an architect, and Mr. Lettem, a house, and a state agent. One of the drivers was accompanied by a friend who carried a long coachman's horn. This gentleman was not paid to come, but being out of work he thought that the men would be sure to stand them a few drinks, and that they would probably make a collection for him in return for his services. Most of the chaps were smoking two-penny cigars, and had one or two drinks with each other to try to cheer themselves up before they started, but all the same it was a melancholy procession that wended its way up the hill to Windley. To judge from the mournful expression on the long face of misery who sat on the box beside the driver of the first large break, and the downcast appearance of the majority of the men, one might have thought that it was a funeral rather than a pleasure party, or that there were contingent of lost souls being conducted to the banks of the sticks. The man who from time to time sounded the coachman's horn might have passed as an angel sounding the last trump, and the fumes of the cigars were typical of the smoke of their torment, which ascended up forever and ever. A brief halt was made at the crossroads to pick up several of the men, including Philpot Harlow, Easton, Ned Dawson, Salkins, Bill Bates, and the Semi-Drunk. The last two names were now working for smear it on and leave it, but as they had been paying in from the first they had elected to go to the beano rather than have the money back. The Semi-Drunk and one or two other habitual boozers were very shabby and down at heel, but the majority of the men were decently dressed. Some had taken their Sunday clothes out of pawn, especially for the occasion. Others were arrayed in new suits which they were going to pay for at the rate of a shilling a week. Some had bought themselves second-hand suits. One or two were wearing their working clothes brushed and cleaned up, and some were wearing Sunday clothes that had not been taken out of pawn, for the simple reason that the pawnbrokers would not take them in. These garments were in what might be called a transition stage, old-fashioned and shiny with wear, but yet too good to take for working in, even if the owners had been in a position to buy some others to take their place for best. Crass, Slime, and one or two of the single men, however, were howling swells, sporting stand-up collars and bowler hats of the latest type, in contradistinction to some of the others who were wearing hats of antique patterns and collars of various shapes with jagged edges. Harlow had on his old straw hat that his wife had cleaned up with oxalic acid, and Easton had carefully dyed the faded binding of his black bowler with ink. Their boots were the worst part of their attire. Without counting Rushton and his friends there were thirty-seven men altogether, including Nimrod, and there were not half a dozen pairs of really good boots amongst the whole crowd. When all were seated a fresh start was made. The small break with Rushton, Didlum, Grinder, and two or three other members of the band led the way. Next came the largest break with misery on the box. Besides the driver of the third break was Payne, the four-man carpenter. Crass occupied a similar position of honour on the fourth break, on the backstep of which was perched the man with the coachman's horn. Crass, who had engaged the breaks, had arranged with the drivers that the court-edge should pass through the street where he and Easton lived, and as they went by Mrs. Crass was standing at the door with the two young men lodgers who waved their handkerchiefs and shouted greetings. A little further on Mrs. Linden and Easton's wife were standing at the door to see them go by. In fact the notes of the coachman's horn alarmed most of the inhabitants who crowded to their windows and doors to gaze upon the dismal procession as it passed. The mean streets of Windley were soon left far behind, and they found themselves journeying along a sunlit winding road bordered with hedges of hawthorn, holly, and briar past rich brown fields of standing corn shimmering with gleams of gold, past apple orchards where bending boughs were heavily loaded with mellow fruits exhaling fragrant odours, through the cool shades of lofty avenues of venerable oaks whose over-arched and interlacing branches formed a roof of green, gilt and illuminated with quivering spots and shafts of sunlight that filtered through the trembling leaves. Over-old mossy stone bridges spanning limpid streams that duplicated the blue sky and the fleecy clouds, and then again stretching away to the horizon on every side over more fields, some rich with harvest, others filled with drowsing cattle or with flocks of timid sheep that scampered away at the sound of the passing carriages. Several times they saw merry little companies of rabbits frisking gaily in and out of the hedges or in the fields beside the sheep and cattle, at intervals away in the distance, nestling in the hollows or amid sheltering trees, groups of farm-buildings, and stacks of hay, and, further on, the square ivy-clad tower of an ancient church, or perhaps a solitary windmill with its revolving sails alternately flashing and darkening in the rays of the sun, past attached wayside cottages whose inhabitants came out to wave their hands in friendly greeting, past groups of sun-burned golden-haired children who climbed on fences and five-barred gates, and waved their hats and cheered, or ran behind the brakes for the pennies the men threw down to them. From time to time the men in the brakes made half-hearted attempts at singing, but it never came to much, because most of them were too hungry and miserable. They had not had time to take any dinner, and would not have taken any even if they had had the time, for they wished to reserve their appetites for the banquet at the Queen Elizabeth, which they expected to reach about half past three. However, they cheered up a little after the first halt at the Blue Lion, where most of them got down and had a drink. Some of them, including the semi-drunk, Ned Dawson, Bill Bates and Joe Philpot, had two or three drinks, and felt so much happier for them that shortly after they started off again the sounds of melody were heard from the break, the first three named Rodin, the one presided over by Crass, but it was not very successful, and even after the second halt, about five miles further on, at the warrior's head, they found it impossible to sing with any heartiness. Fitful bursts of song arose from time to time from each of the breaks, in turn, only to die mournfully away. It is not easy to sing on an empty stomach, even if one has got a little beer in it, and so it was with most of them. They were not in a mood to sing, or to properly appreciate the scenes through which they were passing. They wanted their dinners, and that was the reason why this long ride, instead of being a pleasure, became, after a while, a weary journey that seemed as if it were never coming to an end. The next stop was at the bird in hand, a wayside public house that stood by itself in a lonely hollow. The landlord was a fat, jolly-looking man, and there were several customers in the bar, men who looked like farm labourers, but there were no other houses to be seen anywhere. This extraordinary circumstance exercised the minds of our travellers, and formed the principal topic of conversation until they arrived at the dew drop in, about half an hour afterwards. The first break, containing Rushton and his friends, passed on without stopping here. The occupants of the second break, which is only a little way behind the first, were divided in opinion whether to stop or go in. Some shouted to the driver to pull up, others ordered them to proceed, and more were undecided which course to pursue. The state of mind that was not shared by the coachman, who, knowing that if they stopped, somebody or other would be sure to stand them a drink, had no difficulty whatever in coming to a decision, but drew rain at the end. An example that was followed by both the other carriages as they drove up. It was a very brief halt, not more than half the men getting down at all, and those who remained in the breaks grumbled so much at the delay that the others drank their beer as quickly as possible, and the journey was resumed once more, almost in silence. No attempts at singing, no noisy laughter, they scarcely spoke to each other, but sacked gloomily looking out over the surrounding country. Instructions had been given to the drivers not to stop again till they reached the Queen Elizabeth, and they therefore drove past the world turned upside down without stopping, much to the chagrin of the landlord of that house who stood in the door with a sickly smile upon his face. Some of those who knew him shouted that they would give him a call on the way back, and with this he had to be content. They reached the long desired Queen Elizabeth at twenty minutes to four, and were immediately ushered into a large room where a round table and two long ones were set for dinner, and they were set in a manner worthy of the reputation of the house. The cloths that covered the tables and the serviettes arranged fan-wise in the drinking glasses were literally as white as snow, and about a dozen knives and forks and spoons were laid for each person. Down the centre of the table glasses of thelicious yellow custard and cut glass dishes of glistening red and golden jelly alternated with vases of sweet-smelling flowers. The floor of the dining room was covered with oil cloth, red flowers on a pale yellow ground. The pattern was worn off in places, but it was all very clean and shining. Whether one looked at the walls with the old-fashioned varnished oak paper, or at the glossy piano standing across the corner, near the white-curtained window, at the shining oak chairs, or through the open casement doors that led to the shady garden beyond, the dominating impression one received was that everything was exquisitely clean. The landlord announced that dinner would be served in ten minutes, and while they were waiting some of them indulged in a drink at the bar, just as an appetizer, whilst the other strolled in the garden or by the landlord's invitation looked over the house. Amongst other places they glanced into the kitchen, where the landlady was superintending the preparation of the feast, and in this place, with its white-washed walls and red-tiled floor, as in every other part of the house, the same absolute cleanliness reigned supreme. It's a bit different from the royal calf where we got a sack, ain't it? remarked the semi-drunk to Bill Bates, as they made a way into the dining-room in response to the announcement that dinner was ready. Not a half, replied Bill. Rushton, with Didlem and Grinder and his other friends, sat at the round-table near the piano. Hunter took the head of the longer of the other two tables, and crass the foot, and on the other side of crass were Bundy and Slime, who had acted with him as the committee who had arranged the bino. Payne, the former carpenter, occupied the head of the other table. The dinner was all that could be desired. It was almost as good as the kind of dinner that is enjoyed every day by those persons who are too lazy to work, but are cunning enough to make others work for them. There was soup, sevilland trays, roast beef, boiled mutton, roast turkey, roast goose, ham, cabbage, peas, beans, and sweet galore, plum pudding, custard, jelly, fruit tarts, bread and cheese, and as much beer or lemonade as they like to pay for, the drinks being extra. And afterwards the waiters brought in cups of coffee for those who desired it. Everything was up to the knocker, and although they were somewhat bewildered by the multitude of knives and forks, they all with one or two exceptions rose to the occasion and enjoy themselves famously. The excellent decorum observed being marred only by one or two regrettable incidents. The first of these occurred almost as soon as they sat down, when Ed Dawson, who although being a big strong fellow was not able to stand much beer and not being used to it, was taken ill and had to be escorted from the room by his mate Bundy and another man. They left him somewhere outside, and he came back about ten minutes afterwards, much better but looking very pale, and took a seat with the others. The turkeys, the roast beef, and the boiled mutton, the peas, the beans, and the cabbage disappeared with astonishing rapidity, which is not to be wondered at for, they were all very hungry from the long drive, and nearly everyone made a point of having at least one helping of everything there was to be had. Some of them went in for two lots of soup, then for the next course, boiled mutton and ham or turkey, then some roast beef and goose, then a little more boiled mutton with a little roast beef. Each of the three boys devoured several times his own weight of everything, to say nothing of the numerous bottles of lemonade and champagne ginger beer. Crass frequently paused to mop the perspiration from his face and neck with his serviette. In fact, everybody had a good time. There was enough anti-spare of everything to eat. The beer was of the best, and all the time, amid the rattle of the crockery and the knives and forks, the proceedings were enlivened by many jests and flashes of wit that continuously kept the table in a roar. Truckers over another dollar without their white stuff, Bob, shouted the semi-drunk to Crass, indicating the blamange. Crass reached out his hand and took hold of the dish containing the white stuff, but instead of passing it to the semi-drunk, he proceeded to demolish it himself, gobbling it up quickly, directly from the dish with a spoon. Why, you're eating it all yourself, you bleeder! cried the semi-drunk indignantly, as soon as he realized what was happening. That's all right, matey, replied Crass affably as he deposited the empty dish on the table. It don't matter. There's plenty more where it came from. Tell the landlord to bring in another lot. Upon being applied to, the landlord, who was assisted by his daughter, two other young women and two young men, brought in several more lots, and so the semi-drunk was appeased. As for the plump pudding, it was a fair knockout, just like Christmas. But as Ned Dawson and Bill Bates had drunk all the sauce before the pudding was served, they all had to have the first helping without any. However, as the landlord brought in another lot shortly afterwards, that didn't matter either. As soon as the dinner was over, Crass rose to make a statement as secretary. Thirty-seven men had paid five shillings each, that made nine pounds five shillings. The committee had decided that the three boys, the painter's boy, the carpenter's boy, and the front shop boy should be allowed to come half price, that made nine pounds twelve and six. In addition to paying the ordinary five shilling subscription, Mr. Rushton had given one pound ten towards the expenses. Loud cheers! And several other gentlemen had also given something towards it. Mr. Sweater of the cave, one pound. Applauds! Mr. Grinder ten shillings in addition to the five shilling subscription. Applauds! Mr. Lettem ten shillings as well as the five shilling subscription. Applauds! Mr. Didlem ten shillings in addition to the five shillings. Cheers! Mr. Toonarth ten shillings as well as the five shilling subscription. They had also written to some of the manufacturers who supplied the firm with materials and asked them to give something. Some of them had sent half a crown. Some five shillings. Some hadn't answered at all. And two of them had written back to say that as things was cut so fine nowadays they didn't hardly get no profit on their stuff so they couldn't afford to give nothing. But out of all the firms they wrote to they managed to get thirty-two and six pounds altogether making a grand total of seventeen pounds. As for the expenses the dinner was two and six ahead and there was forty-five of them there so that came to five pounds twelve and six. Then there was the hire of the breaks also two and six ahead. Five pounds twelve and six which left a surplus of five pounds fifteen to be shared out. Applauds! Which came to three shillings each for each of the thirty-seven men and one in fourpence for each of the boys. Loud and prolonged cheers! Crass, Slime and Bundy now walked round the tables distributing the share out which was very welcome to everybody especially those who had spent nearly all their money during the journey from Mugsborough and when this ceremony was completed Philpot moved a hearty vote of tanks to the committee for the manner in which they had carried out their duties which was agreed to with acclamation. Then they made a collection for the waiters and a three waitresses which amounted to eleven shillings for which the host returned tanks on behalf of the recipients who were all smiles. Then Mr. Rushden requested the landlord to serve drinks and cigars all round. Some had cigars and the tea-toters had lemonade or ginger beer. Those who did not smoke themselves took the cigar all the same and gave it to someone else who did. When all were supplied there suddenly arose loud cries of Order! And it was seen that Hunter was upon his feet. As soon as silence was obtained Misery said that he believed that everyone there present would agree with him when he said that they should not let the occasion pass without drinking the health of their esteemed and respected employer Mr. Rushden. Here, here! Some of them had worked for Mr. Rushden on and off for many years and as far as they were concerned it was not necessary for him, Hunter, to say much in praise of Mr. Rushden. Here, here! They knew Mr. Rushden as well as he did himself and to know him was to esteem him. Cheers! As for the new hands although they did not know Mr. Rushden as well as the old hands did he felt sure that they would agree that as no one could wish for a better master. Loud applause! He had much pleasure in asking them to drink Mr. Rushden's health. Everyone rose. Musical honours, chaps, shouted crass, waving his glass and leading off the singing which was immediately joined in with great enthusiasm by most of the men the semi-drunk conducting the music with a table-knife. For he's a jolly good fellow For he's a jolly good fellow For he's a jolly good fellow And so say all of us So hip hip hip hooray So hip hip hip hooray For he's a jolly good fellow For he's a jolly good fellow For he's a jolly good fellow And so say all of us. Now, three cheers, shouted crass, leading off. Hip hip hip hooray Hip hip hip hooray Hip hip hip hooray Everyone present drank Rushden's health or at any rate went through the motions of doing so but during the roar of cheering and singing that preceded it several of the men stood with expressions of contempt or uneasiness upon their faces silently watching the enthusiasts are looking at the ceiling or on the floor I'll say this much remarked the semi-drunk as they all resumed their seats he had had several drinks during dinner besides those he had taken on the journey I'll say this much although I did have a little misunderstanding with Mr. Hunter when I was working at the Royal Café I must admit that this is the best film that's ever worked under me this statement caused a shout of laughter which however died away as Mr. Rushden rose to acknowledge the toast to his health he said that he had now been in business for nearly 16 years and this was, he believed, the 11 doubting that he had had the pleasure of attending during all that time the business had steadily progressed and had increased in volume from year to year and he hoped and believed that the progress made in the past would be continued in the future here here of course he realized that the success of the business depended very largely upon the men as well as upon himself he did his best in trying to get work for them and it was necessary if the business was to go on and prosper that they should also do their best to get the work done when he had secured it for them here here the masters could not do without the men and the men could not live without the masters here here it was a matter of division of labour the men worked with their hands and the masters worked with their brains and one was no use without the other he hoped the good feeling which had hitherto existed between himself and his workmen would always continue and he thanked them for the way in which they had responded to the toast of his health loud cheers greeted the conclusion of this speech and then crastled up and said that he begged to propose the health of Mr. Hunter here here he wasn't going to make a long speech as he wasn't much of a speaker cries of you're all right go on etc but he felt sure that they would all agree with him when he said that next to Mr. Rushden there wasn't no one the men had more respect than like him for than Mr. Hunter cheers a few weeks ago when Mr. Hunter was laid up many of them began to be afraid as they was going to lose him he was sure that all the hands was glad to have this opportunity of congratulating him on his recovery here here and of wishing him the best of health in the future and hoping as he would be spared to come to a good many more venos loud applause greeted the conclusion of Crass's remarks and once more the meeting burst into song for he's a jolly good fellow for he's a jolly good fellow for he's a jolly good fellow and so say all of us so hip hip hip hooray so hip hip hip hooray when they're done cheering Nimrod arose his voice trembled a little as he thanked them for their kindness and said that he hoped he deserves a good will he could only say that as he was sure as he always tried to be fair and consider it to everyone cheers he would now request the landlord to replenish their glasses here here as soon as the drinks were served to Nimrod again rose and said he wished to propose the healths of their visitors who had so kindly contributed to their expenses Mr. Lettem Mr. Didlam Mr. Toonarf and Mr. Grinder cheers they were very pleased and proud to see them there here here and he was sure the men would agree with him when he said that Messers Lettem Didlam Toonarf and Grinder were jolly good fellows to judge from the manner in which they sang the chorus and cheered it was quite evident that most of those hands did agree when they left off Grinder rose to reply on behalf of those included in the toast he said that it gave him much pleasure to be there and to take part in such pleasant proceedings and they were glad to think that they had been able to help to bring it about it was very gratifying to see the good feeling that existed between Mr. Rushton and his workmen which was as it should be because Messers are men was really fellow workers the masters did the brain work the men the handwork there was both workers and their interests was the same he liked to see the men doing their best for the masters and knowing that the master was doing his best for them that he was not only a master but a friend that was what he Grinder liked to see master and men pulling together doing their best and realizing that their interest was identical cheers if only all masters and men would do this they would find that everything would go on all right there would be more work and less poverty let the men do their best for the masters and the masters do the best for the men and they would find that that was the true solution of the social problem and not the silly nonsense that was talked about by people what went about with red flags cheers and laughter most of those fellows were chaps who was too lazy to work for their living here here they could take it from him that if ever the socialists got the upper hand there would just be a few of the heartful dodgers who would get all the cream and there would be nothing left but hard work for the rest here here that's what all those agitated was after they wanted them his hearers to work and keep them an idleness here here on behalf of mr. didlam mr. toon off mr. let him and himself he thanked them for their good wishes and hoped to be with them on a similar occasion in the future loud cheers greeted determination of his speech but it was obvious from some of the men's faces that they resented grinder's remarks these men ridiculed socialism and regularly voted for the continuance of capitalism and yet they were disgusted and angry with grinder there was also a small number of socialists not more than half a dozen altogether who did not join in the applause these men were all sitting at the end of the long table presided over by pain none of them had joined in the applause that greeted the speeches and so far neither had they made any protest some of them had turned very red as they listened to the concluding sentences of grinder's aeration and others laughed but none of them said anything they knew before they came that there was sure to be a lot of jolly good fellow business and speech making and they had agreed together beforehand to take no part one way or the other and to refrain from openly dissenting from anything that might be said but they had not anticipated anything quite so strong as this end of chapter 44 part one