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

the best possible light - supposing he did not fall too ill to work,

or lose his employment from some other cause - what was there to live

for? He had been working all this week. These few coins that he held

in his hand were the result, and he laughed bitterly as he thought of

all they had to try to do with this money, and of all that would have

to be left undone.

As he turned the corner of Kerk Street he saw Frankie coming to meet

him, and the boy catching sight of him at the same moment began

running and leapt into his arms with a joyous whoop.

`Mother told me to tell you to buy something for dinner before you

come home, because there’s nothing in the house.’

`Did she tell you what I was to get?’

She did tell me something, but I forget what it was. But I know she

said to get anything you like if you couldn’t get what she told me to

tell you.’

`Well, we’ll go and see what we can find,’ said Owen.

`If I were you, I’d get a tin of salmon or some eggs and bacon,’

suggested Frankie as he skipped along holding his father’s hand. `We

don’t want anything that’s a lot of trouble to cook, you know, because

Mum’s not very well today.’

`Is she up?’

She’s been up all the morning, but she’s lying down now. We’ve done

all the work, though. While she was making the beds I started washing

up the cups and saucers without telling her, but when she came in and

saw what a mess I’d made on the floor, she had to stop me doing it,

and she had to change nearly all my clothes as well, because I was

almost wet through; but I managed the wiping up all right when she did

the washing, and I swept the passage and put all my things tidy and

made the cat’s bed. And that just reminds me: will you please give me

my penny now? I promised the cat that I’d bring him back some meat.’

Owen complied with the boy’s request, and while the latter went to the

butcher’s for the meat, Owen went into the grocer’s to get something

for dinner, it being arranged that they were to meet again at the

corner of the street. Owen was at the appointed place first and after

waiting some time and seeing no sign of the boy he decided to go

towards the butcher’s to meet him. When he came in sight of the shop

he saw the boy standing outside in earnest conversation with the

butcher, a jolly-looking stoutly built man, with a very red face.

Owen perceived at once that the child was trying to explain something,

because Frankie had a habit of holding his head sideways and

supplementing his speech by spreading out his fingers and making

quaint gestures with his hands whenever he found it difficult to make

himself understood. The boy was doing this now, waving one hand about

with the fingers and thumb extended wide, and with the other

flourishing a paper parcel which evidently contained the pieces of

meat . Presently the man laughed heartily and after shaking hands with

Frankie went into the shop to attend to a customer, and Frankie

rejoined his father.

`That butcher’s a very decent sort of chap, you know, Dad,’ he said.

`He wouldn’t take a penny for the meat.’

`Is that what you were talking to him about?’

No; we were talking about Socialism. You see, this is the second time

he wouldn’t take the money, and the first time he did it I thought he

must be a Socialist, but I didn’t ask him then. But when he did it

again this time I asked him if he was. So he said, No. He said he

wasn’t quite mad yet. So I said, “If you think that Socialists are

all mad, you’re very much mistaken, because I’m a Socialist myself,

and I’m quite sure I’M not mad.” So he said he knew I was all right,

but he didn’t understand anything about Socialism himself - only that

it meant sharing out all the money so that everyone could have the

same. So then I told him that’s not Socialism at all! And when I

explained it to him properly and advised him to be one, he said he’d

think about it. So I said if he’d only do that he’d be sure to change

over to our side; and then he laughed and promised to let me know next

time he sees me, and I promised to lend him some literature. You won’t

mind, will you, Dad?’

`Of course not; when we get home we’ll have a look through what we’ve

got and you can take him some of them.’

`I know!’ cried Frankie eagerly. `The two very best of all. Happy

Britain and England for the English.’

He knew that these were `two of the best’ because he had often heard

his father and mother say so, and he had noticed that whenever a

Socialist friend came to visit them, he was also of the same opinion.

As a rule on Saturday evenings they all three went out together to do

the marketing, but on this occasion, in consequence of Nora being

unwell, Owen and Frankie went by themselves. The frequent recurrence

of his wife’s illness served to increase Owen’s pessimism with regard

to the future, and the fact that he was unable to procure for her the

comforts she needed was not calculated to dispel the depression that

filled his mind as he reflected that there was no hope of better

times.

In the majority of cases, for a workman there is no hope of

advancement. After he has learnt his trade and become a `journeyman’

all progress ceases. He is at the goal. After he has been working

ten or twenty years he commands no more than he did at first - a bare

living wage - sufficient money to purchase fuel to keep the human

machine working. As he grows older he will have to be content with

even less; and all the time he holds his employment at the caprice and

by the favour of his masters, who regard him merely as a piece of

mechanism that enables them to accumulate money - a thing which they

are justified in casting aside as soon as it becomes unprofitable.

And the workman must not only be an efficient money-producing machine,

but he must also be the servile subject of his masters. If he is not

abjectly civil and humble, if he will not submit tamely to insult,

indignity, and every form of contemptuous treatment that occasion

makes possible, he can be dismissed, and replaced in a moment by one

of the crowd of unemployed who are always waiting for his job. This

is the status of the majority of the `Heirs of all the ages’ under the

present system.

As he walked through the crowded streets holding Frankie by the hand,

Owen thought that to voluntarily continue to live such a life as this

betokened a degraded mind. To allow one’s child to grow up to suffer

it in turn was an act of callous, criminal cruelty.

In this matter he held different opinions from most of his fellow

workmen. The greater number of them were quite willing and content

that their children should be made into beasts of burden for the

benefit of other people. As he looked down upon the little, frail

figure trotting along by his side, Owen thought for the thousandth

time that it would be far better for the child to die now: he would

never be fit to be a soldier in the ferocious Christian Battle of

Life.

Then he remembered Nora. Although she was always brave, and never

complained, he knew that her life was one of almost incessant physical

suffering; and as for himself he was tired and sick of it all. He had

been working like a slave all his life and there was nothing to show

for it - there never would be anything to show for it. He thought of

the man who had killed his wife and children. The jury had returned

the usual verdict, `Temporary Insanity’. It never seemed to occur to

these people that the truth was that to continue to suffer hopelessly

like this was evidence of permanent insanity.

But supposing that bodily death was not the end. Suppose there was

some kind of a God? If there were, it wasn’t unreasonable to think

that the Being who was capable of creating such a world as this and

who seemed so callously indifferent to the unhappiness of His

creatures, would also be capable of devising and creating the other

Hell that most people believed in.

Although it was December the evening was mild and clear. The full

moon deluged the town with silvery light, and the cloudless sky was

jewelled with myriads of glittering stars.

Looking out into the unfathomable infinity of space, Owen wondered

what manner of Being or Power it was that had originated and sustained

all this? Considered as an explanation of the existence of the

universe, the orthodox Christian religion was too absurd to merit a

second thought. But then, every other conceivable hypothesis was also -

ultimately - unsatisfactory and even ridiculous. To believe that the

universe as it is now has existed from all eternity without any Cause

is surely ridiculous. But to say that it was created by a Being who

existed without a Cause from all eternity is equally ridiculous. In

fact, it was only postponing the difficulty one stage. Evolution was

not more satisfactory, because although it was undoubtedly true as far

as it went, it only went part of the way, leaving the great question

still unanswered by assuming the existence - in the beginning - of the

elements of matter, without a cause! The question remained unanswered

because it was unanswerable. Regarding this problem man was but -

`An infant crying in the night,

An infant crying for the light

And with no language but a cry.’

All the same, it did not follow, because one could not explain the

mystery oneself, that it was right to try to believe an unreasonable

explanation offered by someone else.

But although he reasoned like this, Owen could not help longing for

something to believe, for some hope for the future; something to

compensate for the unhappiness of the present. In one sense, he

thought, how good it would be if Christianity were true, and after all

the sorrow there was to be an eternity of happiness such as it had

never entered into the heart of man to conceive? If only that were

true, nothing else would matter. How contemptible and insignificant

the very worst that could happen here would be if one knew that this

life was only a short journey that was to terminate at the beginning

of an eternity of joy? But no one really believed this; and as for

those who pretended to do so - their lives showed that they did not

believe it at all. Their greed and inhumanity - their ferocious

determination to secure for themselves the good things of THIS world -

were conclusive proofs of their hypocrisy and infidelity.

`Dad,’ said Frankie, suddenly, ‘let’s go over and hear what that man’s

saying. ‘ He pointed across the way to where - a little distance back

from the main road, just round the corner of a side street - a group

of people were standing encircling a large lantern fixed on the top of

a pole about