Ragged Trousered Philanthropists by Robert Tressell (fiction novels to read .txt) 📕

`Come and jine this ‘Oly band and hon to glory go!’

As Didlum finished reading out the words, the lady at the harmonium

struck up the tune of the hymns, and the disciples all joined in the

singing:

`Oh, come and join this ‘oly band and hon to glory go.’

During the singing certain of the disciples went about amongst the

crowd distributing tracts. Presently one of them offered one to

Barrington and as the latter looked at the man he saw that it was

Slyme, who also recognized him at the same instant and greeted him by

name. Barrington made no reply except to decline the tract:

`I don’t want that - from you,’ he said contemptuously.

Slyme turned red. `Oh, I know what you’re thinking of,’ he said after

a pause and speaking in an injured tone; `but you shouldn’t judge

anyone too hard. It wasn’t only my fault, and you don’t know ‘ow much

I’ve suffered for it. If it ‘adn’t been for the Lord, I believe I

should ‘ave drownded myself.’

Barrington made no answer and Slyme slunk off, and when the hymn was

finished Brother Sweater stood forth and gave all those present a

hearty invitation to attend the services to be held during the ensuing

week at the Chapel of the Shining Light. He invited them there

specially, of course, because it was the place with which he was

himself connected, but he entreated and begged of them even if they

would not come there to go Somewhere; there were plenty of other

places of worship in the town; in fact, there was one at the corner of

nearly every street. Those who did not fancy the services at the

Shining Light could go to the Church of the Whited Sepulchre, but he

really did hope that all those dear people whom he saw standing round

would go Somewhere.

A short prayer from Bosher closed the meeting, and now the reason for

the presence of the two poverty-stricken-looking shabbily dressed

disciples was made manifest, for while the better dressed and

therefore more respectable Brothers were shaking hands with and

grinning at each other or hovering round the two clergymen and Mr

Sweater, these two poor wretches carried away the harmonium and the

lantern, together with the hymn books and what remained of the tracts.

As Barrington hurried off to catch the train one of the `Followers’

gave him a card which he read by the light of a street lamp -

Come and join the Brotherhood

at the Shining Light Chapel

PSA

Every Sunday at 3 o’clock.

Let Brotherly Love Continue.

`Oh come and join this Holy Band

and on to Glory go.’

Barrington thought he would, rather go to hell - if there were such a

place - with some decent people, than share `glory’ with a crew like

this.

Nora sat sewing by the fireside in the front room, with the baby

asleep in her lap. Owen was reclining in the deck-chair opposite.

They had both been rather silent and thoughtful since Barrington’s

departure. It was mainly by their efforts that the reconciliation

between Easton and Ruth had been effected and they had been so

desirous of accomplishing that result that they had not given much

thought to their own position.

`I feel that I could not bear to part with her for anything now,’ said

Nora at last breaking the long silence, `and Frankie is so fond of her

too. But all the same I can’t feel happy about it when I think how

ill you are.’

`Oh, I shall be all right when the weather gets a little warmer,’ said

Owen, affecting a cheerfulness he did not feel. `We have always

pulled through somehow or other; the poor little thing is not going to

make much difference, and she’ll be as well off with us as she would

have been if Ruth had not gone back.’

As he spoke he leaned over and touched the hand of the sleeping child

and the little fingers closed round one of his with a clutch that sent

a thrill all through him. As he looked at this little helpless,

dependent creature, he realized with a kind of thankfulness that he

would never have the heart to carry out the dreadful project he had

sometimes entertained in hours of despondency.

`We’ve always got through somehow or other,’ he repeated, `and we’ll

do so still.’

Presently they heard Frankie’s footsteps ascending the stairs and a

moment afterwards the boy entered the room.

`We have to look out of the window and wave to Mr Barrington when his

train goes over the bridge,’ he cried breathlessly. `And he’s sent

this letter. Open the window, quick, Dad, or it may be too late.’

`There’s plenty of time yet,’ replied Owen, smiling at the boy’s

impetuosity. `Nearly twenty minutes. We don’t want the window open

all that time. It’s only a quarter to eight by our clock now, and

that’s five minutes fast.’

However, so as to make quite certain that the train should not run

past unnoticed, Frankie pulled up the blind and, rubbing the steam off

the glass, took up his station at the window to watch for its coming,

while Owen opened the letter:

`Dear Owen,

`Enclosed you will find two bank-notes, one for ten pounds and the

other for five. The first I beg you will accept from me for yourself

in the same spirit that I offer it, and as I would accept it from you

if our positions were reversed. If I were in need, I know that you

would willingly share with me whatever you had and I could not hurt

you by refusing. The other note I want you to change tomorrow

morning. Give three pounds of it to Mrs Linden and the remainder to

Bert White’s mother.

`Wishing you all a happy Xmas and hoping to find you well and eager

for the fray when I come back in the spring,

`Yours for the cause,

`George Barrington.’

Owen read it over two or three times before he could properly

understand it and then, without a word of comment - for he could not

have spoken at that moment to save his life - he passed it to Nora,

who felt, as she read it in her turn, as if a great burden had been

lifted from her heart. All the undefined terror of the future faded

away as she thought of all this small piece of paper made possible.

Meanwhile, Frankie, at the window, was straining his eyes in the

direction of the station.

`Don’t you think we’d better have the window open now, Dad?’ he said

at last as the clock struck eight. `The steam keeps coming on the

glass as fast as I wipe it off and I can’t see out properly. I’m sure

it’s nearly time now; p’raps our clock isn’t as fast as you think it

is.’

`All right, we’ll have it open now, so as to be on the safe side,’

said Owen as he stood up and raised the sash, and Nora, having wrapped

the child up in a shawl, joined them at the window.

`It can’t be much longer now, you know,’ said Frankie. `The line’s

clear. They turned the red light off the signal just before you

opened the window.’

In a very few minutes they heard the whistle of the locomotive as it

drew out of the station, then, an instant before the engine itself

came into sight round the bend, the brightly polished rails were

illuminated, shining like burnished gold in the glare of its

headlight; a few seconds afterwards the train emerged into view,

gathering speed as it came along the short stretch of straight way,

and a moment later it thundered across the bridge. It was too far

away to recognize his face, but they saw someone looking out of a

carriage window waving a handkerchief, and they knew it was Barrington

as they waved theirs in return. Soon there remained nothing visible

of the train except the lights at the rear of the guard’s van, and

presently even those vanished into the surrounding darkness.

The lofty window at which they were standing overlooked several of the

adjacent streets and a great part of the town. On the other side of

the road were several empty houses, bristling with different house

agents’ advertisement boards and bills. About twenty yards away, the

shop formerly tenanted by Mr Smallman, the grocer, who had become

bankrupt two or three months previously, was also plastered with

similar decorations. A little further on, at the opposite corner,

were the premises of the Monopole Provision Stores, where brilliant

lights were just being extinguished, for they, like most of the other

shops, were closing their premises for the night, and the streets took

on a more cheerless air as one after another their lights disappeared.

It had been a fine day, and during the earlier part of the evening the

moon, nearly at the full, had been shining in a clear and starry sky;

but a strong north-east wind had sprung up within the last hour; the

weather had become bitterly cold and the stars were rapidly being

concealed from view by the dense banks of clouds that were slowly

accumulating overhead.

As they remained at the window looking out over this scene for a few

minutes after the train had passed out of sight, it seemed to Owen

that the gathering darkness was as a curtain that concealed from view

the Infamy existing beyond. In every country, myriads of armed men

waiting for their masters to give them the signal to fall upon and

rend each other like wild beasts. All around was a state of dreadful

anarchy; abundant riches, luxury, vice, hypocrisy, poverty,

starvation, and crime. Men literally fighting with each other for the

privilege of working for their bread, and little children crying with

hunger and cold and slowly perishing of want.

The gloomy shadows enshrouding the streets, concealing for the time

their grey and mournful air of poverty and hidden suffering, and the

black masses of cloud gathering so menacingly in the tempestuous sky,

seemed typical of the Nemesis which was overtaking the Capitalist

System. That atrocious system which, having attained to the fullest

measure of detestable injustice and cruelty, was now fast crumbling

into ruin, inevitably doomed to be overwhelmed because it was all so

wicked and abominable, inevitably doomed to sink under the blight and

curse of senseless and unprofitable selfishness out of existence for

ever, its memory universally execrated and abhorred.

But from these ruins was surely growing the glorious fabric of the

Co-operative Commonwealth. Mankind, awaking from the long night of

bondage and mourning and arising from the dust wherein they had lain

prone so long, were at last looking upward to the light that was

riving asunder and dissolving the dark clouds which had so long

concealed from them the face of heaven. The light that will shine

upon the world wide Fatherland and illumine the gilded domes and

glittering pinnacles of the beautiful cities of the future, where men

shall dwell together in true brotherhood and goodwill and joy. The

Golden Light that will be diffused throughout all the happy world from

the rays of the risen sun of Socialism.

Appendix

Mugsborough

Mugsborough was a town of about eighty thousand inhabitants, about two

hundred miles from London. It was built in a verdant valley. Looking

west, north or east from the vicinity of the fountain on the Grand

Parade in the centre of the town, one saw a succession of pine-clad

hills. To the south, as far as the eye could see,