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

The Soldier’s Children

During most of this time, Jack Linden’s daughter-in-law had `Plenty of

Work’, making blouses and pinafores for Sweater & Co. She had so much

to do that one might have thought that the Tory Millennium had

arrived, and that Tariff Reform was already an accomplished fact.

She had Plenty of Work.

At first they had employed her exclusively on the cheapest kind of

blouses - those that were paid for at the rate of two shillings a

dozen, but they did not give her many of that sort now. She did the

work so neatly that they kept her busy on the better qualities, which

did not pay her so well, because although she was paid more per dozen,

there was a great deal more work in them than in the cheaper kinds.

Once she had a very special one to make, for which she was paid six

shillings; but it took her four and a half days - working early and

late - to do it. The lady who bought this blouse was told that it

came from Paris, and paid three guineas for it. But of course Mrs

Linden knew nothing of that, and even if she had known, it would have

made no difference to her.

Most of the money she earned went to pay the rent, and sometimes there

was only two or three shillings left to buy food for all of them:

sometimes not even so much, because although she had Plenty of Work

she was not always able to do it. There were times when the strain of

working the machine was unendurable: her shoulders ached, her arms

became cramped, and her eyes pained so that it was impossible to

continue. Then for a change she would leave the sewing and do some

housework.

Once, when they owed four weeks’ rent, the agent was so threatening

that they were terrified at the thought of being sold up and turned

out of the house, and so she decided to sell the round mahogany table

and some of the other things out of the sitting-room. Nearly all the

furniture that was in the house now belonged to her, and had formed

her home before her husband died. The old people had given most of

their things away at different times to their other sons since she had

come to live there. These men were all married and all in employment.

One was a fitter at the gasworks; the second was a railway porter, and

the other was a butcher; but now that the old man was out of work they

seldom came to the house. The last time they had been there was on

Christmas Eve, and then there had been such a terrible row between

them that the children had been awakened by it and frightened nearly

out of their lives. The cause of the row was that some time

previously they had mutually agreed to each give a shilling a week to

the old people. They had done this for three weeks and after that the

butcher had stopped his contribution: it had occurred to him that he

was not to be expected to help to keep his brother’s widow and her

children. If the old people liked to give up the house and go to live

in a room somewhere by themselves, he would continue paying his

shilling a week, but not otherwise. Upon this the railway porter and

the gas-fitter also ceased paying. They said it wasn’t fair that they

should pay a shilling a week each when the butcher - who was the

eldest and earned the best wages - paid nothing. Provided he paid,

they would pay; but if he didn’t pay anything, neither would they. On

Christmas Eve they all happened to come to the house at the same time;

each denounced the others, and after nearly coming to blows they all

went away raging and cursing and had not been near the place since.

As soon as she decided to sell the things, Mary went to Didlum’s

second-hand furniture store, and the manager said he would ask Mr

Didlum to call and see the table and other articles. She waited

anxiously all the morning, but he did not appear, so she went once

more to the shop to remind him. When he did come at last he was very

contemptuous of the table and of everything else she offered to sell.

Five shillings was the very most he could think of giving for the

table, and even then he doubted whether he would ever get his money

back. Eventually he gave her thirty shillings for the table, the

overmantel, the easy chair, three other chairs and the two best

pictures - one a large steel engraving of `The Good Samaritan’ and the

other `Christ Blessing Little Children’.

He paid the money at once; half an hour afterwards the van came to

take the things away, and when they were gone, Mary sank down on the

hearthrug in the wrecked room and sobbed as if her heart would break.

This was the first of several similar transactions. Slowly, piece by

piece, in order to buy food and to pay the rent, the furniture was

sold. Every time Didlum came he affected to be doing them a very

great favour by buying the things at all. Almost an act of charity.

He did not want them. Business was so bad: it might be years before

he could sell them again, and so on. Once or twice he asked Mary if

she did not want to sell the clock - the one that her late husband had

made for his mother, but Mary shrank from the thought of selling this,

until at last there was nothing else left that Didlum would buy, and

one week, when Mary was too ill to do any needlework - it had to go.

He gave them ten shillings for it.

Mary had expected the old woman to be heartbroken at having to part

with this clock, but she was surprised to see her almost indifferent.

The truth was, that lately both the old people seemed stunned, and

incapable of taking an intelligent interest in what was happening

around them, and Mary had to attend to everything.

From time to time nearly all their other possessions - things of

inferior value that Didlum would not look at, she carried out and sold

at small second-hand shops in back streets or pledged at the

pawnbroker’s. The feather pillows, sheets, and blankets: bits of

carpet or oilcloth, and as much of their clothing as was saleable or

pawnable. They felt the loss of the bedclothes more than anything

else, for although all the clothes they wore during the day, and all

the old clothes and dresses in the house, and even an old coloured

tablecloth, were put on the beds at night, they did not compensate for

the blankets, and they were often unable to sleep on account of the

intense cold.

A lady district visitor who called occasionally sometimes gave Mary an

order for a hundredweight of coal or a shillingsworth of groceries, or

a ticket for a quart of soup, which Elsie fetched in the evening from

the Soup Kitchen. But this was not very often, because, as the lady

said, there were so many cases similar to theirs that it was

impossible to do more than a very little for any one of them.

Sometimes Mary became so weak and exhausted through overwork, worry,

and lack of proper food that she broke down altogether for the time

being, and positively could not do any work at all. Then she used to

lie down on the bed in her room and cry.

Whenever she became like this, Elsie and Charley used to do the

housework when they came home from school, and make tea and toast for

her, and bring it to the bedside on a chair so that she could eat

lying down. When there was no margarine or dripping to put on the

toast, they made it very thin and crisp and pretended it was biscuit.

The children rather enjoyed these times; the quiet and leisure was so

different from other days when their mother was so busy she had no

time to speak to them.

They would sit on the side of the bed, the old grandmother in her

chair opposite with the cat beside her listening to the conversation

and purring or mewing whenever they stroked it or spoke to it. They

talked principally of the future. Elsie said she was going to be a

teacher and earn a lot of money to bring home to her mother to buy

things with. Charley was thinking of opening a grocer’s shop and

having a horse and cart. When one has a grocer’s shop, there is

always plenty to eat; even if you have no money, you can take as much

as you like out of your shop - good stuff, too, tins of salmon, jam,

sardines, eggs, cakes,