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

jobs; his feet were so hot and sore. When he had to push the cart it

was worse still, and often when knocking-off time came he felt so

tired that he could scarcely manage to walk home.

But the weather was not always hot or fine: sometimes it was quite

cold, almost like winter, and there was a lot of rain that summer. At

such times the boy frequently got wet through several times a day as

he went from one job to another, and he had to work all the time in

his wet clothes and boots, which were usually old and out of repair

and let in the water.

One of the worst jobs that he had to do was when a new stock of white

lead came in. This stuff came in wooden barrels containing two

hundredweight, and he used to have to dig it out of these barrels with

a trowel, and put it into a metal tank, where it was kept covered with

water, and the empty barrels were returned to the makers.

When he was doing this work he usually managed to get himself smeared

all over with the white lead, and this circumstance, and the fact that

he was always handling paint or some poisonous material or other was

doubtless the cause of the terrible pains he often had in his stomach -

pains that sometimes caused him to throw himself down and roll on the

ground in agony.

One afternoon Crass sent him with a handcart to a job that Easton,

Philpot, Harlow and Owen were just finishing. He got there about half

past four and helped the men to load up the things, and afterwards

walked alongside the cart with them back to the shop.

On the way they all noticed and remarked to each other that the boy

looked tired and pale and that he seemed to limp: but he did not say

anything, although be guessed that they were talking about him. They

arrived at the shop a little before knocking-off time - about ten

minutes past five. Bert helped them to unload, and afterwards, while

they were putting their things away and `charging up’ the unused

materials they had brought back, he pushed the cart over to the shed

where it was kept, on the other side of the yard. He did not return

to the shop at once and a few minutes later when Harlow came out into

the yard to get a bucket of water to wash their hands with, he saw the

boy leaning on the side of the cart, crying, and holding one foot off

the ground.

Harlow asked him what was the matter, and while he was speaking to him

the others came out to see what was up: the boy said he had rheumatism

or growing pains or something in his leg, `just here near the knee’.

But he didn’t say much, he just cried miserably, and turned his head

slowly from side to side, avoiding the looks of the men because he

felt ashamed that they should see him cry.

When they saw how ill and miserable he looked, the men all put their

hands in their pockets to get some coppers to give to him so that he

could ride home on the tram. They gave him fivepence altogether, more

than enough to ride all the way; and Crass told him to go at once -

there was no need to wait till half past; but before he went Philpot

got a small glass bottle out of his tool bag and filled it with oil

and turps - two of turps and one of oil - which he gave to Bert to rub

into his leg before going to bed: The turps - he explained - was to

cure the pain and the oil was to prevent it from hurting the skin. He

was to get his mother to rub it in for him if he were too tired to do

it himself. Bert promised to observe these directions, and, drying

his tears, took his dinner basket and limped off to catch the tram.

It was a few days after this that Hunter met with an accident. He

was tearing off on his bicycle to one of the jobs about five minutes

to twelve to see if he could catch anyone leaving off for dinner

before before the proper time, and while going down a rather steep

hill the front brake broke - the rubbers of the rear one were worn out

and failed to act - so Misery to save himself from being smashed

against the railings of the houses at the bottom of the hill, threw

himself off the machine, with the result that his head and face and

hands were terribly cut and bruised. He was so badly knocked about

that he had to remain at home for nearly three weeks, much to the

delight of the men and the annoyance - one might even say the

indignation - of Mr Rushton, who did not know enough about the work to

make out estimates without assistance. There were several large jobs

to be tendered for at the same time, so Rushton sent the

specifications round to Hunter’s house for him to figure out the

prices, and nearly all the time that Misery was at home he was sitting

up in bed, swathed in bandages, trying to calculate the probable cost

of these jobs. Rushton did not come to see him, but he sent Bert

nearly every day, either with some specifications, or some accounts,

or something of that sort, or with a note inquiring when Hunter

thought he would be able to return to work.

All sorts of rumours became prevalent amongst the men concerning

Hunter’s condition. He had `broken his spiral column’, he had

`conjunction of the brain’, or he had injured his `innards’ and would

probably never be able to `do no more slave-drivin”. Crass - who had

helped Mr Rushton to `price up’ several small jobs - began to think it

might not be altogether a bad thing for himself if something were to

happen to Hunter, and he began to put on side and to assume airs of

authority. He got one of the lightweights to assist him in his work

of colourman and made him do all the hard work, while he spent part of

his own time visiting the different jobs to see how the work

progressed.

Crass’s appearance did him justice. He was wearing a pair of sporting

trousers the pattern of which consisted of large black and white

squares. The previous owner of these trousers was taller and slighter

than Crass, so although the legs were about a couple of inches too

long, they fitted him rather tightly, so much so that it was fortunate

that he had his present job of colourman, for if he had had to do any

climbing up and down ladders or steps, the trousers would have burst.

His jacket was also two or three sizes too small, and the sleeves were

so short that the cuffs of his flanelette shirt were visible. This

coat was made of serge, and its colour had presumably once been blue,

but it was now a sort of heliotrope and violet: the greater part being

of the former tint, and the parts under the sleeves of the latter.

This jacket fitted very tightly across the shoulders and back and

being much too short left his tightly clad posteriors exposed to view.

He however seemed quite unconscious of anything peculiar in his

appearance and was so bumptious and offensive that most of the men

were almost glad when Nimrod came back. They said that if Crass ever

got the job he would be a dam’ sight worse than Hunter. As for the

latter, for a little while after his return to work it was said that

his illness had improved his character: he had had time to think

things over; and in short, he was ever so much better than before: but

it was not long before this story began to be told the other way

round. He was worse than ever! and a thing that happened about a

fortnight after his return caused more ill feeling and resentment

against him and Rushton than had ever existed previously. What led up

to it was something that was done by Bundy’s mate, Ted Dawson.

This poor wretch was scarcely ever seen without a load of some sort or

other: carrying a sack of cement or plaster, a heavy ladder, a big

bucket of mortar, or dragging a load of scaffolding on a cart. He

must have been nearly as strong as a horse, because after working in

this manner for Rushton & Co. from six in the morning till half past

five at night, he usually went to work in his garden for two or three

hours after tea, and frequently went there for an hour or so in the

morning before going to work. The poor devil needed the produce of

his garden to supplement his wages, for he had a wife and three

children to provide for and he earned only - or rather, to be correct,

he was paid only - fourpence an hour.

There was an old house to which they were making some alterations and

repairs, and there was a lot of old wood taken out of it: old, decayed

floorboards and stuff of that kind, wood that was of no use whatever

except to burn.

Bundy and his mate were working there, and one night, Misery came a

few minutes before half past five and caught Dawson in the act of

tying up a small bundle of this wood. When Hunter asked him what he

was going to do with it he made no attempt at prevarication or

concealment: he said he was going to take it home for firewood,

because it was of no other use. Misery kicked up a devil of a row and

ordered him to leave the wood where it was: it had to be taken to the

yard, and it was nothing to do with Dawson or anyone else whether it

was any use or not! If he caught anyone taking wood away he would

sack them on the spot. Hunter shouted very loud so that all the

others might hear, and as they were all listening attentively in the

next room, where they were taking their aprons off preparatory to

going home, they got the full benefit of his remarks.

The following Saturday when the hands went to the office for their

money they were each presented with a printed card bearing the

following legend:

Under no circumstances is any article or material, however

trifling, to be taken away by workmen for their private use,

whether waste material or not, from any workshop or place where

work is being done. Foremen are hereby instructed to see that

this order is obeyed and to report any such act coming to their

knowledge. Any man breaking this rule will be either dismissed

without notice or given into custody.

Rushton & Co.

Most of the men took these cards with the envelopes containing their

wages and walked away without making any comment - in fact, most of

them were some distance away before they realized exactly what the

card was about. Two or three of them stood a few steps away from the

pay window in full view of Rushton and Misery and ostentatiously tore

the thing into pieces and threw them into the street. One man

remained at the pay window while he read the card - and then flung it

with an obscene curse into Rushton’s face, and demanded his back day,

which they gave him without any