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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these he was unsuccessful, and after a moment’s hesitation he decided
that it would be quicker to walk than to wait for the next one. He
accordingly resumed his journey, but he had not gone very far when he
saw a small crowd of people on the pavement on the other side of the
road outside an unoccupied house, and although he was in a hurry to
get home he crossed over to see what was the matter. There were about
twenty people standing there, and in the centre close to the railing
there were three or four women whom Slyme could not see although he
could hear their voices.
`What’s up?’ he inquired of a man on the edge of the crowd.
`Oh, nothing much,’ returned the other. `Some young woman; she’s
either ill, come over faint, or something - or else she’s had a drop
too much.’
`Quite a respectable-looking young party, too,’ said another man.
Several young fellows in the crowd were amusing themselves by making
suggestive jokes about the young woman and causing some laughter by
the expressions of mock sympathy.
`Doesn’t anyone know who she is?’ said the second man who had spoken
in reply to Slyme’s inquiry.
`No,’ said a woman who was standing a little nearer the middle of the
crowd. `And she won’t say where she lives.’
`She’ll be all right now she’s had that glass of soda,’ said another
man, elbowing his way out of the crowd. As this individual came out,
Slyme managed to work himself a little further into the group of
people, and he uttered an involuntary cry of astonishment as he caught
sight of Ruth, very pale, and looking very ill, as she stood clasping
one of the railings with her left hand and holding the packages of
groceries in the other. She had by this time recovered sufficiently
to feel overwhelmed with shame and confusion before the crowd of
strangers who hemmed her in on every side, and some of whom she could
hear laughing and joking about her. It was therefore with a sensation
of intense relief and gratitude that she saw Slyme’s familiar face and
heard his friendly voice as he forced his way through to her side.
`I can walk home all right now,’ she stammered in reply to his anxious
questioning. `If you wouldn’t mind carrying some of these things for
me.’
He insisted on taking all the parcels, and the crowd, having jumped to
the conclusion that he was the young woman’s husband began to dwindle
away, one of the jokers remarking `It’s all over!’ in a loud voice as
he took himself off.
It was only about seven minutes’ walk home from there, and as the
streets along which they had to pass were not very brilliantly
lighted, Ruth was able to lean on Slyme’s arm most of the way. When
they arrived home, after she had removed her hat, he made her sit down
in the armchair by the fire, which was burning brightly, and the
kettle was singing on the hob, for she had banked up the fire with
cinders and small coal before she went out.
The baby was still asleep in the cradle, but his slumbers had
evidently not been of the most restful kind, for he had kicked all the
bedclothes off him and was lying all uncovered. Ruth obeyed passively
when Slyme told her to sit down, and, lying back languidly in the
armchair, she watched him through half-closed eyes and with a slight
flush on her face as he deftly covered the sleeping child with the
bedclothes and settled him more comfortably in the cot.
Slyme now turned his attention to the fire, and as he placed the
kettle upon it he remarked: `As soon as the water boils I’ll make you
some strong tea.’
During their walk home she had acquainted Slyme with the cause of her
being in the condition in which he found her in the street, and as she
reclined in the armchair, drowsily watching him, she wondered what
would have happened to her if he had not passed by when he did.
`Are you feeling better?’ he asked, looking down at her.
`Yes, thanks. I feel quite well now; but I’m afraid I’ve given you a
lot of trouble.’
`No, you haven’t. Nothing I can do for you is a trouble to me. But
don’t you think you’d better take your jacket off? Here, let me help
you.’
It took a very long time to get this jacket off, because whilst he was
helping her, Slyme kissed her repeatedly and passionately as she lay
limp and unresisting in his arms.
The Oblong
During the following week the work at `The Cave’ progressed rapidly
towards completion, although, the hours of daylight being so few, the
men worked only from 8 A.M. till 4 P.M. and they had their breakfasts
before they came. This made 40 hours a week, so that those who were
paid sevenpence an hour earned �1.3.4. Those who got sixpence-halfpenny drew �1.1.8. Those whose wages were fivepence an hour were
paid the princely sum of 16/8d. for their week’s hard labour, and
those whose rate was fourpence-halfpenny `picked up’ 15/-.
And yet there are people who have the insolence to say that Drink is
the cause of poverty.
And many of the persons who say this, spend more money than that on
drink themselves - every day of their useless lives.
By Tuesday night all the inside was finished with the exception of the
kitchen and scullery. The painting of the kitchen had been delayed
owing to the non-arrival of the new cooking range, and the scullery
was still used as the paint shop. The outside work was also nearly
finished: all the first coating was done and the second coating was
being proceeded with. According to the specification, all the outside
woodwork was supposed to have three coats, and the guttering,
rainpipes and other ironwork two coats, but Crass and Hunter had
arranged to make two coats do for most of the windows and woodwork,
and all the ironwork was to be made to do with one coat only. The
windows were painted in two colours: the sashes dark green and the
frames white. All the rest - gables, doors, railings, guttering, etc. -
was dark green; and all the dark green paint was made with boiled
linseed oil and varnish; no turpentine being allowed to be used on
this part of the work.
`This is some bloody fine stuff to ‘ave to use, ain’t it?’ remarked
Harlow to Philpot on Wednesday morning. `It’s more like a lot of
treacle than anything else.’
`Yes: and it won’t arf blister next summer when it gets a bit of sun
on it,’ replied Philpot with a grin.
`I suppose they’re afraid that if they was to put a little turps in,
it wouldn’t bear out, and they’d ‘ave to give it another coat.’
`You can bet yer life that’s the reason,’ said Philpot. `But all the
same I mean to pinch a drop to put in mine as soon as Crass is gorn.’
`Gorn where?’
`Why, didn’t you know? there’s another funeral on today? Didn’t you
see that corfin plate what Owen was writing in the drorin’-room last
Saturday morning?’
`No, I wasn’t ‘ere. Don’t you remember I was sent away to do a
ceilin’ and a bit of painting over at Windley?’
`Oh, of course; I forgot,’ exclaimed Philpot.
`I reckon Crass and Slyme must be making a small fortune out of all
these funerals,’ said Harlow. `This makes the fourth in the last
fortnight. What is it they gets for ‘em?’
`A shillin’ for taking’ ‘ome the corfin and liftin’ in the corpse, and
four bob for the funeral - five bob altogether.’
`That’s a bit of all right, ain’t it?’ said Harlow. `A couple of them
in a week besides your week’s wages, eh? Five bob for two or three
hours work!’
`Yes, the money’s all right, mate, but they’re welcome to it for my
part . I don’t want to go messin’ about with no corpses,’ replied
Philpot with a shudder.
`Who is this last party what’s dead?’ asked Harlow after a pause.
`It’s a parson what used to belong to the “Shining Light” Chapel.
He’d been abroad for ‘is ‘ollerdays - to Monte Carlo. It seems ‘e was
ill before ‘e went away, but the change did ‘im a lot of good; in
fact, ‘e was quite recovered, and ‘e was coming back again. But while
‘e was standin’ on the platform at Monte Carlo Station waitin’ for the
train, a porter runned into ‘im with a barrer load o’ luggage, and ‘e
blowed up.’
`Blowed up?’
`Yes,’ repeated Philpot. `Blowed up! Busted! Exploded! All into
pieces. But they swep’ ‘em all up and put it in a corfin and it’s to
be planted this afternoon.’
Harlow maintained an awestruck silence, and Philpot continued:
`I had a drink the other night with a butcher bloke what used to serve
this parson with meat, and we was talkin’ about what a strange sort of
death it was, but ‘e said ‘e wasn’t at all surprised to ‘ear of it;
the only thing as ‘e wondered at was that the man didn’t blow up long
ago, considerin’ the amount of grub as ‘e used to make away with. He
ses the quantities of stuff as ‘e’s took there and seen other
tradesmen take was something chronic. Tons of it!’
`What was the parson’s name?’ asked Harlow.
`Belcher. You must ‘ave noticed ‘im about the town. A very fat
chap,’ replied Philpot. `I’m sorry you wasn’t ‘ere on Saturday to see
the corfin plate. Frank called me in to see the wordin’ when ‘e’d
finished it. It had on: “Jonydab Belcher. Born January 1st, 1849.
Ascended, December 8th, 19—”’
`Oh, I know the bloke now!’ cried Harlow. `I remember my youngsters
bringin’ ‘ome a subscription list what they’d got up at the Sunday
School to send ‘im away for a ‘ollerday because ‘e was ill, and I gave
‘em a penny each to put on their cards because I didn’t want ‘em to
feel mean before the other young ‘uns.’
`Yes, it’s the same party. Two or three young ‘uns asked me to give
‘em something to put on at the time. And I see they’ve got another
subscription list on now. I met one of Newman’s children yesterday
and she showed it to me. It’s for an entertainment and a Christmas
Tree for all the children what goes to the Sunday School, so I didn’t
mind giving just a trifle for anything like that.’ …
`Seems to be gettin’ colder, don’t it?’
`It’s enough to freeze the ears orf a brass monkey!’ remarked Easton
as he descended from a ladder close by and, placing his pot of paint
on the pound, began to try to warm his hands by rubbing and beating
them together.
He was trembling, and his teeth were chattering with cold.
`I could just do with a nice pint of beer, now,’ he said as he stamped
his feet on the pound.
`That’s just what I was thinkin’,’ said Philpot, wistfully, ‘and
what’s more, I mean to ‘ave one, too, at dinner-time. I shall nip
down to the “Cricketers”. Even if I don’t get back till a few minutes
after one, it won’t matter, because Crass and Nimrod will be gorn to
the funeral.’
`Will you bring me a pint back with you, in a
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