Ragged Trousered Philanthropists by Robert Tressell (fiction novels to read .txt) 📕
Another answer is that `The Philanthropists' is not a treatise oressay, but a novel. My main object was to write a readable story fullof human interest and based on the happenings of everyday life, thesubject of Socialism being treated incidentally.
This was the task I set myself. To what extent I have succeeded isfor others to say; but whatever their verdict, the work possesses atleast one merit - that of being true. I have invented nothing. Thereare no scenes or incidents in the story that I have not eitherwitnessed myself or had conclusive evidence of. As far as I dared Ilet th
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`Is this door wet?’ asked Sweater, glancing apprehensively at the
sleeve of his coat.
`Yes, sir,’ answered Philpot, and added, as he looked meaningly at the
great man, `the paint is wet, sir, but the PAINTERS is dry.’
`Confound it!’ exclaimed Sweater, ignoring, or not hearing the latter
part of Philpot’s reply. `I’ve got some of the beastly stuff on my
coat sleeve.’
`Oh, that’s nothing, sir,’ cried Philpot, secretly delighted. `I’ll
get that orf for yer in no time. You wait just ‘arf a mo!’
He had a piece of clean rag in his tool bag, and there was a can of
turps in the room. Moistening the rag slightly with turps he
carefully removed the paint from Sweater’s sleeve.
`It’s all orf not, sir,’ he remarked, as he rubbed the place with a
dry part of the rag. `The smell of the turps will go away in about a
hour’s time.’
`Thanks,’ said Sweater.
Philpot looked at him wistfully, but Sweater evidently did not
understand, and began looking about the room.
`I see they’ve put a new piece of skirting here,’ he observed.
`Yes, sir,’ said Newman, who came into the room just then to get the
turps. `The old piece was all to bits with dry-rot.’
`I feel as if I ‘ad a touch of the dry-rot meself, don’t you?’ said
Philpot to Newman, who smiled feebly and cast a sidelong glance at
Sweater, who did not appear to notice the significance of the remark,
but walked out of the room and began climbing up to the next floor,
where Harlow and Sawkins were working.
`Well, there’s a bleeder for yer!’ said Philpot with indignation.
`After all the trouble I took to clean ‘is coat! Not a bloody stiver!
Well, it takes the cake, don’t it?’
`I told you ‘ow it would be, didn’t I?’ replied Newman.
`P’raps I didn’t make it plain enough,’ said Philpot, thoughtfully.
`We must try to get some of our own back somehow, you know.’
Going out on the landing he called softly upstairs.
`I say, Harlow.’
`Hallo,’ said that individual, looking over the banisters.
`‘Ow are yer getting on up there?’
`Oh, all right, you know.’
`Pretty dry job, ain’t it?’ Philpot continued, raising his voice a
little and winking at Harlow.
`Yes, it is, rather,’ replied Harlow with a grin.
`I think this would be a very good time to take up the collection,
don’t you?’
`Yes, it wouldn’t be a bad idear.’
`Well, I’ll put me cap on the stairs,’ said Philpot, suiting the
action to the word. `You never knows yer luck. Things is gettin’ a
bit serious on this floor, you know; my mate’s fainted away once
already!’
Philpot now went back to his room to await developments: but as
Sweater made no sign, he returned to the landing and again hailed
Harlow.
`I always reckon a man can work all the better after ‘e’s ‘ad a drink:
you can seem to get over more of it, like.’
`Oh, that’s true enough,’ responded Harlow. `I’ve often noticed it
meself.’
Sweater came out of the front bedroom and passed into one of the back
rooms without any notice of either of the men.
`I’m afraid it’s a frost, mate,’ Harlow whispered, and Philpot,
shaking his head sadly, returned to work; but in a little while he
came out again and once more accosted Harlow.
`I knowed a case once,’ he said in a melancholy tone, `where a chap
died - of thirst - on a job just like this; and at the inquest the
doctor said as ‘arf a pint would ‘a saved ‘im!’
`It must ‘ave been a norrible death,’ remarked Harlow.
`‘Orrible ain’t the work for it, mate,’ replied Philpot, mournfully.
`It was something chronic!’
After this final heartrending appeal to Sweater’s humanity they
returned to work, satisfied that, whatever the result of their
efforts, they had done their best. They had placed the matter fully
and fairly before him: nothing more could be said: the issue now
rested entirely with him.
But it was all in vain. Sweater either did not or would not
understand, and when he came downstairs he took no notice whatever of
the cap which Philpot had placed so conspicuously in the centre of the
landing floor.
Who is to Pay?
Sweater reached the hall almost at the same moment that Rushton
entered by the front door. They greeted each other in a friendly way
and after a few remarks concerning the work that was being done, they
went into the drawing-room where Owen and Easton were and Rushton
said:
`What about this room? Have you made up your mind what you’re going
to have done to it?’
`Yes,’ replied Sweater; `but I’ll tell you about that afterwards.
What I’m anxious about is the drains. Have you brought the plans?’
`Yes.’
`What’s it going to cost?’
`Just wait a minute,’ said Rushton, with a slight gesture calling
Sweater’s attention to the presence of the two workmen. Sweater
understood.
`You might leave that for a few minutes, will you?’ Rushton continued,
addressing Owen and Easton. `Go and get on with something else for a
little while.’
When they were alone, Rushton closed the door and remarked: `It’s
always as well not to let these fellows know more than is necessary.’
Sweater agreed.
`Now this ‘ere drain work is really two separate jobs,’ said Rushton.
`First, the drains of the house: that is, the part of the work that’
actually on your ground. When that’s done, there will ‘ave to be a
pipe carried right along under this private road to the main road to
connect the drains of the house with the town main. You follow me?’
`Perfectly. What’s it going to cost for the lot?’
`For the drains of the house, �25.0.0. and for the connecting pipe
�30.0.0. �55.0.0. for the lot.’
`Um! That the lower you can do it for, eh?’
`That’s the lowest. I’ve figured it out most carefully, the time and
materials, and that’s practically all I’m charging you.’
The truth of the matter was that Rushton had had nothing whatever to
do with estimating the cost of this work: he had not the necessary
knowledge to do so. Hunter had drawn the plans, calculated the cost
and prepared the estimate.
`I’ve been thinking over this business lately,’ said Sweater, looking
at Rushton with a cunning leer. `I don’t see why I should have to pay
for the connecting pipe. The Corporation ought to pay for that. What
do you say?’
Rushton laughed. `I don’t see why not,’ he replied.
`I think we could arrange it all right, don’t you?’ Sweater went on.
`Anyhow, the work will have to be done, so you’d better let ‘em get on
with it. �55.0.0. covers both jobs, you say?’
`Yes.’
`Oh, all right, you get on with it and we’ll see what can be done with
the Corporation later on.’
`I don’t suppose we’ll find ‘em very difficult to deal with,’ said
Rushton with a grin, and Sweater smiled agreement.
As they were passing through the hall they met Hunter, who had just
arrived. He was rather surprised to see them, as he knew nothing of
their appointment. He wished them `Good morning’ in an awkward
hesitating undertone as if he were doubtful how his greeting would be
received. Sweater nodded slightly, but Rushton ignored him altogether
and Nimrod passed on looking and feeling like a disreputable cur that
had just been kicked.
As Sweater and Rushton walked together about the house, Hunter hovered
about them at a respectable distance, hoping that presently some
notice might be taken of him. His dismal countenance became even
longer than usual when he observed that they were about to leave the
house without appearing even to know that he was there. However, just
as they were going out, Rushton paused on the threshold and called
him:
`Mr Hunter!’
`Yes, sir.’
Nimrod ran to him like a dog taken notice of by his master: if he had
possessed a tail, it is probable that he would have wagged it.
Rushton gave him the plans with an intimation that the work was to be
proceeded with.
For some time after they were gone, Hunter crawled silently about the
house, in and out of the rooms, up and down the corridors and the
staircases. After a while he went into the room where Newman was and
stood quietly watching him for about ten minutes as he worked. The
man was painting the skirting, and just then he came to a part that
was split in several places, so he took his knife and began to fill
the cracks with putty. He was so nervous under Hunter’s scrutiny that
his hand trembled to such an extent that it took him about twice as
long as it should have done, and Hunter told him so with brutal
directness.
`Never mind about puttying up such little cracks as them!’ he shouted.
`Fill ‘em up with the paint. We can’t afford to pay you for messing
about like that!’
Newman made no reply.
Misery found no excuse for bullying anyone else, because they were all
tearing into it for all they were worth. As he wandered up and down
the house like an evil spirit, he was followed by the furtively
unfriendly glances of the men, who cursed him in their hearts as he
passed.
He sneaked into the drawing-room and after standing with a malignant
expression, silently watching Owen and Easton, he came out again
without having uttered a word.
Although he frequently acted in this manner, yet somehow today the
circumstance worried Owen considerably. He wondered uneasily what it
meant, and began to feel vaguely apprehensive. Hunter’s silence seemed
more menacing than his speech.
The Long Hill
Bert arrived at the shop and with as little delay as possible loaded
up the handcart with all the things he had been sent for and start on
the return journey. He got on all right in the town, because the
roads were level and smooth, being paved with wood blocks. If it had
only been like that all the way it would have been easy enough,
although he was a small boy for such a large truck, and such a heavy
load. While the wood road lasted the principal trouble he experienced
was the difficulty of seeing where he was going, the handcart being so
high and himself so short. The pair of steps on the cart of course
made it all the worse in that respect. However, by taking great care
he managed to get through the town all right, although he narrowly
escaped colliding with several vehicles, including two or three motor
cars and an electric tram, besides nearly knocking over an old woman
who was carrying a large bundle of washing. From time to time he saw
other small boys of his acquaintance, some of them former schoolmates.
Some of these passed by carrying heavy loads of groceries in baskets,
and others with wooden trays full of joints of meat.
Unfortunately, the wood paving ceased at the very place where the
ground began to rise. Bert now found himself at the beginning of a
long stretch of macadamized road which rose slightly and persistently
throughout its whole length. Bert had pushed a cart up this road many
times before and consequently knew the best method of tackling it.
Experience had taught him that a full frontal attack on
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