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

Hands and Brains

Rushton & Co.‘s premises were situated in one of the principal streets

of Mugsborough and consisted of a double-fronted shop with plate glass

windows. The shop extended right through to the narrow back street

which ran behind it. The front part of the shop was stocked with

wall-hangings, mouldings, stands showing patterns of embossed wall and

ceiling decorations, cases of brushes, tins of varnish and enamel, and

similar things.

The office was at the rear and was separated from the rest of the shop

by a partition, glazed with muranese obscured glass. This office had

two doors, one in the partition, giving access to the front shop, and

the other by the side of the window and opening on to the back street.

The glass of the lower sash of the back window consisted of one large

pane on which was painted `Rushton & Co.’ in black letters on a white

ground.

Owen stood outside this window for two or three seconds before

knocking. There was a bright light in the office. Then he knocked at

the door, which was at once opened from the inside by Hunter, and Owen

went in.

Rushton was seated in an armchair at his desk, smoking a cigar and

reading one of several letters that were lying before him. At the

back was a large unframed photograph of the size known as half-plate

of the interior of some building. At another desk, or rather table,

at the other side of the office, a young woman was sitting writing in

a large ledger. There was a typewriting machine on the table at her

side.

Rushton glanced up carelessly as Owen came in, but took no further

notice of him.

`Just wait a minute,’ Hunter said to Owen, and then, after conversing

in a low tone with Rushton for a few minutes, the foreman put on his

hat and went out of the office through the partition door which led

into the front shop.

Owen stood waiting for Rushton to speak. He wondered why Hunter had

sneaked off and felt inclined to open the door and call him back. One

thing he was determined about: he meant to have some explanation: he

would not submit tamely to be dismissed without any just reason.

When he had finished reading the letter, Rushton looked up, and,

leaning comfortably back in his chair, he blew a cloud of smoke from

his cigar, and said in an affable, indulgent tone, such as one might

use to a child:

`You’re a bit of a hartist, ain’t yer?’

Owen was so surprised at this reception that he was for the moment

unable to reply.

`You know what I mean,’ continued Rushton; `decorating work, something

like them samples of yours what’s hanging up there.’

He noticed the embarrassment of Owen’s manner, and was gratified. He

thought the man was confused at being spoken to by such a superior

person as himself.

Mr Rushton was about thirty-five years of age, with light grey eyes,

fair hair and moustache, and his complexion was a whitey drab. He was

tall - about five feet ten inches - and rather clumsily built; not

corpulent, but fat - in good condition. He appeared to be very well

fed and well cared for generally. His clothes were well made, of good

quality and fitted him perfectly. He was dressed in a grey Norfolk

suit, dark brown boots and knitted woollen stockings reaching to the

knee.

He was a man who took himself very seriously. There was an air of

pomposity and arrogant importance about him which - considering who

and what he was - would have been entertaining to any observer gifted

with a sense of humour.

`Yes,’ replied Owen at last. `I can do a little of that sort of work,

although of course I don’t profess to be able to do it as well or as

quickly as a man who does nothing else.’

`Oh, no, of course not, but I think you could manage this all right.

It’s that drawing-room at the `Cave’. Mr Sweater’s been speaking to

me about it. It seems that when he was over in Paris some time since

he saw a room that took his fancy. The walls and ceiling was not

papered, but painted: you know what I mean; sort of panelled out, and

decorated with stencils and hand painting. This ‘ere’s a photer of

it: it’s done in a sort of JAPANESE fashion.’

He handed the photograph to Owen as he spoke. It represented a room,

the walls and ceiling of which were decorated in a Moorish style.

`At first Mr Sweater thought of getting a firm from London to do it,

but ‘e gave up the idear on account of the expense; but if you can do

it so that it doesn’t cost too much, I think I can persuade ‘im to go

in for it. But if it’s goin’ to cost a lot it won’t come off at all.

‘E’ll just ‘ave a frieze put up and ‘ave the room papered in the

ordinary way.’

This was not true: Rushton said it in case Owen might want to be paid

extra wages while doing the work. The truth was that Sweater was

going to have the room decorated in any case, and intended to get a

London firm to do it. He had consented rather unwillingly to let

Rushton & Co. submit him an estimate, because he thought they would

not be able to do the work satisfactorily.

Owen examined the photograph closely.

`Could you do anything like that in that room?’

`Yes, I think so,’ replied Owen.

`Well, you know, I don’t want you to start on the job and not be able

to finish it. Can you do it or not?’

Rushton felt sure that Owen could do it, and was very desirous that he

should undertake it, but he did not want him to know that. He wished

to convey the impression that he was almost indifferent whether Owen

did the work or not. In fact, he wished to seem to be conferring a

favour upon him by procuring him such a nice job as this.

`I’ll tell you what I CAN do,’ Owen replied. `I can make you a

watercolour sketch - a design - and if you think it good enough, of

course, I can reproduce it on the ceiling and the walls, and I can let

you know, within a little, how long it will take.’

Rushton appeared to reflect. Owen stood examining the photograph and

began to feel an intense desire to do the work.

Rushton shook his head dubiously.

`If I let you spend a lot of time over the sketches and then Mr

Sweater does not approve of your design, where do I come in?’

`Well, suppose we put it like this: I’ll draw the design at home in

the evenings - in my own time. If it’s accepted, I’ll charge you for

the time I’ve spent upon it. If it’s not suitable, I won’t charge the

time at all.’

Rushton brightened up considerably. `All right. You can do so,’ he

said with an affectation of good nature, `but you mustn’t pile it on

too thick, in any case, you know, because, as I said before, ‘e don’t

want to spend too much money on it. In fact, if it’s going to cost a

great deal ‘e simply won’t ‘ave it done at all.’

Rushton knew Owen well enough to be sure that no consideration of time

or pains would prevent him from putting the very best that was in him

into this work. He knew that if the man did the room at all there was

no likelihood of his scamping it for the sake of getting it done

quickly; and for that matter Rushton did not wish him to hurry over

it. All that he wanted to do was to impress upon Owen from the very

first that he must not charge too much time. Any profit that it was

possible to make out of the work, Rushton meant to secure for himself.

He was a smart man, this Rushton, he possessed the ideal character:

the kind of character that is necessary for any man who wishes to

succeed in business - to get on in life. In other words, his

disposition was very similar to that of a pig - he was intensely

selfish.

No one had any right to condemn him for this, because all who live

under the present system practise selfishness, more or less. We must

be selfish: the System demands it. We must be selfish or we shall be

hungry and ragged and finally die in the gutter. The more selfish we

are the better off we shall be. In the `Battle of Life’ only the

selfish and cunning are able to survive: all others are beaten down

and trampled under foot. No one can justly be blamed for acting

selfishly - it is a matter of