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

`Well, praps you didn’t say exactly them words, but that’s wot it

amounts to.’

`I never said anything of the kind. We’ve had Free Trade for the last

fifty years and today most people are living in a condition of more or

less abject poverty, and thousands are literally starving. When we

had Protection things were worse still. Other countries have

Protection and yet many of their people are glad to come here and work

for starvation wages. The only difference between Free Trade and

Protection is that under certain circumstances one might be a little

worse that the other, but as remedies for Poverty, neither of them are

of any real use whatever, for the simple reason that they do not deal

with the real causes of Poverty.’

`The greatest cause of poverty is hover-population,’ remarked Harlow.

`Yes,’ said old Joe Philpot. `If a boss wants two men, twenty goes

after the job: ther’s too many people and not enough work.’

`Over-population!’ cried Owen, `when there’s thousands of acres of

uncultivated land in England without a house or human being to be

seen. Is over-population the cause of poverty in France? Is

over-population the cause of poverty in Ireland? Within the last

fifty years the population of Ireland has been reduced by more than

half. Four millions of people have been exterminated by famine or got

rid of by emigration, but they haven’t got rid of poverty. P’raps you

think that half the people in this country ought to be exterminated as

well.’

Here Owen was seized with a violent fit of coughing, and resumed his

seat. When the cough had ceased he say wiping his mouth with his

handkerchief and listening to the talk that ensued.

`Drink is the cause of most of the poverty,’ said Slyme.

This young man had been through some strange process that he called

`conversion’. He had had a `change of ‘art’ and looked down with

pious pity upon those he called `worldly’ people. He was not

`worldly’, he did not smoke or drink and never went to the theatre.

He had an extraordinary notion that total abstinence was one of the

fundamental principles of the Christian religion. It never occurred

to what he called his mind, that this doctrine is an insult to the

Founder of Christianity.

`Yes,’ said Crass, agreeing with Slyme, `an’ thers plenty of ‘em wot’s

too lazy to work when they can get it. Some of the b—s who go about

pleading poverty ‘ave never done a fair day’s work in all their bloody

lives. Then thers all this new-fangled machinery,’ continued Crass.

`That’s wot’s ruinin’ everything. Even in our trade ther’s them

machines for trimmin’ wallpaper, an’ now they’ve brought out a

paintin’ machine. Ther’s a pump an’ a ‘ose pipe, an’ they reckon two

men can do as much with this ‘ere machine as twenty could without it.’

`Another thing is women,’ said Harlow, `there’s thousands of ‘em

nowadays doin’ work wot oughter be done by men.’

`In my opinion ther’s too much of this ‘ere eddication, nowadays,’

remarked old Linden. `Wot the ‘ell’s the good of eddication to the

likes of us?’

`None whatever,’ said Crass, `it just puts foolish idears into

people’s ‘eds and makes ‘em too lazy to work.’

Barrington, who took no part in the conversation, still sat silently

smoking. Owen was listening to this pitiable farrago with feelings of

contempt and wonder. Were they all hopelessly stupid? Had their

intelligence never developed beyond the childhood stage? Or was he

mad himself?

`Early marriages is another thing,’ said Slyme: `no man oughtn’t to be

allowed to get married unless he’s in a position to keep a family.’

`How can marriage be a cause of poverty?’ said Owen, contemptuously.

`A man who is not married is living an unnatural life. Why don’t you

continue your argument a little further and say that the practice of

eating and drinking is the cause of poverty or that if people were to

go barefoot and naked there would be no poverty? The man who is so

poor that he cannot marry is in a condition of poverty already.’

`Wot I mean,’ said Slyme, `is that no man oughtn’t to marry till he’s

saved up enough so as to ‘ave some money in the bank; an’ another

thing, I reckon a man oughtn’t to get married till ‘e’s got an ‘ouse

of ‘is own. It’s easy enough to buy one in a building society if

you’re in reg’lar work.’

At this there was a general laugh.

`Why, you bloody fool,’ said Harlow, scornfully, `most of us is

walkin’ about ‘arf our time. It’s all very well for you to talk;

you’ve got almost a constant job on this firm. If they’re doin’

anything at all you’re one of the few gets a show in. And another

thing,’ he added with a sneer, `we don’t all go to the same chapel as

old Misery,’

`Old Misery’ was Ruston & Co.‘s manager or walking foreman. `Misery’

was only one of the nicknames bestowed upon him by the hands: he was

also known as `Nimrod’ and `Pontius Pilate’.

`And even if it’s not possible,’ Harlow continued, winking at the

others, `what’s a man to do during the years he’s savin’ up?’

`Well, he must conquer hisself,’ said Slyme, getting red.

`Conquer hisself is right!’ said Harlow and the others laughed again.

`Of course if a man tried to conquer hisself by his own strength,’

replied Slyme, `‘e would be sure to fail, but when you’ve got the

Grace of God in you it’s different.’

`Chuck it, fer Christ’s sake!’ said Harlow in a tone of disgust.

`We’ve only just ‘ad our dinner!’

`And wot about drink?’ demanded old Joe Philpot, suddenly.

`‘Ear, ‘ear,’ cried Harlow. `That’s the bleedin’ talk. I wouldn’t

mind ‘avin ‘arf a pint now, if somebody else will pay for it.’

Joe Philpot - or as he was usually called, `Old Joe’ - was in the

habit of indulging freely in the cup that inebriates. He was not very

old, being only a little over fifty, but he looked much older. He had

lost his wife some five years ago and was now alone in the world, for

his three children had died in their infancy. Slyme’s reference to

drink had roused Philpot’s indignation; he felt that it was directed

against himself. The muddled condition of his brain did not permit

him to take up the cudgels in his own behalf, but he knew that

although Owen was a teetotaller himself, he disliked Slyme.

`There’s no need for us to talk about drink or laziness,’ returned

Owen, impatiently, `because they have nothing to do with the matter.

The question is, what is the cause of the lifelong poverty of the

majority of those who are not drunkards and who DO work? Why, if all

the drunkards and won’t-works and unskilled or inefficient workers

could be by some miracle transformed into sober, industrious and

skilled workers tomorrow, it would, under the present conditions, be

so much the worse for us, because there isn’t enough work for all NOW

and those people by increasing the competition for what work there is,

would inevitably cause a reduction of wages and a greater scarcity of

employment. The theories that drunkenness, laziness or inefficiency

are the causes of poverty are so many devices invented and fostered by

those who are selfishly interested in maintaining the present states

of affairs, for the purpose of preventing us from discovering the real

causes of our present condition.’

`Well, if we’re all wrong,’ said Crass, with a sneer, `praps you can

tell us what the real cause is?’

`An’ praps you think you know how it’s to be altered,’ remarked

Harlow, winking at the others.

`Yes; I do think I know the cause,’ declared Owen, `and I do think I

know how it could be altered -‘

`It can’t never be haltered,’ interrupted old Linden. `I don’t see no

sense in all this ‘ere talk. There’s always been rich and poor in the

world, and there always will be.’

`Wot I always say is there ‘ere,’ remarked Philpot, whose principal

characteristic - apart from thirst - was a desire to see everyone

comfortable, and who hated rows of any kind. `There ain’t no use in

the likes of us trubblin our ‘eds or quarrelin about politics. It

don’t make a dam bit of difference who you votes for or who gets in.

They’re hall the same; workin the horicle for their own benefit. You

can talk till you’re black in the face, but you won’t never be able to

alter it. It’s no use worrying. The sensible thing is to try and

make the best of things as we find ‘em: enjoy ourselves, and do the

best we can for each other. Life’s too short to quarrel and we’ll

hall soon be dead!’

At the end of this lengthy speech, the philosophic Philpot

abstractedly grasped a jam-jar and raised it to his lips; but suddenly

remembering that it contained stewed tea and not beer, set it down

again without drinking.

`Let us begin at the beginning,’ continued Owen, taking no notice of

these interruptions. `First of all, what do you mean by Poverty?’

`Why, if you’ve got no money, of course,’ said Crass impatiently.

The others laughed disdainfully. It seemed to them such a foolish

question.

`Well, that’s true enough as far as it goes,’ returned Owen, `that is,

as things are arranged in the world at present. But money itself is

not wealth: it’s of no use whatever.’

At this there was another outburst of jeering laughter.

`Supposing for example that you and Harlow were shipwrecked on a

desolate island, and YOU had saved nothing from the wreck but a bag

containing a thousand sovereigns, and he had a tin of biscuits and a

bottle of water.’

`Make it beer!’ cried Harlow appealingly.

`Who would be the richer man, you or Harlow?’

`But then you see we ain’t shipwrecked on no dissolute island at all,’

sneered Crass. `That’s the worst of your arguments. You can’t never

get very far without supposing some bloody ridclus thing or other.

Never mind about supposing things wot ain’t true; let’s ‘ave facts and

common sense.’

`‘Ear, ‘ear,’ said old Linden. `That’s wot we want - a little common

sense.’

`What do YOU mean by poverty, then?’ asked Easton.

`What I call poverty is when people are not able to secure for

themselves all the benefits of civilization; the necessaries,

comforts, pleasures and refinements of life, leisure, books, theatres,

pictures, music, holidays, travel, good and beautiful homes, good

clothes, good and pleasant food.’

Everybody laughed. It was so ridiculous. The idea of the likes of

THEM wanting or having such things! Any doubts that any of them had

entertained as to Owen’s sanity disappeared. The man was as mad as a

March hare.

`If a man is only able to provide himself and his family with the bare

necessaries of existence, that man’s family is living in poverty.

Since he cannot enjoy the advantages of civilization he might just as

well be a savage: better, in fact, for a savage knows nothing of what

he is deprived. What we call civilization - the accumulation of

knowledge which has come down to us from our forefathers - is the

fruit of thousands of years of human thought and toil. It is not the

result of the labour of the ancestors of any separate class of people

who exist today, and therefore it is by right the common heritage of

all. Every little child that is