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

A bright light was burning inside this lantern and on the pane of

white, obscured glass which formed the sides, visible from where Owen

and Frankie were standing, was written in bold plain letters that were

readable even at that distance, the text:

`Be not deceived: God is not mocked!’

The man whose voice had attracted Frankie’s attention was reading out

a verse of a hymn:

`I heard the voice of Jesus say,

Behold, I freely give,

The living water, thirsty one,

Stoop down and drink, and live.

I came to Jesus and I drank

Of that life giving stream,

My thirst was quenched,

My soul revived,

And now I live in Him.’

The individual who gave out this hymn was a tall, thin man whose

clothes hung loosely on the angles of his round-shouldered, bony form.

His long, thin legs - about which the baggy trousers hung in

ungraceful folds - were slightly knock-kneed, and terminated in large,

fiat feet. His arms were very long even for such a tall man, and the

huge, bony hands were gnarled and knotted. Regardless of the season,

he had removed his bowler hat, revealing his forehead, which was high,

flat and narrow. His nose was a large, fleshy, hawklike beak, and

from the side of each nostril a deep indentation extended downwards

until it disappeared in the drooping moustache that concealed his

mouth when he was not speaking, but the vast extent of which was

perceptible now as he opened it to call out the words of the hymn.

His chin was large and extraordinarily long: the eyes were pale blue,

very small and close together, surmounted by spare, light-coloured,

almost invisible eyebrows with a deep vertical cleft between them over

the nose. His head - covered with thick, coarse brown hair - was very

large, especially at the back; the ears were small and laid close to

the head. If one were to make a full-face drawing of his cadaverous

visage, it would be found that the outline resembled that of the lid

of a coffin.

As Owen and Frankie drew near, the boy tugged at his father’s hand and

whispered: `Dad! that’s the teacher at the Sunday School where I went

that day with Charley and Elsie.’

Owen looked quickly and saw that it was Hunter.

As Hunter ceased reading out the words of the hymn, the little company

of evangelists began to sing, accompanied by the strains of a small

but peculiarly sweet-toned organ. A few persons in the crowd joined

in, the words being familiar to them. During the singing their faces

were a study, they all looked so profoundly solemn and miserable, as

if they were a gang of condemned criminals waiting to be led forth to

execution. The great number of the people standing around appeared to

be listening more out of idle curiosity than anything else, and two

well-dressed young men - evidently strangers and visitors to the town -

amused themselves by making audible remarks about the texts on the

lantern. There was also a shabbily dressed, semi-drunken man in a

battered bowler hat who stood on the inner edge of the crowd, almost

in the ring itself, with folded arms and an expression of scorn. He

had a very thin, pale face with a large, high-bridged nose, and bore a

striking resemblance to the First Duke of Wellington.

As the singing proceeded, the scornful expression faded from the

visage of the Semidrunk, and he not only joined in, but unfolded his

arms and began waving them about as if he were conducting the music.

By the time the singing was over a considerable crowd had gathered,

and then one of the evangelists, the same man who had given out the

hymn, stepped into the middle of the ring. He had evidently been

offended by the unseemly conduct of the two well-dressed young men,

for after a preliminary glance round upon the crowd, he fixed his gaze

upon the pair, and immediately launched out upon a long tirade against

what he called `Infidelity’. Then, having heartily denounced all

those who - as he put it - `refused’ to believe, he proceeded to

ridicule those half-and-half believers, who, while professing to

believe the Bible, rejected the doctrine of Hell. That the existence

of a place of eternal torture is taught in the Bible, he tried to

prove by a long succession of texts. As he proceeded he became very

excited, and the contemptuous laughter of the two unbelievers seemed

to make him worse. He shouted and raved, literally foaming at the

mouth and glaring in a frenzied manner around upon the faces of the

crowd.

`There is a Hell!’ he shouted. `And understand this clearly - “The

wicked shall be turned into hell” - “He that believeth not shall be

damned.”’

`Well, then, you’ll stand a very good chance of being damned also,’

exclaimed one of the two young men.

`‘Ow do you make it out?’ demanded the preacher, wiping the froth from

his lips and the perspiration from his forehead with his handkerchief.

`Why, because you don’t believe the Bible yourselves.’

Nimrod and the other evangelists laughed, and looked pityingly at the

young man.

`Ah, my dear brother,’ said Misery. `That’s your delusion. I thank

God I do believe it, every word!’

`Amen,’ fervently ejaculated Slyme and several of the other disciples.

`Oh no, you don’t,’ replied the other. `And I can prove you don’t.’

`Prove it, then,’ said Nimrod.

`Read out the 17th and 18th verses of the XVIth chapter of Mark,’ said

the disturber of the meeting. The crowd began to close in on the

centre, the better to hear the dispute. Misery, standing close to the

lantern, found the verse mentioned and read aloud as follows:

`And these signs shall follow them that believe. In my name shall

they cast out devils: they shall speak with new tongues. They shall

take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing it shall not hurt

them: they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover.’

`Well, you can’t heal the sick, neither can you speak new languages or

cast out devils: but perhaps you can drink deadly things without

suffering harm.’ The speaker here suddenly drew from his waistcoat

pocket a small glass bottle and held it out towards Misery, who shrank

from it with horror as he continued: `I have here a most deadly

poison. There is in this bottle sufficient strychnine to kill a dozen

unbelievers. Drink it! And if it doesn’t harm you, we’ll know that

you really are a believer and that what you believe is the truth!’

`‘Ear, ‘ear!’ said the Semidrunk, who had listened to the progress of

the argument with great interest. `‘Ear, ‘ear! That’s fair enough.

Git it acrost yer chest.’

Some of the people in the crowd began to laugh, and voices were heard

from several quarters calling upon Misery to drink the strychnine.

`Now, if you’ll allow me, I’ll explain to you what that there verse

means,’ said Hunter. `If you read it carefully - WITH the context -‘

`I don’t want you to tell me what it means,’ interrupted the other.

`I am able to read for myself. Whatever you may say, or pretend to

think it means, I know what it says.’

`Hear, Hear,’ shouted several voices, and angry cries of `Why don’t

you drink the poison?’ began to be heard from the outskirts of the

crowd.

`Are you going to drink it or not?’ demanded the man with the bottle.

`No! I’m not such a fool!’ retorted Misery, fiercely, and a loud

shout of laughter broke from the crowd.’

`P’haps some of the other “believers” would like to,’ said the young

man sneeringly, looking round upon the disciples. As no one seemed

desirous of availing himself of this offer, the man returned the

bottle regretfully to his pocket.

`I suppose,’ said Misery, regarding the owner of the strychnine with a

sneer, `I suppose you’re one of them there hired critics wot’s goin’

about the country doin’ the Devil’s work?’

`Wot I wants to know is this ‘ere,’ said the Semidrunk, suddenly

advancing into the middle of the ring and speaking in a loud voice.

`Where did Cain get ‘is wife from?’

`Don’t answer ‘im, Brother ‘Unter,’ said Mr Didlum, one of the

disciples. This was rather an unnecessary piece of advice, because

Misery did not know the answer.

An individual in a long black garment - the `minister’ - now whispered

something to Miss Didlum, who was seated at the organ, whereupon she

began to play, and the `believers’ began to sing, as loud as they

could so as to drown the voices of the disturbers of the meeting, a

song called `Oh, that will be Glory for me!’

After this hymn the `minister’ invited a shabbily dressed `brother’ -

a working-man member of the PSA, to say a `few words’, and the latter

accordingly stepped into the centre of the ring and held forth as

follows:

`My dear frens, I thank Gord tonight that I can stand ‘ere tonight,

hout in the hopen hair and tell hall you dear people tonight of hall

wot’s been done for ME. Ho my dear frens hi ham so glad tonight as I

can stand ‘ere tonight and say as hall my sins is hunder the blood

tonight and wot ‘E’s done for me ‘E can do for you tonight. If you’ll

honly do as I done and just acknowledge yourself a lost sinner -‘

`Yes! that’s the honly way!’ shouted Nimrod.

`Amen,’ cried all the other believers.

`- If you’ll honly come to ‘im tonight in the same way as I done

you’ll see wot ‘E’s done for me ‘E can do for you. Ho my dear frens,

don’t go puttin’ it orf from day to day like a door turnin’ on its

‘inges, don’t put orf to some more convenient time because you may

never ‘ave another chance. ‘Im that bein’ orfen reproved ‘ardeneth

‘is neck shall be suddenly cut orf and that without remedy. Ho come

to ‘im tonight, for ‘Is name’s sake and to ‘Im we’ll give hall the

glory. Amen.’

`Amen,’ said the believers, fervently, and then the man who was

dressed in the long garment entreated all those who were not yet true

believers - and doers - of the word to join earnestly and MEANINGLY in

the singing of the closing hymn, which he was about to read out to

them.

The Semidrunk obligingly conducted as before, and the crowd faded

away with the last notes of the music.