The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists

by

Robert Tressell

CONTENTS

 1 An Imperial Banquet. A Philosophical Discussion. The Mysterious Stranger. Britons Never shall be Slaves 2 Nimrod: a Mighty Hunter before the Lord 3 The Financiers 4 The Placard 5 The Clock-case 6 It is not My Crime 7 The Exterminating Machines 8 The Cap on the Stairs 9 Who is to Pay? 10 The Long Hill 11 Hands and Brains 12 The Letting of the Room 13 Penal Servitude and Death 14 Three Children. The Wages of Intelligence 15 The Undeserving Persons and the Upper and Nether Millstones 16 True Freedom 17 The Rev. John Starr 18 The Lodger 19 The Filling of the Tank 20 The Forty Thieves. The Battle: Brigands versus Bandits 21 The Reign of Terror. The Great Money Trick 22 The Phrenologist 23 The 'Open-air' 24 Ruth 25 The Oblong 26 The Slaughter 27 The March of the Imperialists 28 The Week before Christmas 29 The Pandorama 30 The Brigands hold a Council of War 31 The Deserter 32 The Veteran 33 The Soldier's Children 34 The Beginning of the End 35 Facing the 'Problem' 36 The OBS 37 A Brilliant Epigram 38 The Brigands' Cave 39 The Brigands at Work 40 Vive la System! 41 The Easter Offering. The Beano Meeting 42 June 43 The Good Old Summer-time 44 The Beano 45 The Great Oration 46 The 'Sixty-five' 47 The Ghouls 48 The Wise men of the East 49 The Undesired 50 Sundered 51 The Widow's Son 52 'It's a Far, Far Better Thing that I do, than I have Ever Done' 53 Barrington Finds a Situation 54 The End

Preface

In writing this book my intention was to present, in the form of aninteresting story, a faithful picture of working-class life--moreespecially of those engaged in the Building trades--in a small town inthe south of England. 

I wished to describe the relations existing between the workmen andtheir employers, the attitude and feelings of these two classes towardseach other; their circumstances when at work and when out ofemployment; their pleasures, their intellectual outlook, theirreligious and political opinions and ideals. 

The action of the story covers a period of only a little over twelvemonths, but in order that the picture might be complete it wasnecessary to describe how the workers are circumstanced at all periodsof their lives, from the cradle to the grave. Therefore the charactersinclude women and children, a young boy--the apprentice--someimprovers, journeymen in the prime of life, and worn-out old men. 

I designed to show the conditions relating from poverty andunemployment: to expose the futility of the measures taken to deal withthem and to indicate what I believe to be the only real remedy, namely--Socialism. I intended to explain what Socialists understand bythe word 'poverty': to define the Socialist theory of the causes ofpoverty, and to explain how Socialists propose to abolish poverty. 

It may be objected that, considering the number of books dealing withthese subjects already existing, such a work as this was uncalled for. The answer is that not only are the majority of people opposed toSocialism, but a very brief conversation with an average anti-socialistis sufficient to show that he does not know what Socialism means. Thesame is true of all the anti-socialist writers and the 'greatstatesmen' who make anti-socialist speeches: unless we believe thatthey are deliberate liars and imposters, who to serve their owninterests labour to mislead other people, we must conclude that they donot understand Socialism. There is no other possible explanation ofthe extraordinary things they write and say. The thing they cry outagainst is not Socialism but a phantom of their own imagining. 

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 is forothers to say; but whatever their verdict, the work possesses at leastone merit--that of being true. I have invented nothing. There are noscenes or incidents in the story that I have not either witnessedmyself or had conclusive evidence of. As far as I dared I let thecharacters express themselves in their own sort of language andconsequently some passages may be considered objectionable. At thesame time I believe that--because it is true--the book is not withoutits humorous side. 

The scenes and characters are typical of every town in the South ofEngland and they will be readily recognized by those concerned. If thebook is published I think it will appeal to a very large number ofreaders. Because it is true it will probably be denounced as a libelon the working classes and their employers, and upon thereligious-professing section of the community. But I believe it will beacknowledged as true by most of those who are compelled to spend theirlives amid the surroundings it describes, and it will be evident thatno attack is made upon sincere religion. 

Chapter 1

An Imperial Banquet. A Philosophical Discussion. The MysteriousStranger. Britons Never shall be Slaves

The house was named 'The Cave'. It was a large old-fashionedthree-storied building standing in about an acre of ground, andsituated about a mile outside the town of Mugsborough. It stood backnearly two hundred yards from the main road and was reached by means ofa by-road or lane, on each side of which was a hedge formed of hawthorntrees and blackberry bushes. This house had been unoccupied for manyyears and it was now being altered and renovated for its new owner bythe firm of Rushton & Co. , Builders and Decorators. 

There were, altogether, about twenty-five men working there, carpenters, plumbers, plasterers, bricklayers and painters, besidesseveral unskilled labourers. New floors were being put in where theold ones were decayed, and upstairs two of the rooms were being madeinto one by demolishing the parting wall and substituting an irongirder. Some of the window frames and sashes were so rotten that theywere being replaced. Some of the ceilings and walls were so cracked andbroken that they had to be replastered. Openings were cut throughwalls and doors were being put where no doors had been before. Oldbroken chimney pots were being taken down and new ones were being takenup and fixed in their places. All the old whitewash had to be washedoff the ceilings and all the old paper had to be scraped off the wallspreparatory to the house being repainted and decorated. The air wasfull of the sounds of hammering and sawing, the ringing of trowels, therattle of pails, the splashing of water brushes, and the scraping ofthe stripping knives used by those who were removing the old wallpaper. Besides being full of these the air was heavily laden with dust anddisease germs, powdered mortar, lime, plaster, and the dirt that hadbeen accumulating within the old house for years. In brief, thoseemployed there might be said to be living in a Tariff ReformParadise--they had Plenty of Work. 

At twelve o'clock Bob Crass--the painters' foreman--blew a blast upon awhistle and all hands assembled in the kitchen, where Bert theapprentice had already prepared the tea, which was ready in the largegalvanized iron pail that he had placed in the middle of the floor. Bythe side of the pail were a number of old jam-jars, mugs, dilapidatedtea-cups and one or two empty condensed milk tins. Each man on the'job' paid Bert threepence a week for the tea and sugar--they did nothave milk--and although they had tea at breakfast-time as well as atdinner, the lad was generally considered to be making a fortune. 

Two pairs of steps, laid parallel on their sides at a distance of abouteight feet from each other, with a plank laid across, in front of thefire, several upturned pails, and the drawers belonging to the dresser, formed the seating accommodation. The floor of the room was coveredwith all manner of debris, dust, dirt, fragments of old mortar andplaster. A sack containing cement was leaning against one of thewalls, and a bucket containing some stale whitewash stood in one corner. 

As each man came in he filled his cup, jam-jar or condensed milk tinwith tea from the steaming pail, before sitting down. Most of thembrought their food in little wicker baskets which they held on theirlaps or placed on the floor beside them. 

At first there was no attempt at conversation and nothing was heard butthe sounds of eating and drinking and the drizzling of the bloaterwhich Easton, one of the painters, was toasting on the end of a pointedstick at the fire. 

'I don't think much of this bloody tea, ' suddenly remarked Sawkins, oneof the labourers. 

'Well it oughter be all right, ' retorted Bert; 'it's been bilin' eversince 'arf past eleven. '

Bert White was a frail-looking, weedy, pale-faced boy, fifteen years ofage and about four feet nine inches in height. His trousers were partof a suit that he had once worn for best, but that was so long ago thatthey had become too small for him, fitting rather lightly and scarcelyreaching the top of his patched and broken hob-nailed boots. The kneesand the bottoms of the legs of his trousers had been patched withsquare pieces of cloth, several shades darker than the original fabric, and these patches were now all in rags. His coat was several sizes toolarge for him and hung about him like a dirty ragged sack. He was apitiable spectacle of neglect and wretchedness as he sat there on anupturned pail, eating his bread and cheese with fingers that, like hisclothing, were grimed with paint and dirt. 

'Well then, you can't have put enough tea in, or else you've bin usin'up wot was left yesterday, ' continued Sawkins. 

'Why the bloody 'ell don't you leave the boy alone?' said Harlow, another painter. 'If you don't like the tea you needn't drink it. Formy part, I'm sick of listening to you about it every damn day. '

'It's all very well for you to say I needn't drink it, ' answeredSawkins, 'but I've paid my share an' I've got a right to express anopinion. It's my belief that 'arf the money we gives 'him is spent onpenny 'orribles: 'e's always got one in 'is hand, an' to make wot tea'e does buy last, 'e collects all the slops wot's left and biles it upday after day. '

'No, I don't!' said Bert, who was on the verge of tears. 'It's not mewot buys the things at all. I gives the money I gets to Crass, and 'ebuys them 'imself, so there!'

At this revelation, some of the men furtively exchanged significantglances, and Crass, the foreman, became very red. 

'You'd better keep your bloody thruppence and make your own tea afterthis week, ' he said, addressing Sawkins, 'and then p'raps we'll 'ave alittle peace at meal-times. '

'An' you needn't ask me to cook no bloaters or bacon for you no more, 'added Bert, tearfully, 'cos I won't do it. '

Sawkins was not popular with any of the others. When, about twelvemonths previously, he first came to work for Rushton & Co. , he was asimple labourer, but since then he had 'picked up' a slight knowledgeof the trade, and having armed himself with a putty-knife and put on awhite jacket, regarded himself as a fully qualified painter. Theothers did not perhaps object to him trying to better his condition, but his wages--fivepence an hour--were twopence an hour less than thestandard rate, and the result was that in slack times often a betterworkman was 'stood off' when Sawkins was kept on. Moreover, he wasgenerally regarded as a sneak who carried tales to the foreman and the'Bloke'. Every new hand who was taken on was usually warned by his newmates 'not to let the b--r Sawkins see anything. '

The unpleasant silence which now ensued was at length broken by one ofthe men, who told a dirty story, and in the laughter and applause thatfollowed, the incident of the tea was forgotten. 

'How did you get on yesterday?' asked Crass, addressing Bundy, theplasterer, who was intently studying the sporting columns of the DailyObscurer. 

'No luck, ' replied Bundy, gloomily. 'I had a bob each way on Stockwell, in the first race, but it was scratched before the start. '

This gave rise to a conversation between Crass, Bundy, and one or twoothers concerning the chances of different horses in the morrow'sraces. It was Friday, and no one had much money, so at the suggestionof Bundy, a Syndicate was formed, each member contributing threepencefor the purpose of backing a dead certainty given by the renownedCaptain Kiddem of the Obscurer. One of those who did not join thesyndicate was Frank Owen, who was as usual absorbed in a newspaper. Hewas generally regarded as a bit of a crank: for it was felt that theremust be something wrong about a man who took no interest in racing orfootball and was always talking a lot of rot about religion andpolitics. If it had not been for the fact that he was generallyadmitted to be an exceptionally good workman, they would have hadlittle hesitation about thinking that he was mad. This man was aboutthirty-two years of age, and of medium height, but so slightly builtthat he appeared taller. There was a suggestion of refinement in hisclean-shaven face, but his complexion was ominously clear, and anunnatural colour flushed the think cheeks. 

There was a certain amount of justification for the attitude of hisfellow workmen, for Owen held the most unusual and unorthodox opinionson the subjects mentioned. 

The affairs of the world are ordered in accordance with orthodoxopinions. If anyone did not think in accordance with these he soondiscovered this fact for himself. Owen saw that in the world a smallclass of people were possessed of a great abundance and superfluity ofthe things that are produced by work. He saw also that a very greatnumber--in fact the majority of the people--lived on the verge of want;and that a smaller but still very large number lived lives ofsemi-starvation from the cradle to the grave; while a yet smaller butstill very great number actually died of hunger, or, maddened byprivation, killed themselves and their children in order to put aperiod to their misery. And strangest of all--in his opinion--he sawthat people who enjoyed abundance of the things that are made by work, were the people who did Nothing: and that the others, who lived in wantor died of hunger, were the people who worked. And seeing all this hethought that it was wrong, that the system that produced such resultswas rotten and should be altered. And he had sought out and eagerlyread the writings of those who thought they knew how it might be done. 

It was because he was in the habit of speaking of these subjects thathis fellow workmen came to the conclusion that there was probablysomething wrong with his mind. 

When all the members of the syndicate had handed over theircontributions, Bundy went out to arrange matters with the bookie, andwhen he had gone Easton annexed the copy of the Obscurer that Bundy hadthrown away, and proceeded to laboriously work through some carefullycooked statistics relating to Free Trade and Protection. Bert, his eyesstarting out of his head and his mouth wide open, was devouring thecontents of a paper called The Chronicles of Crime. Ned Dawson, a poordevil who was paid fourpence an hour for acting as mate or labourer toBundy, or the bricklayers, or anyone else who wanted him, lay down onthe dirty floor in a corner of the room and with his coat rolled up asa pillow, went to sleep. Sawkins, with the same intention, stretchedhimself at full length on the dresser. Another who took no part in thesyndicate was Barrington, a labourer, who, having finished his dinner, placed the cup he brought for his tea back into his dinner basket, tookout an old briar pipe which he slowly filled, and proceeded to smoke insilence. 

Some time previously the firm had done some work for a wealthygentleman who lived in the country, some distance outside Mugsborough. This gentleman also owned some property in the town and it was commonlyreported that he had used his influence with Rushton to induce thelatter to give Barrington employment. It was whispered amongst thehands that the young man was a distant relative of the gentleman's, andthat he had disgraced himself in some way and been disowned by hispeople. Rushton was supposed to have given him a job in the hope ofcurrying favour with his wealthy client, from whom he hoped to obtainmore work. Whatever the explanation of the mystery may have been, thefact remained that Barrington, who knew nothing of the work except whathe had learned since he had been taken on, was employed as a painter'slabourer at the usual wages--fivepence per hour. 

He was about twenty-five years of age and a good deal taller than themajority of the others, being about five feet ten inches in height andslenderly though well and strongly built. He seemed very anxious tolearn all that he could about the trade, and although rather reservedin his manner, he had contrived to make himself fairly popular with hisworkmates. He seldom spoke unless to answer when addressed, and it wasdifficult to draw him into conversation. At meal-times, as on thepresent occasion, he generally smoked, apparently lost in thought andunconscious of his surroundings. 

Most of the others also lit their pipes and a desultory conversationensued. 

'Is the gent what's bought this 'ouse any relation to Sweater thedraper?' asked Payne, the carpenter's foreman. 

'It's the same bloke, ' replied Crass. 

'Didn't he used to be on the Town Council or something?'

''E's bin on the Council for years, ' returned Crass. ''E's on it now. 'E's mayor this year. 'E's bin mayor several times before. '

'Let's see, ' said Payne, reflectively, ''e married old Grinder'ssister, didn't 'e? You know who I mean, Grinder the greengrocer. '

'Yes, I believe he did, ' said Crass. 

'It wasn't Grinder's sister, ' chimed in old Jack Linden. 'It was 'isniece. I know, because I remember working in their 'ouse just afterthey was married, about ten year ago. '

'Oh yes, I remember now, ' said Payne. 'She used to manage one ofGrinder's branch shops didn't she?'

'Yes, ' replied Linden. 'I remember it very well because there was alot of talk about it at the time. By all accounts, ole Sweater used tobe a regler 'ot un: no one never thought as he'd ever git married atall: there was some funny yarns about several young women what used towork for him. '

This important matter being disposed of, there followed a briefsilence, which was presently broken by Harlow. 

'Funny name to call a 'ouse, ain't it?' he said. '"The Cave. " Iwonder what made 'em give it a name like that. '

'They calls 'em all sorts of outlandish names nowadays, ' said old JackLinden. 

'There's generally some sort of meaning to it, though, ' observed Payne. 'For instance, if a bloke backed a winner and made a pile, 'e mightcall 'is 'ouse, "Epsom Lodge" or "Newmarket Villa". '

'Or sometimes there's a hoak tree or a cherry tree in the garding, 'said another man; 'then they calls it "Hoak Lodge" or "Cherry Cottage". '

'Well, there's a cave up at the end of this garden, ' said Harlow with agrin, 'you know, the cesspool, what the drains of the 'ouse runs into;praps they called it after that. '

'Talking about the drains, ' said old Jack Linden when the laughterproduced by this elegant joke had ceased. 'Talking about the drains, Iwonder what they're going to do about them; the 'ouse ain't fit to livein as they are now, and as for that bloody cesspool it ought to be doneaway with. '

'So it is going to be, ' replied Crass. 'There's going to be a new setof drains altogether, carried right out to the road and connected withthe main. '

Crass really knew no more about what was going to be done in thismatter than did Linden, but he felt certain that this course would beadopted. He never missed an opportunity of enhancing his own prestigewith the men by insinuating that he was in the confidence of the firm. 

'That's goin' to cost a good bit, ' said Linden. 

'Yes, I suppose it will, ' replied Crass, 'but money ain't no object toold Sweater. 'E's got tons of it; you know 'e's got a large wholesalebusiness in London and shops all over the bloody country, besides theone 'e's got 'ere. '

Easton was still reading the Obscurer; he was not about to understandexactly what the compiler of the figures was driving at--probably thelatter never intended that anyone should understand--but he wasconscious of a growing feeling of indignation and hatred againstforeigners of every description, who were ruining this country, and hebegan to think that it was about time we did something to protectourselves. Still, it was a very difficult question: to tell the truth, he himself could not make head or tail of it. At length he said aloud, addressing himself to Crass:

'Wot do you think of this 'ere fissical policy, Bob?'

'Ain't thought much about it, ' replied Crass. 'I don't never worry my'ed about politics. '

'Much better left alone, ' chimed in old Jack Linden sagely, 'argyfyingabout politics generally ends up with a bloody row an' does no good tonobody. '

At this there was a murmur of approval from several of the others. Mostof them were averse from arguing or disputing about politics. If twoor three men of similar opinions happened to be together they mightdiscuss such things in a friendly and superficial way, but in a mixedcompany it was better left alone. The 'Fissical Policy' emanated fromthe Tory party. That was the reason why some of them were strongly infavour of it, and for the same reason others were opposed to it. Someof them were under the delusion that they were Conservatives:similarly, others imagined themselves to be Liberals. As a matter offact, most of them were nothing. They knew as much about the publicaffairs of their own country as they did of the condition of affairs inthe planet of Jupiter. 

Easton began to regret that he had broached so objectionable a subject, when, looking up from his paper, Owen said:

'Does the fact that you never "trouble your heads about politics"prevent you from voting at election times?'

No one answered, and there ensued a brief silence. Easton however, inspite of the snub he had received, could not refrain from talking. 

'Well, I don't go in for politics much, either, but if what's in this'ere paper is true, it seems to me as we oughter take some interest init, when the country is being ruined by foreigners. '

'If you're going to believe all that's in that bloody rag you'll wantsome salt, ' said Harlow. 

The Obscurer was a Tory paper and Harlow was a member of the localLiberal club. Harlow's remark roused Crass. 

'Wot's the use of talkin' like that?' he said; 'you know very well thatthe country IS being ruined by foreigners. Just go to a shop to buysomething; look round the place an' you'll see that more than 'arf thedamn stuff comes from abroad. They're able to sell their goods 'erebecause they don't 'ave to pay no dooty, but they takes care to put'eavy dooties on our goods to keep 'em out of their countries; and Isay it's about time it was stopped. '

''Ear, 'ear, ' said Linden, who always agreed with Crass, because thelatter, being in charge of the job, had it in his power to put in agood--or a bad--word for a man to the boss. ''Ear, 'ear! Now that'swot I call common sense. '

Several other men, for the same reason as Linden, echoed Crass'ssentiments, but Owen laughed contemptuously. 

'Yes, it's quite true that we gets a lot of stuff from foreigncountries, ' said Harlow, 'but they buys more from us than we do fromthem. '

'Now you think you know a 'ell of a lot, ' said Crass. ''Ow much moredid they buy from us last year, than we did from them?'

Harlow looked foolish: as a matter of fact his knowledge of the subjectwas not much wider than Crass's. He mumbled something about not havingno 'ed for figures, and offered to bring full particulars next day. 

'You're wot I call a bloody windbag, ' continued Crass; 'you've got a'ell of a lot to say, but wen it comes to the point you don't knownothin'. '

'Why, even 'ere in Mugsborough, ' chimed in Sawkins--who though stilllying on the dresser had been awakened by the shouting--'We're overrunwith 'em! Nearly all the waiters and the cook at the Grand Hotel wherewe was working last month is foreigners. '

'Yes, ' said old Joe Philpot, tragically, 'and then thers all themHitalian horgin grinders, an' the blokes wot sells 'ot chestnuts; an'wen I was goin' 'ome last night I see a lot of them Frenchies sellin'hunions, an' a little wile afterwards I met two more of 'em comin' upthe street with a bear. '

Notwithstanding the disquieting nature of this intelligence, Owen againlaughed, much to the indignation of the others, who thought it was avery serious state of affairs. It was a dam' shame that these peoplewere allowed to take the bread out of English people's mouths: theyought to be driven into the bloody sea. 

And so the talk continued, principally carried on by Crass and thosewho agreed with him. None of them really understood the subject: notone of them had ever devoted fifteen consecutive minutes to the earnestinvestigation of it. The papers they read were filled with vague andalarming accounts of the quantities of foreign merchandise importedinto this country, the enormous number of aliens constantly arriving, and their destitute conditions, how they lived, the crimes theycommitted, and the injury they did to British trade. These were theseeds which, cunningly sown in their minds, caused to grow up withinthem a bitter undiscriminating hatred of foreigners. To them themysterious thing they variously called the 'Friscal Policy', the'Fistical Policy', or the 'Fissical Question' was a great Anti-ForeignCrusade. The country was in a hell of a state, poverty, hunger andmisery in a hundred forms had already invaded thousands of homes andstood upon the thresholds of thousands more. How came these things tobe? It was the bloody foreigner! Therefore, down with the foreignersand all their works. Out with them. Drive them b--s into the bloodysea! The country would be ruined if not protected in some way. ThisFriscal, Fistical, Fissical or whatever the hell policy it was called, WAS Protection, therefore no one but a bloody fool could hesitate tosupport it. It was all quite plain--quite simple. One did not need tothink twice about it. It was scarcely necessary to think about it atall. 

This was the conclusion reached by Crass and such of his mates whothought they were Conservatives--the majority of them could not haveread a dozen sentences aloud without stumbling--it was not necessary tothink or study or investigate anything. It was all as clear asdaylight. The foreigner was the enemy, and the cause of poverty andbad trade. 

When the storm had in some degree subsided, 'Some of you seem to think, ' said Owen, sneeringly, 'that it was agreat mistake on God's part to make so many foreigners. You ought tohold a mass meeting about it: pass a resolution something like this:"This meeting of British Christians hereby indignantly protests againstthe action of the Supreme Being in having created so many foreigners, and calls upon him to forthwith rain down fire, brimstone and mightyrocks upon the heads of all those Philistines, so that they may beutterly exterminated from the face of the earth, which rightly belongsto the British people". '

Crass looked very indignant, but could think of nothing to say inanswer to Owen, who continued:

'A little while ago you made the remark that you never trouble yourselfabout what you call politics, and some of the rest agreed with you thatto do so is not worth while. Well, since you never "worry" yourselfabout these things, it follows that you know nothing about them; yetyou do not hesitate to express the most decided opinions concerningmatters of which you admittedly know nothing. Presently, when there isan election, you will go and vote in favour of a policy of which youknow nothing. I say that since you never take the trouble to find outwhich side is right or wrong you have no right to express any opinion. You are not fit to vote. You should not be allowed to vote. '

Crass was by this time very angry. 

'I pays my rates and taxes, ' he shouted, 'an' I've got as much right toexpress an opinion as you 'ave. I votes for who the bloody 'ell Ilikes. I shan't arst your leave nor nobody else's! Wot the 'ell's itgot do with you who I votes for?'

'It has a great deal to do with me. If you vote for Protection youwill be helping to bring it about, and if you succeed, and ifProtection is the evil that some people say is is, I shall be one ofthose who will suffer. I say you have no right to vote for a policywhich may bring suffering upon other people, without taking the troubleto find out whether you are helping to make things better or worse. '

Owen had risen from his seat and was walking up and down the roomemphasizing his words with excited gestures. 

'As for not trying to find out wot side is right, ' said Crass, somewhatoverawed by Owen's manner and by what he thought was the glare ofmadness in the latter's eyes, 'I reads the Ananias every week, and Igenerally takes the Daily Chloroform, or the Hobscurer, so I ought toknow summat about it. '

'Just listen to this, ' interrupted Easton, wishing to create adiversion and beginning to read from the copy of the Obscurer which hestill held in his hand:

 'GREAT DISTRESS IN MUGSBOROUGH. HUNDREDS OUT OF EMPLOYMENT. WORK OF THE CHARITY SOCIETY. 789 CASES ON THE BOOKS. 

 'Great as was the distress among the working classes last year, unfortunately there seems every prospect that before the winter which has just commenced is over the distress will be even more acute. 

 Already the Charity Society and kindred associations are relieving more cases than they did at the corresponding time last year. Applications to the Board of Guardians have also been much more numerous, and the Soup Kitchen has had to open its doors on Nov. 7th a fortnight earlier than usual. The number of men, women and children provided with meals is three or four times greater than last year. '

Easton stopped: reading was hard work to him. 

'There's a lot more, ' he said, 'about starting relief works: twoshillings a day for married men and one shilling for single andsomething about there's been 1, 572 quarts of soup given to poorfamilies wot was not even able to pay a penny, and a lot more. And'ere's another thing, an advertisement:

 'THE SUFFERING POOR

 Sir: Distress among the poor is so acute that I earnestly ask you for aid for The Salvation Army's great Social work on their behalf. Some 600 are being sheltered nightly. Hundreds are found work daily. Soup and bread are distributed in the midnight hours to homeless wanderers in London. Additional workshops for the unemployed have been established. Our Social Work for men, women and children, for the characterless and the outcast, is the largest and oldest organized effort of its kind in the country, and greatly needs help. �10, 000 is required before Christmas Day. Gifts may be made to any specific section or home, if desired. Can you please send us something to keep the work going? Please address cheques, crossed Bank of England (Law Courts Branch), to me at 101, Queen Victoria Street, EC. Balance Sheets and Reports upon application. 'BRAMWELL BOOTH. '

'Oh, that's part of the great 'appiness an' prosperity wot Owen makesout Free Trade brings, ' said Crass with a jeering laugh. 

'I never said Free Trade brought happiness or prosperity, ' said Owen. 

'Well, praps you didn't say exactly them words, but that's wot itamounts to. '

'I never said anything of the kind. We've had Free Trade for the lastfifty years and today most people are living in a condition of more orless abject poverty, and thousands are literally starving. When we hadProtection things were worse still. Other countries have Protectionand yet many of their people are glad to come here and work forstarvation wages. The only difference between Free Trade andProtection is that under certain circumstances one might be a littleworse that the other, but as remedies for Poverty, neither of them areof any real use whatever, for the simple reason that they do not dealwith 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 goesafter the job: ther's too many people and not enough work. '

'Over-population!' cried Owen, 'when there's thousands of acres ofuncultivated land in England without a house or human being to be seen. Is over-population the cause of poverty in France? Is over-populationthe cause of poverty in Ireland? Within the last fifty years thepopulation of Ireland has been reduced by more than half. Fourmillions of people have been exterminated by famine or got rid of byemigration, but they haven't got rid of poverty. P'raps you think thathalf the people in this country ought to be exterminated as well. '

Here Owen was seized with a violent fit of coughing, and resumed hisseat. When the cough had ceased he say wiping his mouth with hishandkerchief 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 piouspity upon those he called 'worldly' people. He was not 'worldly', hedid not smoke or drink and never went to the theatre. He had anextraordinary notion that total abstinence was one of the fundamentalprinciples of the Christian religion. It never occurred to what hecalled his mind, that this doctrine is an insult to the Founder ofChristianity. 

'Yes, ' said Crass, agreeing with Slyme, 'an' thers plenty of 'em wot'stoo lazy to work when they can get it. Some of the b--s who go aboutpleading poverty 'ave never done a fair day's work in all their bloodylives. Then thers all this new-fangled machinery, ' continued Crass. 'That's wot's ruinin' everything. Even in our trade ther's themmachines 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 doas much with this 'ere machine as twenty could without it. '

'Another thing is women, ' said Harlow, 'there's thousands of 'emnowadays 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 thelikes 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 silentlysmoking. Owen was listening to this pitiable farrago with feelings ofcontempt and wonder. Were they all hopelessly stupid? Had theirintelligence never developed beyond the childhood stage? Or was he madhimself?

'Early marriages is another thing, ' said Slyme: 'no man oughtn't to beallowed to get married unless he's in a position to keep a family. '

'How can marriage be a cause of poverty?' said Owen, contemptuously. 'Aman who is not married is living an unnatural life. Why don't youcontinue your argument a little further and say that the practice ofeating and drinking is the cause of poverty or that if people were togo barefoot and naked there would be no poverty? The man who is sopoor 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'ssaved up enough so as to 'ave some money in the bank; an' anotherthing, 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'rein 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 gotalmost a constant job on this firm. If they're doin' anything at allyou're one of the few gets a show in. And another thing, ' he addedwith 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 wasalso known as 'Nimrod' and 'Pontius Pilate'. 

'And even if it's not possible, ' Harlow continued, winking at theothers, '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 Graceof God in you it's different. '

'Chuck it, fer Christ's sake!' said Harlow in a tone of disgust. 'We'veonly just 'ad our dinner!'

'And wot about drink?' demanded old Joe Philpot, suddenly. 

''Ear, 'ear, ' cried Harlow. 'That's the bleedin' talk. I wouldn'tmind '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 habitof 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 losthis wife some five years ago and was now alone in the world, for histhree children had died in their infancy. Slyme's reference to drinkhad roused Philpot's indignation; he felt that it was directed againsthimself. The muddled condition of his brain did not permit him to takeup the cudgels in his own behalf, but he knew that although Owen was atee-totaller himself, he disliked Slyme. 

'There's no need for us to talk about drink or laziness, ' returnedOwen, impatiently, 'because they have nothing to do with the matter. The question is, what is the cause of the lifelong poverty of themajority of those who are not drunkards and who DO work? Why, if allthe drunkards and won't-works and unskilled or inefficient workerscould be by some miracle transformed into sober, industrious andskilled workers tomorrow, it would, under the present conditions, be somuch the worse for us, because there isn't enough work for all NOW andthose people by increasing the competition for what work there is, would inevitably cause a reduction of wages and a greater scarcity ofemployment. The theories that drunkenness, laziness or inefficiencyare the causes of poverty are so many devices invented and fostered bythose who are selfishly interested in maintaining the present states ofaffairs, for the purpose of preventing us from discovering the realcauses of our present condition. '

'Well, if we're all wrong, ' said Crass, with a sneer, 'praps you cantell 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 Iknow how it could be altered--'

'It can't never be haltered, ' interrupted old Linden. 'I don't see nosense in all this 'ere talk. There's always been rich and poor in theworld, and there always will be. '

'Wot I always say is there 'ere, ' remarked Philpot, whose principalcharacteristic--apart from thirst--was a desire to see everyonecomfortable, and who hated rows of any kind. 'There ain't no use inthe likes of us trubblin our 'eds or quarrelin about politics. Itdon'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. Youcan talk till you're black in the face, but you won't never be able toalter it. It's no use worrying. The sensible thing is to try and makethe best of things as we find 'em: enjoy ourselves, and do the best wecan for each other. Life's too short to quarrel and we'll hall soon bedead!'

At the end of this lengthy speech, the philosophic Philpot abstractedlygrasped a jam-jar and raised it to his lips; but suddenly rememberingthat it contained stewed tea and not beer, set it down again withoutdrinking. 

'Let us begin at the beginning, ' continued Owen, taking no notice ofthese 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 foolishquestion. 

'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 isnot 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 adesolate island, and YOU had saved nothing from the wreck but a bagcontaining a thousand sovereigns, and he had a tin of biscuits and abottle 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 neverget very far without supposing some bloody ridclus thing or other. Never mind about supposing things wot ain't true; let's 'ave facts andcommon sense. '

''Ear, 'ear, ' said old Linden. 'That's wot we want--a little commonsense. '

'What do YOU mean by poverty, then?' asked Easton. 

'What I call poverty is when people are not able to secure forthemselves 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, goodand pleasant food. '

Everybody laughed. It was so ridiculous. The idea of the likes ofTHEM wanting or having such things! Any doubts that any of them hadentertained as to Owen's sanity disappeared. The man was as mad as aMarch hare. 

'If a man is only able to provide himself and his family with the barenecessaries of existence, that man's family is living in poverty. Sincehe cannot enjoy the advantages of civilization he might just as well bea savage: better, in fact, for a savage knows nothing of what he isdeprived. What we call civilization--the accumulation of knowledgewhich has come down to us from our forefathers--is the fruit ofthousands of years of human thought and toil. It is not the result ofthe labour of the ancestors of any separate class of people who existtoday, and therefore it is by right the common heritage of all. Everylittle child that is born into the world, no matter whether he isclever or full, whether he is physically perfect or lame, or blind; nomatter how much he may excel or fall short of his fellows in otherrespects, in one thing at least he is their equal--he is one of theheirs of all the ages that have gone before. '

Some of them began to wonder whether Owen was not sane after all. Hecertainly must be a clever sort of chap to be able to talk like this. It sounded almost like something out of a book, and most of them couldnot understand one half of it. 

'Why is it, ' continued Owen, 'that we are not only deprived of ourinheritance--we are not only deprived of nearly all the benefits ofcivilization, but we and our children and also often unable to obtaineven the bare necessaries of existence?'

No one answered. 

'All these things, ' Owen proceeded, 'are produced by those who work. Wedo our full share of the work, therefore we should have a full share ofthe things that are made by work. '

The others continued silent. Harlow thought of the over-populationtheory, but decided not to mention it. Crass, who could not have givenan intelligent answer to save his life, for once had sufficient senseto remain silent. He did think of calling out the patent paint-pumpingmachine and bringing the hosepipe to bear on the subject, but abandonedthe idea; after all, he thought, what was the use of arguing with sucha fool as Owen?

Sawkins pretended to be asleep. 

Philpot, however, had suddenly grown very serious. 

'As things are now, ' went on Owen, 'instead of enjoying the advantagesof civilization we are really worse off than slaves, for if we wereslaves our owners in their own interest would see to it that we alwayshad food and--'

'Oh, I don't see that, ' roughly interrupted old Linden, who had beenlistening with evident anger and impatience. 'You can speak foryourself, but I can tell yer I don't put MYSELF down as a slave. '

'Nor me neither, ' said Crass sturdily. 'Let them call their selvesslaves as wants to. '

At this moment a footstep was heard in the passage leading to thekitchen. Old Misery! or perhaps the bloke himself! Crass hurriedlypulled out his watch. 

'Jesus Christ!' he gasped. 'It's four minutes past one!'

Linden frantically seized hold of a pair of steps and began wanderingabout the room with them. 

Sawkins scrambled hastily to his feet and, snatching a piece ofsandpaper from the pocket of his apron, began furiously rubbing downthe scullery door. 

Easton threw down the copy of the Obscurer and scrambled hastily to hisfeet. 

The boy crammed the Chronicles of Crime into his trousers pocket. 

Crass rushed over to the bucket and began stirring up the stalewhitewash it contained, and the stench which it gave forth was simplyappalling. 

Consternation reigned. 

They looked like a gang of malefactors suddenly interrupted in thecommission of a crime. 

The door opened. It was only Bundy returning from his mission to theBookie. 

Chapter 2

Nimrod: a Mighty Hunter before the Lord

Mr Hunter, as he was called to his face and as he was known to hisbrethren at the Shining Light Chapel, where he was superintendant ofthe Sunday School, or 'Misery' or 'Nimrod'; as he was named behind hisback by the workmen over whom he tyrannized, was the general or walkingforeman of 'manager' of the firm whose card is herewith presented tothe reader:

 RUSHTON & CO. MUGSBOROUGH ------- Builders, Decorators, and General Contractors FUNERALS FURNISHED Estimates given for General Repairs to House Property First-class Work only at Moderate Charges

There were a number of sub-foremen or 'coddies', but Hunter was THEforeman. 

He was a tall, thin man whose clothes hung loosely on the angles of hisround-shouldered, bony form. His long, thin legs, about which thebaggy trousers draped in ungraceful folds, were slightly knock-kneedand terminated in large, flat feet. His arms were very long even forsuch a tall man, and the huge, bony hands were gnarled and knotted. When he removed his bowler hat, as he frequently did to wipe away witha red handkerchief the sweat occasioned by furious bicycle riding, itwas seen that his forehead was high, flat and narrow. His nose was alarge, fleshy, hawklike beak, and from the side of each nostril a deepindentation extended downwards until it disappeared in the droppingmoustache that concealed his mouth, the vast extent of which wasperceived only when he opened it to bellow at the workmen hisexhortations to greater exertions. His chin was large andextraordinarily long. The eyes were pale blue, very small and closetogether, surmounted by spare, light-coloured, almost invisibleeyebrows, with a deep vertical cleft between them over the nose. Hishead, covered with thick, coarse brown hair, was very large at theback; the ears were small and laid close to the head. If one were tomake a full-face drawing of his cadaverous visage it would be foundthat the outline resembled that of the lid of a coffin. 

This man had been with Rushton--no one had ever seen the 'Co. '--forfifteen years, in fact almost from the time when the latter commencedbusiness. Rushton had at that period realized the necessity of havinga deputy who could be used to do all the drudgery and running about sothat he himself might be free to attend to the more pleasant orprofitable matters. Hunter was then a journeyman, but was on the pointof starting on his own account, when Rushton offered him a constant jobas foreman, two pounds a week, and two and a half per cent of theprofits of all work done. On the face of it this appeared a generousoffer. Hunter closed with it, gave up the idea of starting forhimself, and threw himself heart and mind into the business. When anestimate was to be prepared it was Hunter who measured up the work andlaboriously figured out the probably cost. When their tenders wereaccepted it was he who superintended the work and schemed how to scampit, where possible, using mud where mortar was specified, mortar wherethere ought to have been cement, sheet zinc where they were supposed toput sheet lead, boiled oil instead of varnish, and three coats of paintwhere five were paid for. In fact, scamping the work was with this mana kind of mania. It grieved him to see anything done properly. Evenwhen it was more economical to do a thing well, he insisted from forceof habit on having it scamped. Then he was almost happy, because hefelt that he was doing someone down. If there were an architectsuperintending the work, Misery would square him or bluff him. If itwere not possible to do either, at least he had a try; and in theintervals of watching, driving and bullying the hands, his vulture eyewas ever on the look out for fresh jobs. His long red nose was thrustinto every estate agent's office in the town in the endeavour to smellout what properties had recently changed hands or been let, in orderthat he might interview the new owners and secure the order forwhatever alterations or repairs might be required. He it was whoentered into unholy compacts with numerous charwomen and nurses of thesick, who in return for a small commission would let him know when somepoor sufferer was passing away and would recommend Rushton & Co. To thebereaved and distracted relatives. By these means often--after firstcarefully inquiring into the financial position of the strickenfamily--Misery would contrive to wriggle his unsavoury carcass into thehouse of sorrow, seeking, even in the chamber of death, to further theinterests of Rushton & Co. And to earn his miserable two and a half percent. 

It was to make possible the attainment of this object that Miseryslaved and drove and schemed and cheated. It was for this that theworkers' wages were cut down to the lowest possible point and theiroffspring went ill clad, ill shod and ill fed, and were driven forth tolabour while they were yet children, because their fathers were unableto earn enough to support their homes. 

Fifteen years!

Hunter realized now that Rushton had had considerably the best of thebargain. In the first place, it will be seen that the latter hadbought over one who might have proved a dangerous competitor, and now, after fifteen years, the business that had been so laboriously builtup, mainly by Hunter's energy, industry and unscrupulous cunning, belonged to Rushton & Co. Hunter was but an employee, liable todismissal like any other workman, the only difference being that he wasentitled to a week's notice instead of an hour's notice, and was butlittle better off financially than when he started for the firm. 

Fifteen years!

Hunter knew now that he had been used, but he also knew that it was toolate to turn back. He had not saved enough to make a successful starton his own account even if he had felt mentally and physically capableof beginning all over again, and if Rushton were to discharge him rightnow he was too old to get a job as a journeyman. Further, in his zealfor Rushton & Co. And his anxiety to earn his commission, he had oftendone things that had roused the animosity of rival firms to such anextent that it was highly improbable that any of them would employ him, and even if they would, Misery's heart failed him at the thought ofhaving to meet on an equal footing those workmen whom he had tyrannizedover and oppressed. It was for these reasons that Hunter was asterrified of Rushton as the hands were of himself. 

Over the men stood Misery, ever threatening them with dismissal andtheir wives and children with hunger. Behind Misery was Rushton, everbullying and goading him on to greater excuses and efforts for thefurtherance of the good cause--which was to enable the head of the firmto accumulate money. 

Mr Hunter, at the moment when the reader first makes his acquaintanceon the afternoon of the day when the incidents recorded in the firstchapter took place, was executing a kind of strategic movement in thedirection of the house where Crass and his mates were working. He keptto one side of the road because by so doing he could not be perceivedby those within the house until the instant of his arrival. When he waswithin about a hundred yards of the gate he dismounted from hisbicycle, there being a sharp rise in the road just there, and as hetoiled up, pushing the bicycle in front, his breath showing in whiteclouds in the frosty air, he observed a number of men hanging about. Some of them he knew; they had worked for him at various times, butwere now out of a job. There were five men altogether; three of themwere standing in a group, the other two stood each by himself, beingapparently strangers to each other and the first three. The three menwho stood together were nearest to Hunter and as the latter approached, one of them advanced to meet him. 

'Good afternoon, sir. '

Hunter replied by an inarticulate grunt, without stopping; the manfollowed. 

'Any chance of a job, sir?'

'Full up, ' replied Hunter, still without stopping. The man stillfollowed, like a beggar soliciting charity. 

'Be any use calling in a day or so, sir?'

'Don't think so, ' Hunter replied. 'Can if you like; but we're full up. '

'Thank you, sir, ' said the man, and turned back to his friends. 

By this time Hunter was within a few yards of one of the other two men, who also came to speak to him. This man felt there was no hope ofgetting a job; still, there was no harm in asking. Besides, he wasgetting desperate. It was over a month now since he had finished upfor his last employer. It had been a very slow summer altogether. Sometimes a fortnight for one firm; then perhaps a week doing nothing;then three weeks or a month for another firm, then out again, and soon. And now it was November. Last winter they had got into debt;that was nothing unusual, but owing to the bad summer they had not beenable, as in other years, to pay off the debts accumulated in winter. It was doubtful, too, whether they would be able to get credit againthis winter. In fact this morning when his wife sent their little girlto the grocer's for some butter the latter had refused to let the childhave it without the money. So although he felt it to be useless heaccosted Hunter. 

This time Hunter stopped: he was winded by his climb up the hill. 

'Good afternoon, sir. ' Hunter did not return the salutation; he had notthe breath to spare, but the man was not hurt; he was used to beingtreated like that. 

'Any chance of a job, sir?'

Hunter did not reply at once. He was short of breath and he wasthinking of a plan that was ever recurring to his mind, and which hehad lately been hankering to put into execution. It seemed to him thatthe long waited for opportunity had come. Just now Rushton & Co. Werealmost the only firm in Mugsborough who had any work. There weredozens of good workmen out. Yes, this was the time. If this managreed he would give him a start. Hunter knew the man was a goodworkman, he had worked for Rushton & Co. Before. To make room for himold Linden and some other full-price man could be got rid of; it wouldnot be difficult to find some excuse. 

'Well, ' Hunter said at last in a doubtful, hesitating kind of way, 'I'mafraid not, Newman. We're about full up. '

He ceased speaking and remained waiting for the other to say somethingmore. He did not look at the man, but stooped down, fidgeting with themechanism of the bicycle as if adjusting it. 

'Things have been so bad this summer, ' Newman went on. 'I've hadrather a rough time of it. I would be very glad of a job even if itwas only for a week or so. '

There was a pause. After a while, Hunter raised his eyes to theother's face, but immediately let them fall again. 

'Well, ' said he, 'I might--perhaps--be able to let you have a day ortwo. You can come here to this job, ' and he nodded his head in thedirection of the house where the men were working. 'Tomorrow at seven. Of course you know the figure?' he added as Newman was about to thankhim. 'Six and a half. '

Hunter spoke as if the reduction were already an accomplished fact. Theman was more likely to agree, if he thought that others were alreadyworking at the reduced rate. 

Newman was taken by surprise and hesitated. He had never worked underprice; indeed, he had sometimes gone hungry rather than do so; but nowit seemed that others were doing it. And then he was so awfully hardup. If he refused this job he was not likely to get another in ahurry. He thought of his home and his family. Already they owed fiveweeks' rent, and last Monday the collector had hinted pretty plainlythat the landlord would not wait much longer. Not only that, but if hedid not get a job how were they to live? This morning he himself hadhad no breakfast to speak of, only a cup of tea and some dry bread. These thoughts crowded upon each other in his mind, but still hehesitated. Hunter began to move off. 

'Well, ' he said, 'if you like to start you can come here at seven inthe morning. ' Then as Newman still hesitated he added impatiently, 'Are you coming or not?'

'Yes, sir, ' said Newman. 

'All right, ' said Hunter, affably. 'I'll tell Crass to have a kitready for you. '

He nodded in a friendly way to the man, who went off feeling like acriminal. 

As Hunter resumed his march, well pleased with himself, the fifth man, who had been waiting all this time, came to meet him. As heapproached, Hunter recognized him as one who had started work forRushton & Co early in the summer, but who had left suddenly of his ownaccord, having taken offence at some bullying remark of Hunter's. 

Hunter was glad to see this man. He guessed that the fellow must bevery hard pressed to come again and ask for work after what hadhappened. 

'Any chance of a job, sir?'

Hunter appeared to reflect. 

'I believe I have room for one, ' he said at length. 'But you're suchan uncertain kind of chap. You don't seem to care much whether youwork or not. You're too independent, you know; one can't say two wordsto you but you must needs clear off. '

The man made no answer. 

'We can't tolerate that kind of thing, you know, ' Hunter added. 'If wewere to encourage men of your stamp we should never know where we are. '

So saying, Hunter moved away and again proceeded on his journey. 

When he arrived within about three yards of the gate he noiselesslylaid his machine against the garden fence. The high evergreens thatgrew inside still concealed him from the observation of anyone whomight be looking out of the windows of the house. Then he carefullycrept along till he came to the gate post, and bending down, hecautiously peeped round to see if he could detect anyone idling, ortalking, or smoking. There was no one in sight except old Jack Linden, who was rubbing down the lobby doors with pumice-stone and water. Hunter noiselessly opened the gate and crept quietly along the grassborder of the garden path. His idea was to reach the front doorwithout being seen, so that Linden could not give notice of hisapproach to those within. In this he succeeded and passed silentlyinto the house. He did not speak to Linden; to do so would haveproclaimed his presence to the rest. He crawled stealthily over thehouse but was disappointed in his quest, for everyone he saw was hardat work. Upstairs he noticed that the door of one of the rooms wasclosed. 

Old Joe Philpot had been working in this room all day, washing off theold whitewash from the ceiling and removing the old papers from thewalls with a broad bladed, square topped knife called a stripper. Although it was only a small room, Joe had had to tear into the workpretty hard all the time, for the ceiling seemed to have had two orthree coats of whitewash without ever having been washed off, and therewere several thicknesses of paper on the walls. The difficulty ofremoving these papers was increased by the fact that there was a dadowhich had been varnished. In order to get this off it had beennecessary to soak it several times with strong soda water, and althoughJoe was as careful as possible he had not been able to avoid gettingsome of this stuff on his fingers. The result was that his nails wereall burnt and discoloured and the flesh round them cracked andbleeding. However, he had got it all off at last, and he was notsorry, for his right arm and shoulder were aching from the prolongedstrain and in the palm of the right hand there was a blister as largeas a shilling, caused by the handle of the stripping knife. 

All the old paper being off, Joe washed down the walls with water, andhaving swept the paper into a heap in the middle of the floor, he mixedwith a small trowel some cement on a small board and proceeded to stopup the cracks and holes in the walls and ceiling. After a while, feeling very tired, it occurred to him that he deserved a spell and asmoke for five minutes. He closed the door and placed a pair of stepsagainst it. There were two windows in the room almost opposite eachother; these he opened wide in order that the smoke and smell of hispipe might be carried away. Having taken these precautions againstsurprise, he ascended to the top of the step ladder that he had laidagainst the door and sat down at ease. Within easy reach was the topof a cupboard where he had concealed a pint of beer in a bottle. Tothis he now applied himself. Having taken a long pull at the bottle, he tenderly replaced it on the top of the cupboard and proceeded to'hinjoy' a quiet smoke, remarking to himself:

'This is where we get some of our own back. '

He held, however, his trowel in one hand, ready for immediate action incase of interruption. 

Philpot was about fifty-five years old. He wore no white jacket, onlyan old patched apron; his trousers were old, very soiled with paint andragged at the bottoms of the legs where they fell over themuch-patched, broken and down-at-heel boots. The part of his waistcoatnot protected by his apron was covered with spots of dried paint. Hewore a coloured shirt and a 'dickey' which was very soiled and coveredwith splashes of paint, and one side of it was projecting from theopening of the waistcoat. His head was covered with an old cap, heavyand shining with paint. He was very thin and stooped slightly. Although he was really only fifty-five, he looked much older, for hewas prematurely aged. 

He had not been getting his own back for quite five minutes when Huntersoftly turned the handle of the lock. Philpot immediately put out hispipe and descending from his perch opened the door. When Hunterentered Philpot closed it again and, mounting the steps, went onstripping the wall just above. Nimrod looked at him suspiciously, wondering why the door had been closed. He looked all round the roombut could see nothing to complain of. He sniffed the air to try if hecould detect the odour of tobacco, and if he had not been suffering acold in the head there is no doubt that he would have perceived it. However, as it was he could smell nothing but all the same he was notquite satisfied, although he remembered that Crass always gave Philpota good character. 

'I don't like to have men working on a job like this with the doorshut, ' he said at length. 'It always gives me the idear that the man's'avin a mike. You can do what you're doin' just as well with the dooropen. '

Philpot, muttering something about it being all the same to him--shutor open--got down from the steps and opened the door. Hunter went outagain without making any further remark and once more began crawlingover the house. 

Owen was working by himself in a room on the same floor as Philpot. Hewas at the window, burning off with a paraffin torch-lamp those partsof the old paintwork that were blistered and cracked. 

In this work the flame of the lamp is directed against the old paint, which becomes soft and is removed with a chisel knife, or a scrapercalled a shavehook. The door was ajar and he had opened the top sashof the window for the purpose of letting in some fresh air, because theatmosphere of the room was foul with the fumes of the lamp and thesmell of the burning paint, besides being heavy with moisture. Theceiling had only just been water washed and the walls had just beenstripped. The old paper, saturated with water, was piled up in a heapin the middle of the floor. 

Presently, as he was working he began to feel conscious of some otherpresence in the room; he looked round. The door was open about sixinches and in the opening appeared a long, pale face with a huge chin, surmounted by a bowler hat and ornamented with a large red nose, adrooping moustache and two small, glittering eyes set very closetogether. For some seconds this apparition regarded Owen intently, then it was silently withdrawn, and he was again alone. He had been sosurprised and startled that he had nearly dropped the lamp, and nowthat the ghastly countenance was gone, Owen felt the blood surge intohis own cheeks. He trembled with suppressed fury and longed to be ableto go out there on the landing and hurl the lamp into Hunter's face. 

Meanwhile, on the landing outside Owen's door, Hunter stood thinking. Someone must be got rid of to make room for the cheap man tomorrow. Hehad hoped to catch somebody doing something that would have served asan excuse for instant dismissal, but there was now no hope of thathappening. What was to be done? He would like to get rid of Linden, who was now really too old to be of much use, but as the old man hadworked for Rushton on and off for many years, Hunter felt that he couldscarcely sack him off hand without some reasonable pretext. Still, thefellow was really not worth the money he was getting. Sevenpence anhour was an absurdly large wage for an old man like him. It waspreposterous: he would have to go, excuse or no excuse. 

Hunter crawled downstairs again. 

Jack Linden was about sixty-seven years old, but like Philpot, and asis usual with working men, he appeared older, because he had had towork very hard all his life, frequently without proper food andclothing. His life had been passed in the midst of a civilizationwhich he had never been permitted to enjoy the benefits of. But ofcourse he knew nothing about all this. He had never expected or wishedto be allowed to enjoy such things; he had always been of opinion thatthey were never intended for the likes of him. He called himself aConservative and was very patriotic. 

At the time when the Boer War commenced, Linden was an enthusiasticjingo: his enthusiasm had been somewhat damped when his youngest son, areservist, had to go to the front, where he died of fever and exposure. When this soldier son went away, he left his wife and two children, aged respectively four and five years at that time, in his father'scare. After he died they stayed on with the old people. The youngwoman earned a little occasionally by doing needlework, but was reallydependent on her father-in-law. Notwithstanding his poverty, he wasglad to have them in the house, because of late years his wife had beengetting very feeble, and, since the shock occasioned by the news of thedeath of her son, needed someone constantly with her. 

Linden was still working at the vestibule doors when the manager camedownstairs. Misery stood watching him for some minutes withoutspeaking. At last he said loudly:

'How much longer are you going to be messing about those doors? Whydon't you get them under colour? You were fooling about there when Iwas here this morning. Do you think it'll pay to have you playingabout there hour after hour with a bit of pumice stone? Get the workdone! Or if you don't want to, I'll very soon find someone else whodoes! I've been noticing your style of doing things for some time pastand I want you to understand that you can't play the fool with me. There's plenty of better men than you walking about. If you can't domore than you've been doing lately you can clear out; we can do withoutyou even when we're busy. '

Old Jack trembled. He tried to answer, but was unable to speak. If hehad been a slave and had failed to satisfy his master, the latter mighthave tied him up somewhere and thrashed him. Hunter could not do that;he could only take his food away. Old Jack was frightened--it was notonly HIS food that might be taken away. At last, with a great effort, for the words seemed to stick in his throat, he said:

'I must clean the work down, sir, before I go on painting. '

'I'm not talking about what you're doing, but the time it takes you todo it!' shouted Hunter. 'And I don't want any back answers or argumentabout it. You must move yourself a bit quicker or leave it alonealtogether. '

Linden did not answer: he went on with his work, his hand trembling tosuch an extent that he was scarcely able to hold the pumice stone. 

Hunter shouted so loud that his voice filled all the house. Everyoneheard and was afraid. Who would be the next? they thought. 

Finding that Linden made no further answer, Misery again began walkingabout the house. 

As he looked at them the men did their work in a nervous, clumsy, hastysort of way. They made all sorts of mistakes and messes. Payne, theforeman carpenter, was putting some new boards on a part of thedrawing-room floor: he was in such a state of panic that, while drivinga nail, he accidentally struck the thumb of his left hand a severe blowwith his hammer. Bundy was also working in the drawing-room puttingsome white-glazed tiles in the fireplace. Whilst cutting one of thesein half in order to fit it into its place, he inflicted a deep gash onone of his fingers. He was afraid to leave off to bind it up whileHunter was there, and consequently as he worked the white tiles becameall smeared and spattered with blood. Easton, who was working withHarlow on a plank, washing off the old distemper from the hall ceiling, was so upset that he was scarcely able to stand on the plank, andpresently the brush fell from his trembling hand with a crash upon thefloor. 

Everyone was afraid. They knew that it was impossible to get a job forany other firm. They knew that this man had the power to deprive themof the means of earning a living; that he possessed the power todeprive their children of bread. 

Owen, listening to Hunter over the banisters upstairs, felt that hewould like to take him by the throat with one hand and smash his facein with the other. 

And then?

Why then he would be sent to gaol, or at the best he would lose hisemployment: his food and that of his family would be taken away. Thatwas why he only ground his teeth and cursed and beat the wall with hisclenched fist. So! and so! and so!

If it were not for them!

Owen's imagination ran riot. 

First he would seize him by the collar with his left hand, dig hisknuckles into his throat, force him up against the wall and then, withhis right fist, smash! smash! smash! until Hunter's face was all cutand covered with blood. 

But then, what about those at home? Was it not braver and more manlyto endure in silence?

Owen leaned against the wall, white-faced, panting and exhausted. 

Downstairs, Misery was still going to and fro in the house and walkingup and down in it. Presently he stopped to look at Sawkins' work. Thisman was painting the woodwork of the back staircase. Although the oldpaintwork here was very dirty and greasy, Misery had given orders thatit was not to be cleaned before being painted. 

'Just dust it down and slobber the colour on, ' he had said. Consequently, when Crass made the paint, he had put into it an extralarge quantity of dryers. To a certain extent this destroyed the'body' of the colour: it did not cover well; it would require twocoats. When Hunter perceived this he was furious. He was sure itcould be made to do with one coat with a little care; he believedSawkins was doing it like this on purpose. Really, these men seemed tohave no conscience. 

Two coats! and he had estimated for only three. 

'Crass!'

'Yes, sir. '

'Come here!'

'Yes, sir. '

Crass came hurrying along. 

'What's the meaning of this? Didn't I tell you to make this do withone coat? Look at it!'

'It's like this, sir, ' said Crass. 'If it had been washed down--'

'Washed down be damned, ' shouted Hunter. 'The reason is that thecolour ain't thick enough. Take the paint and put a little more bodyin it and we'll soon see whether it can be done or not. I can make itcover if you can't. '

Crass took the paint, and, superintended by Hunter, made it thicker. Misery then seized the brush and prepared to demonstrate thepossibility of finishing the work with one coat. Crass and Sawkinslooked on in silence. 

Just as Misery was about to commence he fancied he heard someonewhispering somewhere. He laid down the brush and crawled stealthilyupstairs to see who it was. Directly his back was turned Crass seizeda bottle of oil that was standing near and, tipping about half a pintof it into the paint, stirred it up quickly. Misery returned almostimmediately: he had not caught anyone; it must have been fancy. Hetook up the brush and began to paint. The result was worse thanSawkins!

He messed and fooled about for some time, but could not make it comeright. At last he gave it up. 

'I suppose it'll have to have two coats after all, ' he said, mournfully. 'But it's a thousand pities. '

He almost wept. 

The firm would be ruined if things went on like this. 

'You'd better go on with it, ' he said as he laid down the brush. 

He began to walk about the house again. He wanted to go away now, buthe did not want them to know that he was gone, so he sneaked out of theback door, crept around the house and out of the gate, mounted hisbicycle and rode away. 

No one saw him go. 

For some time the only sounds that broke the silence were the noisesmade by the hands as they worked. The musical ringing of Bundy'strowel, the noise of the carpenters' hammers and saws and theoccasional moving of a pair of steps. 

No one dared to speak. 

At last Philpot could stand it no longer. He was very thirsty. 

He had kept the door of his room open since Hunter arrived. 

He listened intently. He felt certain that Hunter must be gone: helooked across the landing and could see Owen working in the front room. Philpot made a little ball of paper and threw it at him to attract hisattention. Owen looked round and Philpot began to make signals: hepointed downwards with one hand and jerked the thumb of the other overhis shoulder in the direction of the town, winking grotesquely thewhile. This Owen interpreted to be an inquiry as to whether Hunter haddeparted. He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders to intimatethat he did not know. 

Philpot cautiously crossed the landing and peeped furtively over thebanisters, listening breathlessly. 'Was it gorn or not?' he wondered. 

He crept along on tiptoe towards Owen's room, glancing left and right, the trowel in his hand, and looking like a stage murderer. 'Do youthink it's gorn?' he asked in a hoarse whisper when he reached Owen'sdoor. 

'I don't know, ' replied Owen in a low tone. 

Philpot wondered. He MUST have a drink, but it would never do forHunter to see him with the bottle: he must find out somehow whether hewas gone or not. 

At last an idea came. He would go downstairs to get some more cement. Having confided this plan to Owen, he crept quietly back to the room inwhich he had been working, then he walked noisily across the landingagain. 

'Got a bit of stopping to spare, Frank?' he asked in a loud voice. 

'No, ' replied Owen. 'I'm not using it. '

'Then I suppose I'll have to go down and get some. Is there anything Ican bring up for you?'

'No, thanks, ' replied Owen. 

Philpot marched boldly down to the scullery, which Crass had utilizedas a paint-shop. Crass was there mixing some colour. 

'I want a bit of stopping, ' Philpot said as he helped himself to some. 

'Is the b--r gorn?' whispered Crass. 

'I don't know, ' replied Philpot. 'Where's his bike?'

''E always leaves it outside the gate, so's we can't see it, ' repliedCrass. 

'Tell you what, ' whispered Philpot, after a pause. 'Give the boy ahempty bottle and let 'im go to the gate and look to the bikes there. If Misery sees him 'e can pretend to be goin' to the shop for somehoil. '

This was done. Bert went to the gate and returned almost immediately:the bike was gone. As the good news spread through the house a chorusof thanksgiving burst forth. 

'Thank Gord!' said one. 

'Hope the b--r falls orf and breaks 'is bloody neck, ' said another. 

'These Bible-thumpers are all the same; no one ever knew one to be anygood yet, ' cried a third. 

Directly they knew for certain that he was gone, nearly everyone leftoff work for a few minutes to curse him. Then they again went onworking and now that they were relieved of the embarrassment thatMisery's presence inspired, they made better progress. A few of themlit their pipes and smoked as they worked. 

One of these was old Jack Linden. He was upset by the bullying he hadreceived, and when he noticed some of the others smoking he thought hewould have a pipe; it might steady his nerves. As a rule he did notsmoke when working; it was contrary to orders. 

As Philpot was returning to work again he paused for a moment towhisper to Linden, with the result that the latter accompanied himupstairs. 

On reaching Philpot's room the latter placed the step-ladder near thecupboard and, taking down the bottle of beer, handed it to Linden withthe remark, 'Get some of that acrost yer, matey; it'll put yer right. '

While Linden was taking a hasty drink, Joe kept watch on the landingoutside in case Hunter should suddenly and unexpectedly reappear. 

When Linden was gone downstairs again, Philpot, having finished whatremained of the beer and hidden the bottle up the chimney, resumed thework of stopping up the holes and cracks in the ceiling and walls. Hemust make a bit of a show tonight or there would be a hell of a rowwhen Misery came in the morning. 

Owen worked on in a disheartened, sullen way. He felt like a beatendog. 

He was more indignant on poor old Linden's account than on his own, andwas oppressed by a sense of impotence and shameful degradation. 

All his life it had been the same: incessant work under similar more orless humiliating conditions, and with no more result than being justable to avoid starvation. 

And the future, as far as he could see, was as hopeless as the past;darker, for there would surely come a time, if he lived long enough, when he would be unable to work any more. 

He thought of his child. Was he to be a slave and a drudge all hislife also?

It would be better for the boy to die now. 

As Owen thought of his child's future there sprung up within him afeeling of hatred and fury against the majority of his fellow workmen. 

THEY WERE THE ENEMY. Those who not only quietly submitted like so manycattle to the existing state of things, but defended it, and opposedand ridiculed any suggestion to alter it. 

THEY WERE THE REAL OPPRESSORS--the men who spoke of themselves as 'Thelikes of us, ' who, having lived in poverty and degradation all theirlives considered that what had been good enough for them was goodenough for the children they had been the cause of bringing intoexistence. 

He hated and despised them because the calmly saw their childrencondemned to hard labour and poverty for life, and deliberately refusedto make any effort to secure for them better conditions than those theyhad themselves. 

It was because they were indifferent to the fate of THEIR children thathe would be unable to secure a natural and human life for HIS. It wastheir apathy or active opposition that made it impossible to establisha better system of society under which those who did their fair shareof the world's work would be honoured and rewarded. Instead of helpingto do this, they abased themselves, and grovelled before theiroppressors, and compelled and taught their children to do the same. THEY were the people who were really responsible for the continuance ofthe present system. 

Owen laughed bitterly to himself. What a very comical system it was. 

Those who worked were looked upon with contempt, and subjected to everypossible indignity. Nearly everything they produced was taken awayfrom them and enjoyed by the people who did nothing. And then theworkers bowed down and grovelled before those who had robbed them ofthe fruits of their labour and were childishly grateful to them forleaving anything at all. 

No wonder the rich despised them and looked upon them as dirt. TheyWERE despicable. They WERE dirt. They admitted it and gloried in it. 

While these thoughts were seething in Owen's mind, his fellow workmenwere still patiently toiling on downstairs. Most of them had by thistime dismissed Hunter from their thoughts. They did not take things soseriously as Owen. They flattered themselves that they had more sensethan that. It could not be altered. Grin and bear it. After all, itwas only for life! Make the best of things, and get your own backwhenever you get a chance. 

Presently Harlow began to sing. He had a good voice and it was a goodsong, but his mates just then did not appreciate either one of theother. His singing was the signal for an outburst of exclamations andcatcalls. 

'Shut it, for Christ's sake!'

'That's enough of that bloody row!'

And so on. Harlow stopped. 

'How's the enemy?' asked Easton presently, addressing no one inparticular. 

'Don't know, ' replied Bundy. 'It must be about half past four. AskSlyme; he's got a watch. '

It was a quarter past four. 

'It gets dark very early now, ' said Easton. 

'Yes, ' replied Bundy. 'It's been very dull all day. I think it'sgoin' to rain. Listen to the wind. '

'I 'ope not, ' replied Easton. 'That means a wet shirt goin' 'ome. '

He called out to old Jack Linden, who was still working at the frontdoors:

'Is it raining, Jack?'

Old Jack, his pipe still in his mouth, turned to look at the weather. It was raining, but Linden did not see the large drops which splashedheavily upon the ground. He saw only Hunter, who was standing at thegate, watching him. For a few seconds the two men looked at each otherin silence. Linden was paralysed with fear. Recovering himself, hehastily removed his pipe, but it was too late. 

Misery strode up. 

'I don't pay you for smoking, ' he said, loudly. 'Make out your timesheet, take it to the office and get your money. I've had enough ofyou!'

Jack made no attempt to defend himself: he knew it was of no use. Hesilently put aside the things he had been using, went into the roomwhere he had left his tool-bag and coat, removed his apron and whitejacket, folded them up and put them into his tool-bag along with thetools he had been using--a chisel-knife and a shavehook--put on hiscoat, and, with the tool-bag slung over his shoulder, went away fromthe house. 

Without speaking to anyone else, Hunter then hastily walked over theplace, noting what progress had been made by each man during hisabsence. He then rode away, as he wanted to get to the office in timeto give Linden his money. 

It was now very cold and dark within the house, and as the gas was notyet laid on, Crass distributed a number of candles to the men, whoworked silently, each occupied with his own gloomy thoughts. Who wouldbe the next?

Outside, sombre masses of lead-coloured clouds gathered ominously inthe tempestuous sky. The gale roared loudly round the old-fashionedhouse and the windows rattled discordantly. Rain fell in torrents. 

They said it meant getting wet through going home, but all the same, Thank God it was nearly five o'clock!

Chapter 3

The Financiers

That night as Easton walked home through the rain he felt verydepressed. It had been a very bad summer for most people and he hadnot fared better than the rest. A few weeks with one firm, a few dayswith another, then out of a job, then on again for a month perhaps, andso on. 

William Easton was a man of medium height, about twenty-three yearsold, with fair hair and moustache and blue eyes. He wore a stand-upcollar with a coloured tie and his clothes, though shabby, were cleanand neat. 

He was married: his wife was a young woman whose acquaintance he hadmade when he happened to be employed with others painting the outsideof the house where she was a general servant. They had 'walked out'for about fifteen months. Easton had been in no hurry to marry, for heknew that, taking good times with bad, his wages did no average a pounda week. At the end of that time, however, he found that he could nothonourably delay longer, so they were married. 

That was twelve months ago. 

As a single man he had never troubled much if he happened to be out ofwork; he always had enough to live on and pocket money besides; but nowthat he was married it was different; the fear of being 'out' hauntedhim all the time. 

He had started for Rushton & Co. On the previous Monday after havingbeen idle for three weeks, and as the house where he was working had tobe done right through he had congratulated himself on having secured ajob that would last till Christmas; but he now began to fear that whathad befallen Jack Linden might also happen to himself at any time. Hewould have to be very careful not to offend Crass in any way. He wasafraid the latter did not like him very much as it was. Easton knewthat Crass could get him the sack at any time, and would not scruple todo so if he wanted to make room for some crony of his own. Crass wasthe 'coddy' or foreman of the job. Considered as a workman he had novery unusual abilities; he was if anything inferior to the majority ofhis fellow workmen. But although he had but little real ability hepretended to know everything, and the vague references he was in thehabit of making to 'tones', and 'shades', and 'harmony', had soimpressed Hunter that the latter had a high opinion of him as aworkman. It was by pushing himself forward in this way and byjudicious toadying to Hunter that Crass managed to get himself put incharge of work. 

Although Crass did as little work as possible himself he took care thatthe others worked hard. Any man who failed to satisfy him in thisrespect he reported to Hunter as being 'no good', or 'too slow for afuneral'. The result was that this man was dispensed with at the endof the week. The men knew this, and most of them feared the wily Crassaccordingly, though there were a few whose known abilities placed themto a certain extent above the reach of his malice. Frank Owen was oneof these. 

There were others who by the judicious administration of pipefuls oftobacco and pints of beer, managed to keep in Crass's good graces andoften retained their employment when better workmen were 'stood off'. 

As he walked home through the rain thinking of these things, Eastonrealized that it was not possible to foresee what a day or even an hourmight bring forth. 

By this time he had arrived at his home; it was a small house, one of along row of similar ones, and it contained altogether four rooms. 

The front door opened into a passage about two feet six inches wide andten feet in length, covered with oilcloth. At the end of the passagewas a flight of stairs leading to the upper part of the house. Thefirst door on the left led into the front sitting-room, an apartmentabout nine feet square, with a bay window. This room was very rarelyused and was always very tidy and clean. The mantelpiece was of woodpainted black and ornamented with jagged streaks of red and yellow, which were supposed to give it the appearance of marble. On the wallswas a paper with a pale terra-cotta ground and a pattern consisting oflarge white roses with chocolate coloured leaves and stalks. 

There was a small iron fender with fire-irons to match, and on themantelshelf stood a clock in a polished wood case, a pair of blue glassvases, and some photographs in frames. The floor was covered withoilcloth of a tile pattern in yellow and red. On the walls were two orthree framed coloured prints such as are presented with Christmasnumbers of illustrated papers. There was also a photograph of a groupof Sunday School girls with their teachers with the church for thebackground. In the centre of the room was a round deal table aboutthree feet six inches across, with the legs stained red to look likemahogany. Against one wall was an old couch covered with fadedcretonne, four chairs to match standing backs to wall in differentparts of the room. The table was covered with a red cloth with ayellow crewel work design in the centre and in each of the fourcorners, the edges being overcast in the same material. On the tablewere a lamp and a number of brightly bound books. 

Some of these things, as the couch and the chairs, Easton had boughtsecond-hand and had done up himself. The table, oilcloth, fender, hearthrug, etc, had been obtained on the hire system and were not yetpaid for. The windows were draped with white lace curtains and in thebay was a small bamboo table on which reposed a large Holy Bible, cheaply but showily bound. 

If anyone had ever opened this book they would have found that itspages were as clean as the other things in the room, and on the flyleafmight have been read the following inscription: 'To dear Ruth, from herloving friend Mrs Starvem with the prayer that God's word may be herguide and that Jesus may be her very own Saviour. Oct. 12. 19--'

Mrs Starvem was Ruth's former mistress, and this had been her partinggift when Ruth left to get married. It was supposed to be a keepsake, but as Ruth never opened the book and never willingly allowed herthoughts to dwell upon the scenes of which it reminded her, she hadforgotten the existence of Mrs Starvem almost as completely as thatwell-to-do and pious lady had forgotten hers. 

For Ruth, the memory of the time she spent in the house of 'her lovingfriend' was the reverse of pleasant. It comprised a series ofrecollections of petty tyrannies, insults and indignities. Six yearsof cruelly excessive work, beginning every morning two or three hoursbefore the rest of the household were awake and ceasing only when shewent exhausted to bed, late at night. 

She had been what is called a 'slavey' but if she had been really aslave her owner would have had some regard for her health and welfare:her 'loving friend' had had none. Mrs Starvem's only thought had beento get out of Ruth the greatest possible amount of labour and to giveher as little as possible in return. 

When Ruth looked back upon that dreadful time she saw it, as one mightsay, surrounded by a halo of religion. She never passed by a chapel orheard the name of God, or the singing of a hymn, without thinking ofher former mistress. To have looked into this Bible would havereminded her of Mrs Starvem; that was one of the reasons why the bookreposed, unopened and unread, a mere ornament on the table in the baywindow. 

The second door in the passage near the foot of the stairs led into thekitchen or living-room: from here another door led into the scullery. Upstairs were two bedrooms. 

As Easton entered the house, his wife met him in the passage and askedhim not to make a noise as the child had just gone to sleep. Theykissed each other and she helped him to remove his wet overcoat. Thenthey both went softly into the kitchen. 

This room was about the same size as the sitting-room. At one end wasa small range with an oven and a boiler, and a high mantelpiece paintedblack. On the mantelshelf was a small round alarm clock and somebrightly polished tin canisters. At the other end of the room, facingthe fireplace, was a small dresser on the shelves of which were nearlyarranged a number of plates and dishes. The walls were papered withoak paper. On one wall, between two coloured almanacks, hung a tinlamp with a reflector behind the light. In the middle of the room wasan oblong deal table with a white tablecloth upon which the tea thingswere set ready. There were four kitchen chairs, two of which wereplaced close to the table. Overhead, across the room, about eighteeninches down from the ceiling, were stretched several cords upon whichwere drying a number of linen or calico undergarments, a colouredshirt, and Easton's white apron and jacket. On the back of a chair atone side of the fire more clothes were drying. At the other side onthe floor was a wicker cradle in which a baby was sleeping. Nearbystood a chair with a towel hung on the back, arranged so as to shadethe infant's face from the light of the lamp. An air of homely comfortpervaded the room; the atmosphere was warm, and the fire blazedcheerfully over the whitened hearth. 

They walked softly over and stood by the cradle side looking at thechild; as they looked the baby kept moving uneasily in its sleep. Itsface was very flushed and its eyes were moving under the half-closedlids. Every now and again its lips were drawn back slightly, showingpart of the gums; presently it began to whimper, drawing up its kneesas if in pain. 

'He seems to have something wrong with him, ' said Easton. 

'I think it's his teeth, ' replied the mother. 'He's been very restlessall day and he was awake nearly all last night. '

'P'r'aps he's hungry. '

'No, it can't be that. He had the best part of an egg this morning andI've nursed him several times today. And then at dinner-time he had awhole saucer full of fried potatoes with little bits of bacon in it. '

Again the infant whimpered and twisted in its sleep, its lips drawnback showing the gums: its knees pressed closely to its body, thelittle fists clenched, and face flushed. Then after a few seconds itbecame placid: the mouth resumed its usual shape; the limbs relaxed andthe child slumbered peacefully. 

'Don't you think he's getting thin?' asked Easton. 'It may be fancy, but he don't seem to me to be as big now as he was three months ago. '

'No, he's not quite so fat, ' admitted Ruth. 'It's his teeth what'swearing him out; he don't hardly get no rest at all with them. '

They continued looking at him a little longer. Ruth thought he was avery beautiful child: he would be eight months old on Sunday. Theywere sorry they could do nothing to ease his pain, but consoledthemselves with the reflection that he would be all right once thoseteeth were through. 

'Well, let's have some tea, ' said Easton at last. 

Whilst he removed his wet boots and socks and placed them in front ofthe fire to dry and put on dry socks and a pair of slippers in theirstead, Ruth half filled a tin basin with hot water from the boiler andgave it to him, and he then went to the scullery, added some cold waterand began to wash the paint off his hands. This done he returned tothe kitchen and sat down at the table. 

'I couldn't think what to give you to eat tonight, ' said Ruth as shepoured out the tea. 'I hadn't got no money left and there wasn'tnothing in the house except bread and butter and that piece of cheese, so I cut some bread and butter and put some thin slices of cheese on itand toasted it on a place in front of the fire. I hope you'll like it:it was the best I could do. '

'That's all right: it smells very nice anyway, and I'm very hungry. '

As they were taking their tea Easton told his wife about Linden'saffair and his apprehensions as to what might befall himself. Theywere both very indignant, and sorry for poor old Linden, but theirsympathy for him was soon forgotten in their fears for their ownimmediate future. 

They remained at the table in silence for some time: then, 'How much rent do we owe now?' asked Easton. 

'Four weeks, and I promised the collector the last time he called thatwe'd pay two weeks next Monday. He was quite nasty about it. '

'Well, I suppose you'll have to pay it, that's all, ' said Easton. 

'How much money will you have tomorrow?' asked Ruth. 

He began to reckon up his time: he started on Monday and today wasFriday: five days, from seven to five, less half an hour for breakfastand an hour for dinner, eight and a half hours a day--forty-two hoursand a half. At sevenpence an hour that came to one pound four andninepence halfpenny. 

'You know I only started on Monday, ' he said, 'so there's no back dayto come. Tomorrow goes into next week. '

'Yes, I know, ' replied Ruth. 

'If we pay the two week's rent that'll leave us twelve shillings tolive on. '

'But we won't be able to keep all of that, ' said Ruth, 'because there'sother things to pay. '

'What other things?'

'We owe the baker eight shillings for the bread he let us have whileyou were not working, and there's about twelve shillings owing forgroceries. We'll have to pay them something on account. Then we wantsome more coal; there's only about a shovelful left, and--'

'Wait a minnit, ' said Easton. 'The best way is to write out a list ofeverything we owe; then we shall know exactly where we are. You get mea piece of paper and tell me what to write. Then we'll see what it allcomes to. '

'Do you mean everything we owe, or everything we must pay tomorrow. '

'I think we'd better make a list of all we owe first. '

While they were talking the baby was sleeping restlessly, occasionallyuttering plaintive little cries. The mother now went and knelt at theside of the cradle, which she gently rocked with one hand, patting theinfant with the other. 

'Except the furniture people, the biggest thing we owe is the rent, 'she said when Easton was ready to begin. 

'It seems to me, ' said he, as, after having cleared a space on thetable and arranged the paper, he began to sharpen his pencil with atable-knife, 'that you don't manage things as well as you might. Ifyou was to make a list of just the things you MUST have before you wentout of a Saturday, you'd find the money would go much farther. Insteadof doing that you just take the money in your hand without knowingexactly what you're going to do with it, and when you come back it'sall gone and next to nothing to show for it. '

His wife made no reply: her head was bent over the child. 

'Now, let's see, ' went on her husband. 'First of all there's the rent. How much did you say we owe?'

'Four weeks. That's the three weeks you were out and this week. '

'Four sixes is twenty-four; that's one pound four, ' said Easton as hewrote it down. 'Next?'

'Grocer, twelve shillings. '

Easton looked up in astonishment. 

'Twelve shillings. Why, didn't you tell me only the other day thatyou'd paid up all we owed for groceries?'

'Don't you remember we owed thirty-five shillings last spring? Well, I've been paying that bit by bit all the summer. I paid the last of itthe week you finished your last job. Then you were out three weeks--uptill last Friday--and as we had nothing in hand I had to get what wewanted without paying for it. '

'But do you mean to say it cost us three shillings a week for tea andsugar and butter?'

'It's not only them. There's been bacon and eggs and cheese and otherthings. '

The man was beginning to become impatient. 

'Well, ' he said, 'What else?'

'We owe the baker eight shillings. We did owe nearly a pound, but I'vebeen paying it off a little at a time. '

This was added to the list. 

'Then there's the milkman. I've not paid him for four weeks. Hehasn't sent a bill yet, but you can reckon it up; we have two penn'orthevery day. '

'That's four and eight, ' said Easton, writing it down. 'Anything else?'

'One and seven to the greengrocer for potatoes, cabbage, and paraffinoil. '

'Anything else?'

'We owe the butcher two and sevenpence. '

'Why, we haven't had any meat for a long time, ' said Easton. 'When wasit?'

'Three weeks ago; don't you remember? A small leg of mutton, '

'Oh, yes, ' and he added the item. 

'Then there's the instalments for the furniture and oilcloth--twelveshillings. A letter came from them today. And there's somethingelse. '

She took three letters from the pocket of her dress and handed them tohim. 

'They all came today. I didn't show them to you before as I didn'twant to upset you before you had your tea. '

Easton drew the first letter from its envelope. 

 CORPORATION OF MUGSBOROUGH General District and Special Rates FINAL NOTICE

 MR W. EASTON, I have to remind you that the amount due from you as under, in respect of the above Rates, has not been paid, and to request that you will forward the same within Fourteen Days from this date. You are hereby informed that after this notice no further call will be made, or intimation given, before legal proceedings are taken to enforce payment. By order of the Council. JAMES LEAH. Collector, No. 2 District. District Rate . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . �- 13 11 Special Rate . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 10 2 ________ �1 4 1

The second communication was dated from the office of the AssistantOverseer of the Poor. It was also a Final Notice and was worded inalmost exactly the same way as the other, the principal differencebeing that it was 'By order of the Overseers' instead of 'the Council'. It demanded the sum of �1 1 5 1/2 for Poor Rate within fourteen days, and threatened legal proceedings in default. 

Easton laid this down and began to read the third letter--

 J. DIDLUM & CO LTD. Complete House Furnishers QUALITY STREET, MUGSBOROUGH

 MR W. EASTON, SIR: We have to remind you that three monthly payments of four shillings each (12/- in all) became due on the first of this month, and we must request you to let us have this amount BY RETURN OF POST. 

 Under the terms of your agreement you guaranteed that the money should be paid on the Saturday of every fourth week. To prevent unpleasantness, we must request you for the future to forward the full amount punctually upon that day. 

 Yours truly, J. DIDLUM & CO. LTD

He read these communications several times in silence and finally withan oath threw them down on the table. 

'How much do we still owe for the oilcloth and the furniture?' he asked. 

'I don't know exactly. It was seven pound odd, and we've had thethings about six months. We paid one pound down and three or fourinstalments. I'll get the card if you like. '

'No; never mind. Say we've paid one pound twelve; so we still oweabout six pound. '

He added this amount to the list. 

'I think it's a great pity we ever had the things at all, ' he said, peevishly. 'It would have been better to have gone without until wecould pay cash for them: but you would have your way, of course. Nowwe'll have this bloody debt dragging on us for years, and before thedam stuff is paid for it'll be worn out. '

The woman did not reply at once. She was bending down over the cradlearranging the coverings which the restless movements of the child haddisordered. She was crying silently, unnoticed by her husband. 

For months past--in fact ever since the child was born--she had beenexisting without sufficient food. If Easton was unemployed they had tostint themselves so as to avoid getting further into debt than wasabsolutely necessary. When he was working they had to go short inorder to pay what they owed; but of what there was Easton himself, without knowing it, always had the greater share. If he was at workshe would pack into his dinner basket overnight the best there was inthe house. When he was out of work she often pretended, as she gavehim his meals, that she had had hers while he was out. And all thetime the baby was draining her life away and her work was never done. 

She felt very weak and weary as she crouched there, crying furtivelyand trying not to let him see. 

At last she said, without looking round:

'You know quite well that you were just as much in favour of gettingthem as I was. If we hadn't got the oilcloth there would have beenillness in the house because of the way the wind used to come upbetween the floorboards. Even now of a windy day the oilcloth moves upand down. '

'Well, I'm sure I don't know, ' said Easton, as he looked alternativelyat the list of debts and the three letters. 'I give you nearly everyfarthing I earn and I never interfere about anything, because I thinkit's your part to attend to the house, but it seems to me you don'tmanage things properly. '

The woman suddenly burst into a passion of weeping, laying her head onthe seat of the chair that was standing near the cradle. 

Easton started up in surprise. 

'Why, what's the matter?' he said. 

Then as he looked down upon the quivering form of the sobbing woman, hewas ashamed. He knelt down by her, embracing her and apologizing, protesting that he had not meant to hurt her like that. 

'I always do the best I can with the money, ' Ruth sobbed. 'I neverspend a farthing on myself, but you don't seem to understand how hardit is. I don't care nothing about having to go without things myself, but I can't bear it when you speak to me like you do lately. You seemto blame me for everything. You usen't to speak to me like that beforeI--before--Oh, I am so tired--I am so tired, I wish I could lie downsomewhere and sleep and never wake up any more. '

She turned away from him, half kneeling, half sitting on the floor, herarms folded on the seat of the chair, and her head resting upon them. She was crying in a heartbroken helpless way. 

'I'm sorry I spoke to you like that, ' said Easton, awkwardly. 'Ididn't mean what I said. It's all my fault. I leave things too muchto you, and it's more than you can be expected to manage. I'll helpyou to think things out in future; only forgive me, I'm very sorry. Iknow you try your best. '

She suffered him to draw her to him, laying her head on his shoulder ashe kissed and fondled her, protesting that he would rather be poor andhungry with her than share riches with anyone else. 

The child in the cradle--who had been twisting and turning restlesslyall this time--now began to cry loudly. The mother took it from thecradle and began to hush and soothe it, walking about the room androcking it in her arms. The child, however, continued to scream, soshe sat down to nurse it: for a little while the infant refused todrink, struggling and kicking in its mother's arms, then for a fewminutes it was quite, taking the milk in a half-hearted, fretful way. Then it began to scream and twist and struggle. 

They both looked at it in a helpless manner. Whatever could be thematter with it? It must be those teeth. 

Then suddenly as they were soothing and patting him, the child vomitedall over its own and its mother's clothing a mass of undigested food. Mingled with the curdled milk were fragments of egg, little bits ofbacon, bread and particles of potato. 

Having rid his stomach of this unnatural burden, the unfortunate babybegan to cry afresh, his face very pale, his lips colourless, and hiseyes red-rimmed and running with water. 

Easton walked about with him while Ruth cleaned up the mess and gotready some fresh clothing. They both agreed that it was the comingteeth that had upset the poor child's digestion. It would be a goodjob when they were through. 

This work finished, Easton, who was still convinced in his own mindthat with the aid of a little common sense and judicious managementtheir affairs might be arranged more satisfactorily, said:

'We may as well make a list of all the things we must pay and buytomorrow. The great thing is to think out exactly what you are goingto do before you spend anything; that saves you from getting things youdon't really need and prevents you forgetting the things you MUST have. Now, first of all, the rent; two weeks, twelve shillings. '

He took a fresh piece of paper and wrote this item down. 

'What else is there that we must pay or buy tomorrow?'

'Well, you know I promised the baker and the grocer that I would beginto pay them directly you got a job, and if I don't keep my word theywon't let us have anything another time, so you'd better put down twoshillings each for them. 

'I've got that, ' said Easton. 

'Two and seven for the butcher. We must pay that. I'm ashamed to passthe shop, because when I got the meat I promised to pay him the nextweek, and it's nearly three weeks ago now. '

'I've put that down. What else?'

'A hundred of coal: one and six. '

'Next?'

'The instalment for the furniture and floor-cloth, twelve shillings. '

'Next?'

'We owe the milkman four weeks; we'd better pay one week on account;that's one and two. '

'Next?'

'The greengrocer; one shilling on account. '

'Anything else?'

'We shall want a piece of meat of some kind; we've had none for nearlythree weeks. You'd better say one and six for that. '

'That's down. '

'One and nine for bread; that's one loaf a day. '

'But I've got two shillings down for bread already, ' said Easton. 

'Yes, I know, dear, but that's to go towards paying off what we owe, and what you have down for the grocer and milkman's the same. '

'Well, go on, for Christ's sake, and let's get it down, ' said Easton, irritably. 

'We can't say less than three shillings for groceries. '

Easton looked carefully at his list. This time he felt sure that theitem was already down; but finding he was mistaken he said nothing andadded the amount. 

'Well, I've got that. What else?'

'Milk, one and two. '

'Next?'

'Vegetables, eightpence. '

'Yes. '

'Paraffin oil and firewood, sixpence. '

Again the financier scrutinized the list. He was positive that it wasdown already. However, he could not find it, so the sixpence was addedto the column of figures. 

'Then there's your boots; you can't go about with them old things inthis weather much longer, and they won't stand mending again. Youremember the old man said they were not worth it when you had thatpatch put on a few weeks ago. '

'Yes. I was thinking of buying a new pair tomorrow. My socks was wetthrough tonight. If it's raining some morning when I'm going out and Ihave to work all day with wet feet I shall be laid up. '

'At that second-hand shop down in High Street I saw when I was out thisafternoon a very good pair just your size, for two shillings. '

Easton did not reply at once. He did not much fancy wearing thecast-off boots of some stranger, who for all he knew might havesuffered from some disease, but then remembering that his old ones wereliterally falling off his feet he realized that he had practically nochoice. 

'If you're quite sure they'll fit you'd better get them. It's betterto do that than for me to catch cold and be laid up for God knows howlong. '

So the two shillings were added to the list. 

'Is there anything else?'

'How much does it all come to now?' asked Ruth. 

Easton added it all up. When he had finished he remained staring atthe figures in consternation for a long time without speaking. 

'Jesus Christ!' he ejaculated at last. 

'What's it come to?' asked Ruth. 

'Forty-four and tenpence. '

'I knew we wouldn't have enough, ' said Ruth, wearily. 'Now if youthink I manage so badly, p'raps you can tell me which of these thingswe ought to leave out. '

'We'd be all right if it wasn't for the debts, ' said Easton, doggedly. 

'When you're not working, we must either get into debt or starve. '

Easton made no answer. 

'What'll we do about the rates?' asked Ruth. 

'I'm sure I don't know: there's nothing left to pawn except my blackcoat and vest. You might get something on that. '

'It'll have to be paid somehow, ' said Ruth, 'or you'll be taken off tojail for a month, the same as Mrs Newman's husband was last winter. '

'Well, you'd better take the coat and vest and see what you can get on'em tomorrow. '

'Yes, ' said Ruth; 'and there's that brown silk dress of mine--you know, the one I wore when we was married--I might get something on that, because we won't get enough on the coat and vest. I don't like partingwith the dress, although I never wear it; but we'll be sure to be ableto get it out again, won't we?'

'Of course, ' said Easton. 

They remained silent for some time, Easton staring at the list of debtsand the letters. She was wondering if he still thought she managedbadly, and what he would do about it. She knew she had always done herbest. At last she said, wistfully, trying to speak plainly for thereseemed to be a lump in her throat: 'And what about tomorrow? Would youlike to spend the money yourself, or shall I manage as I've donebefore, or will you tell me what to do?'

'I don't know, dear, ' said Easton, sheepishly. 'I think you'd betterdo as you think best. '

'Oh, I'll manage all right, dear, you'll see, ' replied Ruth, who seemedto think it a sort of honour to be allowed to starve herself and wearshabby clothes. 

The baby, who had been for some time quietly sitting upon his mother'slap, looking wonderingly at the fire--his teeth appeared to trouble himless since he got rid of the eggs and bacon and potatoes--now began tonod and doze, which Easton perceiving, suggested that the infant shouldnot be allowed to go to sleep with an empty stomach, because it wouldprobably wake up hungry in the middle of the night. He therefore workhim up as much as possible and mashed a little of the bread and toastedcheese with a little warm milk. Then taking the baby from Ruth hebegan to try to induce it to eat. As soon, however, as the childunderstood his object, it began to scream at the top of its voice, closing its lips firmly and turning its head rapidly from side to sideevery time the spoon approached its mouth. It made such a dreadfulnoise that Easton at last gave in. He began to walk about the roomwith it, and presently the child sobbed itself to sleep. After puttingthe baby into its cradle Ruth set about preparing Easton's breakfastand packing it into his basket. This did not take very long, therebeing only bread and butter--or, to be more correct, margarine. 

Then she poured what tea was left in the tea-pot into a small saucepanand placed it on the top of the oven, but away from the fire, cut twomore slices of bread and spread on them all the margarine that wasleft; then put them on a plate on the table, covering them with asaucer to prevent them getting hard and dry during the night. Near theplate she placed a clean cup and saucer and the milk and sugar. 

In the morning Easton would light the fire and warm up the tea in thesaucepan so as to have a cup of tea before going out. If Ruth wasawake and he was not pressed for time, he generally took a cup of teato her in bed. 

Nothing now remained to be done but to put some coal and wood ready inthe fender so that there would be no unnecessary delay in the morning. 

The baby was still sleeping and Ruth did not like to wake him up yet todress him for the night. Easton was sitting by the fire smoking, soeverything being done, Ruth sat down at the table and began sewing. Presently she spoke:

'I wish you'd let me try to let that back room upstairs: the woman nextdoor has got hers let unfurnished to an elderly woman and her husbandfor two shillings a week. If we could get someone like that it wouldbe better than having an empty room in the house. '

'And we'd always have them messing about down here, cooking and washingand one thing and another, ' objected Easton; 'they'd be more troublethan they way worth. '

'Well, we might try and furnish it. There's Mrs Crass across the roadhas got two lodgers in one room. They pay her twelve shillings a weekeach; board, lodging and washing. That's one pound four she has comingin reglar every week. If we could do the same we'd very soon be out ofdebt. '

'What's the good of talking? You'd never be able to do the work evenif we had the furniture. '

'Oh, the work's nothing, ' replied Ruth, 'and as for the furniture, we've got plenty of spare bedclothes, and we could easily managewithout a washstand in our room for a bit, so the only thing we reallywant is a small bedstead and mattress; we could get them very cheapsecond-hand. '

'There ought to be a chest of drawers, ' said Easton doubtfully. 

'I don't think so, ' replied Ruth. 'There's a cupboard in the room andwhoever took it would be sure to have a box. '

'Well, if you think you can do the work I've no objection, ' saidEaston. 'It'll be a nuisance having a stranger in the way all thetime, but I suppose we must do something of the sort or else we'll haveto give up the house and take a couple of rooms somewhere. That wouldbe worse than having lodgers ourselves. 

'Let's go and have a look at the room, ' he added, getting up and takingthe lamp from the wall. 

They had to go up two flights of stairs before arriving at the toplanding, where there were two doors, one leading into the frontroom--their bedroom--and the other into the empty back room. These twodoors were at right angles to each other. The wallpaper in the backroom was damaged and soiled in several places. 

'There's nearly a whole roll of this paper on the top of the cupboard, 'said Ruth. 'You could easily mend all those places. We could hag up afew almanacks on the walls; our washstand could go there by the window;a chair just there, and the bed along that wall behind the door. It'sonly a small window, so I could easily manage to make a curtain out ofsomething. I'm sure I could make the room look quite nice withoutspending hardly anything. '

Easton reached down the roll of paper. It was the same pattern as thaton the wall. The latter was a good deal faded, of course, but it wouldnot matter much if the patches showed a little. They returned to thekitchen. 

'Do you think you know anyone who would take it?' asked Ruth. Eastonsmoked thoughtfully. 

'No, ' he said at length. 'But I'll mention it to one or two of thechaps on the job; they might know of someone. '

'And I'll get Mrs Crass to ask her lodgers: p'raps they might have afriend what would like to live near them. '

So it was settled; and as the fire was nearly out and it was gettinglate, they prepared to retire for the night. The baby was stillsleeping so Easton lifted it, cradle and all, and carried it up thenarrow staircase into the front bedroom, Ruth leading the way, carryingthe lamp and some clothes for the child. So that the infant might bewithin easy reach of its mother during the night, two chairs werearranged close to her side of the bed and the cradle placed on them. 

'Now we've forgot the clock, ' said Easton, pausing. He was halfundressed and had already removed his slippers. 

'I'll slip down and get it, ' said Ruth. 

'Never mind, I'll go, ' said Easton, beginning to put his slippers onagain. 

'No, you get into bed. I've not started undressing yet. I'll get it, 'replied Ruth who was already on her way down. 

'I don't know as it was worth the trouble of going down, ' said Ruthwhen she returned with the clock. 'It stopped three or four timestoday. '

'Well, I hope it don't stop in the night, ' Easton said. 'It would be abit of all right not knowing what time it was in the morning. Isuppose the next thing will be that we'll have to buy a new clock. '

He woke several times during the night and struck a match to see if itwas yet time to get up. At half past two the clock was still going andhe again fell asleep. The next time he work up the ticking had ceased. He wondered what time it was? It was still very dark, but that wasnothing to go by, because it was always dark at six now. He was wideawake: it must be nearly time to get up. It would never do to be late;he might get the sack. 

He got up and dressed himself. Ruth was asleep, so he crept quietlydownstairs, lit the fire and heated the tea. When it was ready he wentsoftly upstairs again. Ruth was still sleeping, so he decided not todisturb her. Returning to the kitchen, he poured out and drank a cupof tea, put on his boots, overcoat and hat and taking his basket wentout of the house. 

The rain was still falling and it was very cold and dark. There was noone else in the street. Easton shivered as he walked along wonderingwhat time it could be. He remembered there was a clock over the frontof a jeweller's shop a little way down the main road. When he arrivedat this place he found that the clock being so high up he could not seethe figures on the face distinctly, because it was still very dark. Hestood staring for a few minutes vainly trying to see what time it waswhen suddenly the light of a bull's-eye lantern was flashed into hiseyes. 

'You're about very early, ' said a voice, the owner of which Eastoncould not see. The light blinded him. 

'What time is it?' said Easton. 'I've got to get to work at seven andour clock stopped during the night. '

'Where are you working?'

'At "The Cave" in Elmore Road. You know, near the old toll gate. '

'What are you doing there and who are you working for?' the policemandemanded. 

Easton explained. 

'Well, ' said the constable, 'it's very strange that you should bewandering about at this hour. It's only about three-quarters of anhour's walk from here to Elmore Road. You say you've got to get thereat seven, and it's only a quarter to four now. Where do you live?What's your name?' Easton gave his name and address and beganrepeating the story about the clock having stopped. 

'What you say may be all right or it may not, ' interrupted thepoliceman. 'I'm not sure but that I ought to take you to the station. All I know about you is that I find you loitering outside this shop. What have you got in that basket?'

'Only my breakfast, ' Easton said, opening the basket and displaying itscontents. 

'I'm inclined to believe what you say, ' said the policeman, after apause. 'But to make quite sure I'll go home with you. It's on mybeat, and I don't want to run you in if you're what you say you are, but I should advise you to buy a decent clock, or you'll be gettingyourself into trouble. '

When they arrived at the house Easton opened the door, and after makingsome entries in his note-book the officer went away, much to the reliefof Easton, who went upstairs, set the hands of the clock right andstarted it going again. He then removed his overcoat and lay down onthe bed in his clothes, covering himself with the quilt. After a whilehe fell asleep, and when he awoke the clock was still ticking. 

The time was exactly seven o'clock. 

Chapter 4

The Placard

Frank Owen was the son of a journeyman carpenter who had died ofconsumption when the boy was only five years old. After that hismother earned a scanty living as a needle-woman. When Frank wasthirteen he went to work for a master decorator who was a man of a typethat has now almost disappeared, being not merely an employer but acraftsman of a high order. 

He was an old man when Frank Owen went to work for him. At one time hehad had a good business in the town, and used to boast that he hadalways done good work, had found pleasure in doing it and had been wellpaid for it. But of late years the number of his customers haddwindled considerably, for there had arisen a new generation whichcared nothing about craftsmanship or art, and everything for cheapnessand profit. From this man and by laborious study and practice in hisspare time, aided by a certain measure of natural ability, the boyacquired a knowledge of decorative painting and design, and grainingand signwriting. 

Frank's mother died when he was twenty-four, and a year afterwards hemarried the daughter of a fellow workman. In those days trade wasfairly good and although there was not much demand for the moreartistic kinds of work, still the fact that he was capable of doingthem, if required, made it comparatively easy for him to obtainemployment. Owen and his wife were very happy. They had one child--aboy--and for some years all went well. But gradually this state ofthings altered: broadly speaking, the change came slowly andimperceptibly, although there were occasional sudden fluctuations. 

Even in summer he could not always find work: and in winter it wasalmost impossible to get a job of any sort. At last, about twelvemonths before the date that this story opens, he determined to leavehis wife and child at home and go to try his fortune in London. Whenhe got employment he would send for them. 

It was a vain hope. He found London, if anything, worse than hisnative town. Wherever he went he was confronted with the legend: 'Nohands wanted'. He walked the streets day after day; pawned or sold allhis clothes save those he stood in, and stayed in London for sixmonths, sometimes starving and only occasionally obtaining a few daysor weeks work. 

At the end of that time he was forced to give in. The privations hehad endured, the strain on his mind and the foul atmosphere of the citycombined to defeat him. Symptoms of the disease that had killed hisfather began to manifest themselves, and yielding to the repeatedentreaties of his wife he returned to his native town, the shadow ofhis former self. 

That was six months ago, and since then he had worked for Rushton & Co. Occasionally when they had no work in hand, he was 'stood off' untilsomething came in. 

Ever since his return from London, Owen had been gradually abandoninghimself to hopelessness. Every day he felt that the disease hesuffered from was obtaining a stronger grip on him. The doctor toldhim to 'take plenty of nourishing food', and prescribed costlymedicines which Owen had not the money to buy. 

Then there was his wife. Naturally delicate, she needed many thingsthat he was unable to procure for her. And the boy--what hope wasthere for him? Often as Owen moodily thought of their circumstancesand prospects he told himself that it would be far better if they couldall three die now, together. 

He was tired of suffering himself, tired of impotently watching thesufferings of his wife, and appalled at the thought of what was instore for the child. 

Of this nature were his reflections as he walked homewards on theevening of the day when old Linden was dismissed. There was no reasonto believe or hope that the existing state of things would be alteredfor a long time to come. 

Thousands of people like himself dragged out a wretched existence onthe very verge of starvation, and for the greater number of people lifewas one long struggle against poverty. Yet practically none of thesepeople knew or even troubled themselves to inquire why they were inthat condition; and for anyone else to try to explain to them was aridiculous waste of time, for they did not want to know. 

The remedy was so simple, the evil so great and so glaringly evidentthat the only possible explanation of its continued existence was thatthe majority of his fellow workers were devoid of the power ofreasoning. If these people were not mentally deficient they would oftheir own accord have swept this silly system away long ago. It wouldnot have been necessary for anyone to teach them that it was wrong. 

Why, even those who were successful or wealthy could not be sure thatthey would not eventually die of want. In every workhouse might befound people who had at one time occupied good positions; and theirdownfall was not in every case their own fault. 

No matter how prosperous a man might be, he could not be certain thathis children would never want for bread. There were thousands livingin misery on starvation wages whose parents had been wealthy people. 

As Owen strode rapidly along, his mind filled with these thoughts, hewas almost unconscious of the fact that he was wet through to the skin. He was without an overcoat, it was pawned in London, and he had not yetbeen able to redeem it. His boots were leaky and sodden with mud andrain. 

He was nearly home now. At the corner of the street in which he livedthere was a newsagent's shop and on a board outside the door wasdisplayed a placard:

 TERRIBLE DOMESTIC TRAGEDY DOUBLE MURDER AND SUICIDE

He went in to buy a copy of the paper. He was a frequent customerhere, and as he entered the shopkeeper greeted him by name. 

'Dreadful weather, ' he remarked as he handed Owen the paper. 'It makesthings pretty bad in your line, I suppose?'

'Yes, ' responded Owen, 'there's a lot of men idle, but fortunately Ihappen to be working inside. '

'You're one of the lucky ones, then, ' said the other. 'You know, there'll be a job here for some of 'em as soon as the weather gets alittle better. All the outside of this block is going to be done up. That's a pretty big job, isn't it?'

'Yes, ' returned Owen. 'Who's going to do it?'

'Makehaste and Sloggit. You know, they've got a place over at Windley. '

'Yes, I know the firm, ' said Owen, grimly. He had worked for them onceor twice himself. 

'The foreman was in here today, ' the shopkeeper went on. 'He saidthey're going to make a start Monday morning if it's fine. '

'Well, I hope it will be, ' said Owen, 'because things are very quietjust now. '

Wishing the other 'Good nigh', Owen again proceeded homewards. 

Half-way down the street he paused irresolutely: he was thinking of thenews he had just heard and of Jack Linden. 

As soon as it became generally known that this work was about to bestarted there was sure to be a rush for it, and it would be a case offirst come, first served. If he saw Jack tonight the old man might bein time to secure a job. 

Owen hesitated: he was wet through: it was a long way to Linden'splace, nearly twenty minutes' walk. Still, he would like to let himknow, because unless he was one of the first to apply, Linden would notstand such a good chance as a younger man. Owen said to himself thatif he walked very fast there was not much risk of catching cold. Standing about in wet clothes might be dangerous, but so long as onekept moving it was all right. 

He turned back and set off in the direction of Linden's house: althoughhe was but a few yards from his own home, he decided not to go inbecause his wife would be sure to try to persuade him not to go outagain. 

As he hurried along he presently noticed a small dark object on thedoorstep of an untenanted house. He stopped to examine it more closelyand perceived that it was a small black kitten. The tiny creature cametowards him and began walking about his feet, looking into his face andcrying piteously. He stooped down and stroked it, shuddering as hishands came in contact with its emaciated body. Its fur was saturatedwith rain and every joint of its backbone was distinctly perceptible tothe touch. As he caressed it, the starving creature mewed pathetically. 

Owen decided to take it home to the boy, and as he picked it up and putit inside his coat the little outcast began to purr. 

This incident served to turn his thoughts into another channel. If, as so many people pretended to believe, there was an infinitely lovingGod, how was it that this helpless creature that He had made wascondemned to suffer? It had never done any harm, and was in no senseresponsible for the fact that it existed. Was God unaware of themiseries of His creatures? If so, then He was not all-knowing. WasGod aware of their sufferings, but unable to help them? Then He wasnot all-powerful. Had He the power but not the will to make Hiscreatures happy? Then He was not good. No; it was impossible tobelieve in the existence of an individual, infinite God. . In fact, noone did so believe; and least of all those who pretended for variousreasons to be the disciples and followers of Christ. The anti-Christswho went about singing hymns, making long prayers and crying Lord, Lord, but never doing the things which He said, who were known by theirwords to be unbelievers and infidels, unfaithful to the Master theypretended to serve, their lives being passed in deliberate andsystematic disregard of His teachings and Commandments. It was notnecessary to call in the evidence of science, or to refer to thesupposed inconsistencies, impossibilities, contradictions andabsurdities contained in the Bible, in order to prove there was notruth in the Christian religion. All that was necessary was to look atthe conduct of the individuals who were its votaries. 

Chapter 5

The Clock-case

Jack Linden lived in a small cottage in Windley. He had occupied thishouse ever since his marriage, over thirty years ago. 

His home and garden were his hobby: he was always doing something;painting, whitewashing, papering and so forth. The result was thatalthough the house itself was not of much account he had managed to getit into very good order, and as a result it was very clean andcomfortable. 

Another result of his industry was that--seeing the improved appearanceof the place--the landlord had on two occasions raised the rent. WhenLinden first took the house the rent was six shillings a week. Fiveyears after, it was raised to seven shillings, and after the lapse ofanother five years it had been increased to eight shillings. 

During the thirty years of his tenancy he had paid altogether nearlysix hundred pounds in rent, more than double the amount of the presentvalue of the house. Jack did not complain of this--in fact he was verywell satisfied. He often said that Mr Sweater was a very goodlandlord, because on several occasions when, being out of work, he hadbeen a few weeks behind with his rent the agent acting for thebenevolent Mr Sweater had allowed Linden to pay off the arrears byinstalments. As old Jack was in the habit of remarking, many alandlord would have sold up their furniture and turned them into thestreet. 

As the reader is already aware, Linden's household consisted of hiswife, his two grandchildren and his daughter-in-law, the window andchildren of his youngest son, a reservist, who died while serving inthe South African War. This man had been a plasterer, and just beforethe war he was working for Rushton & Co. 

They had just finished their tea when Owen knocked at their front door. The young woman went to see who was there. 

'Is Mr Linden in?'

'Yes. Who is it?'

'My name's Owen. '

Old Jack, however, had already recognized Owen's voice, and came to thedoor, wondering what he wanted. 

'As I was going home I heard that Makehaste and Sloggit are going tostart a large job on Monday, so I thought I'd run over and let youknow. '

'Are they?' said Linden. 'I'll go and see them in the morning. ButI'm afraid I won't stand much chance, because a lot of their regularhands are waiting for a job; but I'll go and see 'em all the same. '

'Well, you know, it's a big job. All the outside of that block at thecorner of Kerk Street and Lord Street. They're almost sure to want afew extra hands. '

'Yes, there's something in that, ' said Linden. 'Anyhow, I'm muchobliged to you for letting me know; but come in out of the rain. Youmust be wet through. '

'No; I won't stay, ' responded Owen. 'I don't want to stand about anylonger than I can help in these wet clothes. '

'But it won't take you a minit to drink a cup of tea, ' Linden insisted. 'I won't ask you to stop longer than that. '

Owen entered; the old man closed the door and led the way into thekitchen. At one side of the fire, Linden's wife, a frail-looking oldlady with white hair, was seated in a large armchair, knitting. Lindensat down in a similar chair on the other side. The two grandchildren, a boy and girl about seven and eight years, respectively, were stillseated at the table. 

Standing by the side of the dresser at one end of the room was atreadle sewing machine, and on one end of the dresser was a a pile ofsewing: ladies' blouses in process of making. This was anotherinstance of the goodness of Mr Sweater, from whom Linden'sdaughter-in-law obtained the work. It was not much, because she wasonly able to do it in her spare time, but then, as she often remarked, every little helped. 

The floor was covered with linoleum: there were a number of framedpictures on the walls, and on the high mantelshelf were a number ofbrightly polished tins and copper utensils. The room had thatindescribably homelike, cosy air that is found only in those houses inwhich the inhabitants have dwelt for a very long time. 

The younger woman was already pouring out a cup of tea. 

Old Mrs Linden, who had never seen Owen before, although she had heardof him, belonged to the Church of England and was intensely religious. She looked curiously at the Atheist as he entered the room. He hadtaken off his hat and she was surprised to find that he was notrepulsive to look at, rather the contrary. But then she rememberedthat Satan often appears as an angel of light. Appearances aredeceitful. She wished that John had not asked him into the house andhoped that no evil consequences would follow. As she looked at him, she was horrified to perceive a small black head with a pair ofglistening green eyes peeping out of the breast of his coat, andimmediately afterwards the kitten, catching sight of the cups andsaucers on the table, began to mew frantically and scrambled suddenlyout of its shelter, inflicting a severe scratch on Owen's restraininghands as it jumped to the floor. 

It clambered up the tablecloth and began rushing all over the table, darting madly from one plate to another, seeking something to eat. 

The children screamed with delight. Their grandmother was filled witha feeling of superstitious alarm. Linden and the young woman stoodstaring with astonishment at the unexpected visitor. 

Before the kitten had time to do any damage, Owen caught hold of itand, despite its struggles, lifted it off the table. 

'I found it in the street as I was coming along, ' he said. 'It seemsto be starving. '

'Poor little thing. I'll give it something. ' exclaimed the young woman. 

She put some milk and bread into a saucer for it and the kitten ateravenously, almost upsetting the saucer in its eagerness, much to theamusement of the two children, who stood by watching it admiringly. 

Their mother now handed Owen a cup of tea. Linden insisted on hissitting down and then began to talk about Hunter. 

'You know I HAD to spend some time on them doors to make 'em lookanything at all; but it wasn't the time I took, or even the smokingwhat made 'im go on like that. He knows very well the time it takes. The real reason is that he thinks I was gettin' too much money. Workis done so rough nowadays that chaps like Sawkins is good enough formost of it. Hunter shoved me off just because I was getting the topmoney, and you'll see I won't be the only one. '

'I'm afraid you're right, ' returned Owen. 'Did you see Rushton whenyou went for your money?'

'Yes, ' replied Linden. 'I hurried up as fast as I could, but Hunterwas there first. He passed me on his bike before I got half-way, so Isuppose he told his tale before I came. Anyway, when I started tospeak to Mr Rushton he wouldn't listen. Said he couldn't interferebetween Mr Hunter and the men. #

'Ah! They're a bad lot, them two, ' said the old woman, shaking herhead sagely. 'But it'll all come 'ome to 'em, you'll see. They'llnever prosper. The Lord will punish them. '

Owen did not feel very confident of that. Most of the people he knewwho had prospered were very similar in character to the two worthies inquestion. However, he did not want to argue with this poor old woman. 

'When Tom was called up to go to the war, ' said the young woman, bitterly, 'Mr Rushton shook hands with him and promised to give him ajob when he came back. But now that poor Tom's gone and they know thatme and the children's got no one to look to but Father, they do THIS. '

Although at the mention of her dead son's name old Mrs Linden wasevidently distressed, she was still mindful of the Atheist's presence, and hastened to rebuke her daughter-in-law. 

'You shouldn't say we've got no one to look to, Mary, ' she said. 'We'renot as them who are without God and without hope in the world. The Lordis our shepherd. He careth for the widow and the fatherless. '

Owen was very doubtful about this also. He had seen so many badlycared-for children about the streets lately, and what he remembered ofhis own sorrowful childhood was all evidence to the contrary. 

An awkward silence succeeded. Owen did not wish to continue thisconversation: he was afraid that he might say something that would hurtthe old woman. Besides, he was anxious to get away; he began to feelcold in his wet clothes. 

As he put his empty cup on the table he said:

'Well, I must be going. They'll be thinking I'm lost, at home. '

The kitten had finished all the bread and milk and was gravely washingits face with one of its forepaws, to the great admiration of the twochildren, who were sitting on the floor beside it. It was anartful-looking kitten, all black, with a very large head and a verysmall body. It reminded Owen of a tadpole. 

'Do you like cats?' he asked, addressing the children. 

'Yes, ' said the boy. 'Give it to us, will you, mister?'

'Oh, do leave it 'ere, mister, ' exclaimed the little girl. 'I'll lookafter it. '

'So will I, ' said the boy. 

'But haven't you one of your own?' asked Owen. 

'Yes; we've got a big one. '

'Well, if you have one already and I give you this, then you'd have twocats, and I'd have none. That wouldn't be fair, would it?'

'Well, you can 'ave a lend of our cat for a little while if you give usthis kitten, ' said the boy, after a moment's thought. 

'Why would you rather have the kitten?'

'Because it would play: our cat don't want to play, it's too old. '

'Perhaps you're too rough with it, ' returned Owen. 

'No, it ain't that; it's just because it's old. '

'You know cats is just the same as people, ' explained the little girl, wisely. 'When they're grown up I suppose they've got their troubles tothink about. '

Owen wondered how long it would be before her troubles commenced. Ashe gazed at these two little orphans he thought of his own child, andof the rough and thorny way they would all three have to travel if theywere so unfortunate as to outlive their childhood. 

'Can we 'ave it, mister?' repeated the boy. 

Owen would have liked to grant the children's request, but he wantedthe kitten himself. Therefore he was relieved when their grandmotherexclaimed:

'We don't want no more cats 'ere: we've got one already; that's quiteenough. '

She was not yet quite satisfied in her mind that the creature was notan incarnation of the Devil, but whether it was or not she did not wantit, or anything else of Owen's, in this house. She wished he would go, and take his kitten or his familiar or whatever it was, with him. Nogood could come of his being there. Was it not written in the Word:'If any man love not the Lord Jesus Christ, let him be AnathemaMaran-atha. ' She did not know exactly what Anathema Maran-atha meant, but there could be no doubt that it was something very unpleasant. Itwas a terrible thing that this blasphemer who--as she had heard--didnot believe there was a Hell and said that the Bible was not the Wordof God, should be here in the house sitting on one of their chairs, drinking from one of their cups, and talking to their children. 

The children stood by wistfully when Owen put the kitten under his coatand rose to go away. 

As Linden prepared to accompany him to the front door, Owen, happeningto notice a timepiece standing on a small table in the recess at oneside of the fireplace, exclaimed:

'That's a very nice clock. '

'Yes, it's all right, ain't it?' said old Jack, with a touch of pride. 'Poor Tom made that: not the clock itself, but just the case. '

It was the case that had attracted Owen's attention. It stood abouttwo feet high and was made of fretwork in the form of an Indian mosque, with a pointed dome and pinnacles. It was a very beautiful thing andmust have cost many hours of patient labour. 

'Yes, ' said the old woman, in a trembling, broken voice, and looking atOwen with a pathetic expression. 'Months and months he worked at it, and no one ever guessed who it were for. And then, when my birthdaycame round, the very first thing I saw when I woke up in the morningwere the clock standing on a chair by the bed with a card:

 'To dear mother, from her loving son, Tom. Wishing her many happy birthdays. '

'But he never had another birthday himself, because just five monthsafterwards he were sent out to Africa, and he'd only been there fiveweeks when he died. Five years ago, come the fifteenth of next month. '

Owen, inwardly regretting that he had unintentionally broached sopainful a subject, tried to think of some suitable reply, but had tocontent himself with murmuring some words of admiration of the work. 

As he wished her good night, the old woman, looking at him, could nothelp observing that he appeared very frail and ill: his face was verythin and pale, and his eyes were unnaturally bright. 

Possibly the Lord in His infinite loving kindness and mercy waschastening this unhappy castaway in order that He might bring him toHimself. After all, he was not altogether bad: it was certainly verythoughtful of him to come all this way to let John know about that job. She observed that he had no overcoat, and the storm was still ragingfiercely outside, furious gusts of wind frequently striking the houseand shaking it to its very foundations. 

The natural kindliness of her character asserted itself; her betterfeelings were aroused, triumphing momentarily over the bigotry of herreligious opinions. 

'Why, you ain't got no overcoat!' she exclaimed. 'You'll be soakedgoin' 'ome in this rain. ' Then, turning to her husband, she continued:'There's that old one of yours; you might lend him that; it would bebetter than nothing. '

But Owen would not hear of this: he thought, as he became veryconscious of the clammy feel of his saturated clothing, that he couldnot get much wetter than he already was. Linden accompanied him as faras the front door, and Owen once more set out on his way homewardthrough the storm that howled around like a wild beast hungry for itsprey. 

Chapter 6

It is not My Crime

Owen and his family occupied the top floor of a house that had oncebeen a large private dwelling but which had been transformed into aseries of flats. It was situated in Lord Street, almost in the centreof the town. 

At one time this had been a most aristocratic locality, but most of theformer residents had migrated to the newer suburb at the west of thetown. Notwithstanding this fact, Lord Street was still a mostrespectable neighbourhood, the inhabitants generally being of a verysuperior type: shop-walkers, shop assistants, barber's clerks, boardinghouse keepers, a coal merchant, and even two retired jerry-builders. 

There were four other flats in the house in which Owen lived. No. 1(the basement) was occupied by an estate agent's clerk. No. 2--on alevel with the street--was the habitat of the family of Mr Trafaim, acadaverous-looking gentleman who wore a top hat, boasted of his Frenchdescent, and was a shop-walker at Sweater's Emporium. No. 3 wastenanted by an insurance agent, and in No. 4 dwelt a tallyman'straveller. 

Lord Street--like most other similar neighbourhoods--supplied astriking answer to those futile theorists who prate of the equality ofmankind, for the inhabitants instinctively formed themselves intogroups, the more superior types drawing together, separating themselvesfrom the inferior, and rising naturally to the top, while the othersgathered themselves into distinct classes, grading downwards, or elseisolated themselves altogether; being refused admission to the circlesthey desired to enter, and in their turn refusing to associate withtheir inferiors. 

The most exclusive set consisted of the families of the coal merchant, the two retired jerry-builders and Mr Trafaim, whose superiority wasdemonstrated by the fact that, to say nothing of his French extraction, he wore--in addition to the top hat aforesaid--a frock coat and a pairof lavender trousers every day. The coal merchant and the jerrybuilders also wore top hats, lavender trousers and frock coats, butonly on Sundays and other special occasions. The estate agent's clerkand the insurance agent, though excluded from the higher circle, belonged to another select coterie from which they excluded in theirturn all persons of inferior rank, such as shop assistants or barbers. 

The only individual who was received with equal cordiality by allranks, was the tallyman's traveller. But whatever differences existedamongst them regarding each other's social standing they were unanimouson one point at least: they were indignant at Owen's presumption incoming to live in such a refined locality. 

This low fellow, this common workman, with his paint-bespatteredclothing, his broken boots, and his generally shabby appearance, was adisgrace to the street; and as for his wife she was not much better, because although whenever she came out she was always neatly dressed, yet most of the neighbours knew perfectly well that she had beenwearing the same white straw hat all the time she had been there. Infact, the only tolerable one of the family was the boy, and they wereforced to admit that he was always very well dressed; so well indeed asto occasion some surprise, until they found out that all the boy'sclothes were home-made. Then their surprise was changed into asomewhat grudging admiration of the skill displayed, mingled withcontempt for the poverty which made its exercise necessary. 

The indignation of the neighbours was increased when it became knownthat Owen and his wife were not Christians: then indeed everyone agreedthat the landlord ought to be ashamed of himself for letting the topflat to such people. 

But although the hearts of these disciples of the meek and lowly Jewishcarpenter were filled with uncharitableness, they were powerless to domuch harm. The landlord regarded their opinion with indifference. Allhe cared about was the money: although he also was a sincere Christian, he would not have hesitated to let the top flat to Satan himself, provided he was certain of receiving the rent regularly. 

The only one upon whom the Christians were able to inflict anysuffering was the child. At first when he used to go out into thestreet to play, the other children, acting on their parents'instructions, refused to associate with him, or taunted him with hisparents' poverty. Occasionally he came home heartbroken and in tearsbecause he had been excluded from some game. 

At first, sometimes the mothers of some of the better-class childrenused to come out with a comical assumption of superiority and dignityand compel their children to leave off playing with Frankie and someother poorly dressed children who used to play in that street. Thesefemales were usually overdressed and wore a lot of jewellery. Most ofthem fancied they were ladies, and if they had only had the sense tokeep their mouths shut, other people might possibly have shared thesame delusion. 

But this was now a rare occurrence, because the parents of the otherchildren found it a matter of considerable difficulty to prevent theiryoungsters from associating with those of inferior rank, for when leftto themselves the children disregarded all such distinctions. Frequently in that street was to be seen the appalling spectacle of theten-year-old son of the refined and fashionable Trafaim dragging alonga cart constructed of a sugar box and an old pair of perambulatorwheels with no tyres, in which reposed the plebeian Frankie Owen, armedwith a whip, and the dowdy daughter of a barber's clerk: while thenine-year-old heir of the coal merchant rushed up behind. .. 

Owen's wife and little son were waiting for him in the living room. This room was about twelve feet square and the ceiling--which was lowand irregularly shaped, showing in places the formation of theroof--had been decorated by Owen with painted ornaments. 

There were three or four chairs, and an oblong table, covered with aclean white tablecloth, set ready for tea. In the recess at the rightof fireplace--an ordinary open grate--were a number of shelves filledwith a miscellaneous collection of books, most of which had been boughtsecond-hand. 

There were also a number of new books, mostly cheap editions in papercovers. 

Over the back of a chair at one side of the fire, was hanging an oldsuit of Owen's, and some underclothing, which his wife had placed thereto air, knowing that he would be wet through by the time he arrivedhome. .. 

The woman was half-sitting, half lying, on a couch by the other side ofthe fire. She was very thin, and her pale face bore the traces of muchphysical and mental suffering. She was sewing, a task which herreclining position rendered somewhat difficult. Although she wasreally only twenty-eight years of age, she appeared older. 

The boy, who was sitting on the hearthrug playing with some toys, borea strong resemblance to his mother. He also, appeared very fragile andin his childish face was reproduced much of the delicate prettinesswhich she had once possessed. His feminine appearance was increased bythe fact that his yellow hair hung in long curls on his shoulders. Thepride with which his mother regarded this long hair was by no meansshared by Frankie himself, for he was always entreating her to cut itoff. 

Presently the boy stood up and walking gravely over to the window, looked down into the street, scanning the pavement for as far as hecould see: he had been doing this at intervals for the last hour. 

'I wonder wherever he's got to, ' he said, as he returned to the fire. 

'I'm sure I don't know, ' returned his mother. 'Perhaps he's had towork overtime. '

'You know, I've been thinking lately, ' observed Frankie, after a pause, 'that it's a great mistake for Dad to go out working at all. I believethat's the very reason why we're so poor. '

'Nearly everyone who works is more or less poor, dear, but if Daddidn't go out to work we'd be even poorer than we are now. We shouldhave nothing to eat. '

'But Dad says that the people who do nothing get lots of everything. '

'Yes, and it's quite true that most of the people who never do any workget lots of everything, but where do they get it from? And how do theyget it?'

'I'm sure I don't know, ' replied Frankie, shaking his head in a puzzledfashion. 

'Supposing Dad didn't go to work, or that he had no work to go to, orthat he was ill and not able to do any work, then we'd have no money tobuy anything. How should we get on then?'

'I'm sure I don't know, ' repeated Frankie, looking round the room in athoughtful manner, 'The chairs that's left aren't good enough to sell, and we can't sell the beds, or your sofa, but you might pawn my velvetsuit. '

'But even if all the things were good enough to sell, the money we'dget for them wouldn't last very long, and what should we do then?'

'Well, I suppose we'd have to go without, that's all, the same as wedid when Dad was in London. '

'But how do the people who never do any work manage to get lots ofmoney then?' added Frankie. 

'Oh, there's lots of different ways. For instance, you remember whenDad was in London, and we had no food in the house, I had to sell theeasy chair. '

Frankie nodded. 'Yes, ' he said, 'I remember you wrote a note and Itook it to the shop, and afterwards old Didlum came up here and boughtit, and then his cart came and a man took it away. '

'And do you remember how much he gave us for it?'

'Five shillings, ' replied Frankie, promptly. He was well acquaintedwith the details of the transaction, having often heard his father andmother discuss it. 

'And when we saw it in his shop window a little while afterwards, whatprice was marked on it?'

'Fifteen shillings. '

Well, that's one way of getting money without working. 

Frankie played with his toys in silence for some minutes. At last hesaid:

'What other ways?'

'Some people who have some money already get more in this way: theyfind some people who have no money and say to them, "Come and work forus. " Then the people who have the money pay the workers just enoughwages to keep them alive whilst they are at work. Then, when thethings that the working people have been making are finished, theworkers are sent away, and as they still have no money, they are soonstarving. In the meantime the people who had the money take all thethings that the workers have made and sell them for a great deal moremoney than they gave to the workers for making them. That's anotherway of getting lots of money without doing any useful work. '

'But is there no way to get rich without doing such things as that?'

'It's not possible for anyone to become rich without cheating otherpeople. '

'What about our schoolmaster then? He doesn't do any work. '

'Don't you think it's useful and and also very hard work teaching allthose boys every day? I don't think I should like to have to do it. '

'Yes, I suppose what he does is some use, ' said Frankie thoughtfully. 'And it must be rather hard too, I should think. I've noticed he looksa bit worried sometimes, and sometimes he gets into a fine old wax whenthe boys don't pay proper attention. '

The child again went over to the window, and pulling back the edge ofthe blind looked down the deserted rain washed street. 

'What about the vicar?' he remarked as he returned. 

Although Frankie did not go to church or Sunday School, the day schoolthat he had attended was that attached to the parish church, and thevicar was in the habit of looking in occasionally. 

'Ah, he really is one of those who live without doing any necessarywork, and of all the people who do nothing, the vicar is one of thevery worst. '

Frankie looked up at his mother with some surprise, not because heentertained any very high opinion of clergymen in general, for, havingbeen an attentive listener to many conversations between his parents, he had of course assimilated their opinions as far as his infantunderstanding permitted, but because at the school the scholars weretaught to regard the gentleman in question with the most profoundreverence and respect. 

'Why, Mum?' he asked. 

'For this reason, dearie. You know that all the beautiful things whichthe people who do nothing have are made by the people who work, don'tyou?'

'Yes. '

'And you know that those who work have to eat the very worst food, andwear the very worst clothes, and live in the very worst homes. '

'Yes, ' said Frankie. 

'And sometimes they have nothing to eat at all, and no clothes to wearexcept rags, and even no homes to live in. '

'Yes, ' repeated the child. 

'Well, the vicar goes about telling the Idlers that it's quite rightfor them to do nothing, and that God meant them to have nearlyeverything that is made by those who work. In fact, he tells them thatGod made the poor for the use of the rich. Then he goes to the workersand tells them that God meant them to work very hard and to give allthe good things they make to those who do nothing, and that they shouldbe very thankful to God and to the idlers for being allowed to haveeven the very worst food to eat and the rags, and broken boots to wear. He also tells them that they mustn't grumble, or be discontentedbecause they're poor in this world, but that they must wait tillthey're dead, and then God will reward them by letting them go to aplace called Heaven. '

Frankie laughed. 

'And what about the Idlers?' he asked. 

'The vicar says that if they believe everything he tells them and givehim some of the money they make out of the workers, then God will letthem into heaven also. '

'Well, that's not fair doos, is it, Mum?' said Frankie with someindignation. 

'It wouldn't be if it were true, but then you see it's not true, itcan't be true. '

'Why can't it, Mum?'

'Oh, for many reasons: to begin with, the vicar doesn't believe ithimself: he only pretends to. For instance, he pretends to believe theBible, but if we read the Bible we find that Jesus said that God is ourfather and that all the people in the world are His children, allbrothers and sisters. But the vicar says that although Jesus said"brothers and sisters" He really ought to have said "masters andservants". Again, Jesus said that His disciples should not think oftomorrow, or save up a lot of money for themselves, but they should beunselfish and help those who are in need. Jesus said that Hisdisciples must not think about their own future needs at all, becauseGod will provide for them if they only do as He commands. But thevicar says that is all nonsense. 

'Jesus also said that if anyone tried to do His disciples harm, theymust never resist, but forgive those who injured them and pray God toforgive them also. But the vicar says this is all nonsense too. Hesays that the world would never be able to go on if we did as Jesustaught. The vicar teaches that the way to deal with those that injureus is to have them put into prison, or--if they belong to some othercountry--to take guns and knives and murder them, and burn theirhouses. So you see the vicar doesn't really believe or do any of thethings that Jesus said: he only pretends. '

'But why does he pretend, and go about talking like that, Mum? Whatdoes he do it for?'

'Because he wishes to live without working himself, dear. '

'And don't the people know he's only pretending?'

'Some of them do. Most of the idlers know that what the vicar says isnot true, but they pretend to believe it, and give him money for sayingit, because they want him to go on telling it to the workers so thatthey will go on working and keep quiet and be afraid to think forthemselves. '

'And what about the workers? Do they believe it?

'Most of them do, because when they were little children like you, their mothers taught them to believe, without thinking, whatever thevicar said, and that God made them for the use of the idlers. Whenthey went to school, they were taught the same thing: and now thatthey're grown up they really believe it, and they go to work and givenearly everything they make to the idlers, and have next to nothingleft for themselves and their children. That's the reason why theworkers' children have very bad clothes to wear and sometimes no foodto eat; and that's how it is that the idlers and their children havemore clothes than they need and more food than they can eat. Some ofthem have so much food that they are not able to eat it. They justwaste it or throw it away. '

'When I'm grown up into a man, ' said Frankie, with a flushed face, 'I'mgoing to be one of the workers, and when we've made a lot of things, Ishall stand up and tell the others what to do. If any of the idlerscome to take our things away, they'll get something they won't like. '

In a state of suppressed excitement and scarcely conscious of what hewas doing, the boy began gathering up the toys and throwing theviolently one by one into the box. 

'I'll teach 'em to come taking our things away, ' he exclaimed, relapsing momentarily into his street style of speaking. 

'First of all we'll all stand quietly on one side. Then when theidlers come in and start touching our things, we'll go up to 'em andsay, "'Ere, watcher doin' of? Just you put it down, will yer?" And ifthey don't put it down at once, it'll be the worse for 'em, I can tellyou. '

All the toys being collected, Frankie picked up the box and placed itnoisily in its accustomed corner of the room. 

'I should think the workers will be jolly glad when they see me comingto tell them what to do, shouldn't you, Mum?'

'I don't know dear; you see so many people have tried to tell them, butthey won't listen, they don't want to hear. They think it's quiteright that they should work very hard all their lives, and quite rightthat most of the things they help to make should be taken away fromthem by the people who do nothing. The workers think that theirchildren are not as good as the children of the idlers, and they teachtheir children that as soon as ever they are old enough they must besatisfied to work very hard and to have only very bad good and clothesand homes. '

'Then I should think the workers ought to be jolly ashamed ofthemselves, Mum, don't you?'

'Well, in one sense they ought, but you must remember that that's whatthey've always been taught themselves. First, their mothers andfathers told them so; then, their schoolteachers told them so; andthen, when they went to church, the vicar and the Sunday School teachertold them the same thing. So you can't be surprised that they nowreally believe that God made them and their children to make things forthe use of the people who do nothing. '

'But you'd think their own sense would tell them! How can it be rightfor the people who do nothing to have the very best and most ofeverything thats made, and the very ones who make everything to havehardly any. Why even I know better than that, and I'm only six and ahalf years old. '

'But then you're different, dearie, you've been taught to think aboutit, and Dad and I have explained it to you, often. '

'Yes, I know, ' replied Frankie confidently. 'But even if you'd nevertaught me, I'm sure I should have tumbled to it all right by myself;I'm not such a juggins as you think I am. '

'So you might, but you wouldn't if you'd been brought up in the sameway as most of the workers. They've been taught that it's very wickedto use their own judgement, or to think. And their children are beingtaught so now. Do you remember what you told me the other day, whenyou came home from school, about the Scripture lesson?'

'About St Thomas?'

'Yes. What did the teacher say St Thomas was?'

'She said he was a bad example; and she said I was worse than himbecause I asked too many foolish questions. She always gets in a waxif I talk too much. '

'Well, why did she call St Thomas a bad example?'

'Because he wouldn't believe what he was told. '

'Exactly: well, when you told Dad about it what did he say?'

'Dad told me that really St Thomas was the only sensible man in thewhole crowd of Apostles. That is, ' added Frankie, correcting himself, 'if there ever was such a man at all. '

'But did Dad say that there never was such a man?'

'No; he said HE didn't believe there ever was, but he told me to justlisten to what the teacher said about such things, and then to thinkabout it in my own mind, and wait till I'm grown up and then I can usemy own judgement. '

'Well, now, that's what YOU were told, but all the other children'smothers and fathers tell them to believe, without thinking, whateverthe teacher says. So it will be no wonder if those children are notable to think for themselves when they're grown up, will it?'

'Don't you think it will be any use, then, for me to tell them what todo to the Idlers?' asked Frankie, dejectedly. 

'Hark!' said his mother, holding up her finger. 

'Dad!' cried Frankie, rushing to the door and flinging it open. He ranalong the passage and opened the staircase door before Owen reached thetop of the last flight of stairs. 

'Why ever do you come up at such a rate, ' reproachfully exclaimedOwen's wife as he came into the room exhausted from the climb upstairsand sank panting into the nearest chair. 

'I al-ways-for-get, ' he replied, when he had in some degree recovered. As he lay back in the chair, his face haggard and of a ghastlywhiteness, and with the water dripping from his saturated clothing, Owen presented a terrible appearance. 

Frankie noticed with childish terror the extreme alarm with which hismother looked at his father. 

'You're always doing it, ' he said with a whimper. 'How many more timeswill Mother have to tell you about it before you take nay notice?'

'It's all right, old chap, ' said Owen, drawing the child nearer to himand kissing the curly head. 'Listen, and see if you can guess whatI've got for you under my coat. '

In the silence the purring of the kitten was distinctly audible. 

'A kitten!' cried the boy, taking it out of its hiding-place. 'Allblack, and I believe it's half a Persian. Just the very thing Iwanted. '

While Frankie amused himself playing with the kitten, which had beenprovided with another saucer of bread and milk, Owen went into thebedroom to put on the dry clothes, and then, those that he had takenoff having been placed with his boots near the fire to dry, heexplained as they were taking tea the reason of his late homecoming. 

'I'm afraid he won't find it very easy to get another job, ' heremarked, referring to Linden. 'Even in the summer nobody will beinclined to take him on. He's too old. '

'It's a dreadful prospect for the two children, ' answered his wife. 

'Yes, ' replied Owen bitterly. 'It's the children who will suffer most. As for Linden and his wife, although of course one can't help feelingsorry for them, at the same time there's no getting away from the factthat they deserve to suffer. All their lives they've been working likebrutes and living in poverty. Although they have done more than theirfair share of the work, they have never enjoyed anything like a fairshare of the things they have helped to produce. And yet, all theirlives they have supported and defended the system that robbed them, andhave resisted and ridiculed every proposal to alter it. It's wrong tofeel sorry for such people; they deserve to suffer. '

After tea, as he watched his wife clearing away the tea things andrearranging the drying clothing by the fire, Owen for the first timenoticed that she looked unusually ill. 

'You don't look well tonight, Nora, ' he said, crossing over to her andputting his arm around her. 

'I don't feel well, ' she replied, resting her head wearily against hisshoulder. 'I've been very bad all day and I had to lie down nearly allthe afternoon. I don't know how I should have managed to get the teaready if it had not been for Frankie. '

'I set the table for you, didn't I, Mum?' said Frankie with pride; 'andtidied up the room as well. '

'Yes, darling, you helped me a lot, ' she answered, and Frankie wentover to her and kissed her hand. 

'Well, you'd better go to bed at once, ' said Owen. 'I can put Frankieto bed presently and do whatever else is necessary. '

'But there are so many things to attend to. I want to see that yourclothes are properly dry and to put something ready for you to take inthe morning before you go out, and then there's your breakfast to packup--'

'I can manage all that. '

'I didn't want to give way to it like this, ' the woman said, 'because Iknow you must be tired out yourself, but I really do feel quite done upnow. '

'Oh, I'm all right, ' replied Owen, who was really so fatigued that hewas scarcely able to stand. 'I'll go and draw the blinds down andlight the other lamp; so say good night to Frankie and come at once. '

'I won't say good night properly, now, Mum, ' remarked the boy, 'becauseDad can carry me into your room before he puts me into bed. '

A little later, as Owen was undressing Frankie, the latter remarked ashe looked affectionately at the kitten, which was sitting on thehearthrug watching the child's every movement under the impression thatit was part of some game:

'What name do you think we ought to call it, Dad?'

'You may give him any name you like, ' replied Owen, absently. 

'I know a dog that lives down the road, ' said the boy, 'his name isMajor. How would that do? Or we might call him Sergeant. '

The kitten, observing that he was the subject of their conversation, purred loudly and winked as if to intimate that he did not care whatrank was conferred upon him so long as the commisariat department wasproperly attended to. 

'I don't know, though, ' continued Frankie, thoughtfully. 'They're allright names for dogs, but I think they're too big for a kitten, don'tyou, Dad?'

'Yes, p'raps they are, ' said Owen. 

'Most cats are called Tom or Kitty, but I don't want a COMMON name forhim. '

'Well, can't you call him after someone you know?'

'I know; I'll call him after a little girl that comes to our school; afine name, Maud! That'll be a good one, won't it Dad?'

'Yes, ' said Owen. 

'I say, Dad, ' said Frankie, suddenly realizing the awful fact that hewas being put to bed. 'You're forgetting all about my story, and youpromised that you'd have a game of trains with me tonight. '

'I hadn't forgotten, but I was hoping that you had, because I'm verytired and it's very late, long past your usual bedtime, you know. Youcan take the kitten to bed with you tonight and I'll tell you twostories tomorrow, because it's Saturday. '

'All right, then, ' said the boy, contentedly; 'and I'll get the railwaystation built and I'll have the lines chalked on the floor, and thesignals put up before you come home, so that there'll be no timewasted. And I'll put one chair at one end of the room and anotherchair at the other end, and tie some string across for telegraph wires. That'll be a very good idea, won't it, Dad?' and Owen agreed. 

'But of course I'll come to meet you just the same as other Saturdays, because I'm going to buy a ha'porth of milk for the kitten out of mypenny. '

After the child was in bed, Owen sat alone by the table in the draughtysitting-room, thinking. Although there was a bright fire, the room wasvery cold, being so close to the roof. The wind roared loudly roundthe gables, shaking the house in a way that threatened every moment tohurl it to the ground. The lamp on the table had a green glassreservoir which was half full of oil. Owen watched this withunconscious fascination. Every time a gust of wind struck the housethe oil in the lamp was agitated and rippled against the glass like thewaves of a miniature sea. Staring abstractedly at the lamp, he thoughtof the future. 

A few years ago the future had seemed a region of wonderful andmysterious possibilities of good, but tonight the thought brought nosuch illusions, for he knew that the story of the future was to be muchthe same as the story of the past. 

The story of the past would continue to repeat itself for a few yearslonger. He would continue to work and they would all three continue todo without most of the necessaries of life. When there was no workthey would starve. 

For himself he did not care much because he knew that at the best--orworst--it would only be a very few years. Even if he were to haveproper food and clothing and be able to take reasonable care ofhimself, he could not live much longer; but when that time came, whatwas to become of THEM?

There would be some hope for the boy if he were more robust and if hischaracter were less gentle and more selfish. Under the present systemit was impossible for anyone to succeed in life without injuring otherpeople and treating them and making use of them as one would not liketo be treated and made use of oneself. 

In order to succeed in the world it was necessary to be brutal, selfishand unfeeling: to push others aside and to take advantage of theirmisfortunes: to undersell and crush out one's competitors by fair meansor foul: to consider one's own interests first in every case, absolutely regardless of the wellbeing of others. 

That was the ideal character. Owen knew that Frankie's character didnot come up to this lofty ideal. Then there was Nora, how would shefare?

Owen stood up and began walking about the room, oppressed with a kindof terror. Presently he returned to the fire and began rearranging theclothes that were drying. He found that the boots, having been placedtoo near the fire, had dried too quickly and consequently the sole ofone of them had begun to split away from the upper: he remedied this aswell as he was able and then turned the wetter parts of the clothing tothe fire. Whilst doing this he noticed the newspaper, which he hadforgotten, in the coat pocket. He drew it out with an exclamation ofpleasure. Here was something to distract his thoughts: if notinstructive or comforting, it would at any rate be interesting and evenamusing to read the reports of the self-satisfied, futile talk of theprofound statesmen who with comical gravity presided over the workingof the Great System which their combined wisdom pronounced to be thebest that could possibly be devised. But tonight Owen was not to readof those things, for as soon as he opened the paper his attention wasriveted by the staring headline of one of the principal columns:

 TERRIBLE DOMESTIC TRAGEDY Wife And Two Children Killed Suicide of the Murderer

It was one of the ordinary poverty crimes. The man had been withoutemployment for many weeks and they had been living by pawning orselling their furniture and other possessions. But even this resourcemust have failed at last, and when one day the neighbours noticed thatthe blinds remained down and that there was a strange silence about thehouse, no one coming out or going in, suspicions that something waswrong were quickly aroused. When the police entered the house, theyfound, in one of the upper rooms, the dead bodies of the woman and thetwo children, with their throats severed, laid out side by side uponthe bed, which was saturated with their blood. 

There was no bedstead and no furniture in the room except the strawmattress and the ragged clothes and blankets which formed the bed uponthe floor. 

The man's body was found in the kitchen, lying with outstretched armsface downwards on the floor, surrounded by the blood that had pouredfrom the wound in his throat which had evidently been inflicted by therazor that was grasped in his right hand. 

No particle of food was found in the house, and on a nail in the wallin the kitchen was hung a piece of blood-smeared paper on which waswritten in pencil:

'This is not my crime, but society's. '

The report went on to explain that the deed must have been perpetratedduring a fit of temporary insanity brought on by the sufferings the manhad endured. 

'Insanity!' muttered Owen, as he read this glib theory. 'Insanity! Itseems to me that he would have been insane if he had NOT killed them. '

Surely it was wiser and better and kinder to send them all to sleep, than to let them continue to suffer. 

At the same time he thought it very strange that the man should havechosen to do it that way, when there were so many other cleaner, easierand more painless ways of accomplishing the same object. He wonderedwhy it was that most of these killings were done in more or less thesame crude, cruel messy way. No; HE would set about it in a differentfashion. He would get some charcoal, then he would paste strips ofpaper over the joinings of the door and windows of the room and closethe register of the grate. Then he would kindle the charcoal on a trayor something in the middle of the room, and then they would all threejust lie down together and sleep; and that would be the end ofeverything. There would be no pain, no blood, and no mess. 

Or one could take poison. Of course, there was a certain amount ofdifficulty in procuring it, but it would not be impossible to find somepretext for buying some laudanum: one could buy several smallquantities at different shops until one had sufficient. Then heremembered that he had read somewhere that vermillion, one of thecolours he frequently had to use in his work, was one of the mostdeadly poisons: and there was some other stuff that photographers used, which was very easy to procure. Of course, one would have to be verycareful about poisons, so as not to select one that would cause a lotof pain. It would be necessary to find out exactly how the stuff actedbefore using it. It would not be very difficult to do so. Then heremembered that among his books was one that probably contained someinformation about this subject. He went over to the book-shelf andpresently found the volume; it was called The Cyclopedia of PracticalMedicine, rather an old book, a little out of date, perhaps, but stillit might contain the information he wanted. Opening it, he turned tothe table of contents. Many different subjects were mentioned thereand presently he found the one he sought:

Poisons: chemically, physiologically and pathologically considered. Corrosive Poisons. Narcotic Poisons. Slow Poisons. Consecutive Poisons. Accumulative Poisons. 

He turned to the chapter indicated and, reading it, he was astonishedto find what a number of poisons there were within easy reach ofwhoever wished to make use of them: poisons that could be relied uponto do their work certainly, quickly and without pain. Why, it was noteven necessary to buy them: one could gather them from the hedges bythe road side and in the fields. 

The more he thought of it the stranger it seemed that such a clumsymethod as a razor should be so popular. Why almost any other way wouldbe better and easier than that. Strangulation or even hanging, thoughthe latter method could scarcely be adopted in that house, becausethere were no beams or rafters or anything from which it would bepossible to suspend a cord. Still, he could drive some large nails orhooks into one of the walls. For that matter, there were already someclothes-hooks on some of the doors. He began to think that this wouldbe an even more excellent way than poison or charcoal; he could easilypretend to Frankie that he was going to show him some new kind of play. 

He could arrange the cord on the hook on one of the doors and thenunder pretence of play, it would be done. The boy would offer noresistance, and in a few minutes it would all be over. 

He threw down the book and pressed his hands over his ears: he fanciedhe could hear the boy's hands and feet beating against the panels ofthe door as he struggled in his death agony. 

Then, as his arms fell nervelessly by his side again, he thought thathe heard Frankie's voice calling. 

'Dad! Dad!'

Owen hastily opened the door. 

'Are you calling, Frankie?'

'Yes. I've been calling you quite a long time. '

'What do you want?'

'I want you to come here. I want to tell you something. '

'Well, what is it dear? I thought you were asleep a long time ago, 'said Owen as he came into the room. 

'That's just what I want to speak to you about: the kitten's gone tosleep all right, but I can't go. I've tried all different ways, counting and all, but it's no use, so I thought I'd ask you if you'dmind coming and staying with me, and letting me hold you hand for alittle while and the p'raps I could go. '

The boy twined his arms round Owen's neck and hugged him very tightly. 

'Oh, Dad, I love you so much!' he said. 'I love you so much, I couldsqueeze you to death. '

'I'm afraid you will, if you squeeze me so tightly as that. '

The boy laughed softly as he relaxed his hold. 'That WOULD be a funnyway of showing you how much I love you, wouldn't it, Dad? Squeezingyou to death!'

'Yes, I suppose it would, ' replied Owen huskily, as he tucked thebedclothes round the child's shoulders. 'But don't talk any more, dear; just hold my hand and try to sleep. '

'All right, ' said Frankie. 

Lying there very quietly, holding his father's hand and occasionallykissing it, the child presently fell asleep. Then Owen got up verygently and, having taken the kitten out of the bed again and arrangedthe bedclothes, he softly kissed the boy's forehead and returned to theother room. 

Looking about for a suitable place for the kitten to sleep in, henoticed Frankie's toy box, and having emptied the toys on to the floorin a corner of the room, he made a bed in the box with some rags andplaced it on its side on the hearthrug, facing the fire, and with somedifficulty persuaded the kitten to lie in it. Then, having placed thechairs on which his clothes were drying at a safe distance from thefire, he went into the bedroom. Nora was still awake. 

'Are you feeling any better, dear?' he said. 

'Yes, I'm ever so much better since I've been in bed, but I can't helpworrying about your clothes. I'm afraid they'll never be dry enoughfor you to put on the first thing in the morning. Couldn't you stay athome till after breakfast, just for once?'

'No; I mustn't do that. If I did Hunter would probably tell me to stayaway altogether. I believe he would be glad of an excuse to get rid ofanother full-price man just now. '

'But if it's raining like this in the morning, you'll be wet throughbefore you get there. '

'It's no good worrying about that dear: besides, I can wear this oldcoat that I have no now, over the other. '

'And if you wrap your old shoes in some paper, and take them with you, you can take off your wet boots as soon as you get to the place. '

'Yes, all right, ' responded Owen. 'Besides, ' he added, reassuringly, 'even if I do get a little wet, we always have a fire there, you know. '

'Well, I hope the weather will be a little better than this in themorning, ' said Nora. 'Isn't it a dreadful night! I keep feelingafraid that the house is going to be blown down. '

Long after Nora was asleep, Owen lay listening to the howling of thewind and the noise of the rain as it poured heavily on the roof. .. 

Chapter 7

The Exterminating Machines

'Come on, Saturday!' shouted Philpot, just after seven o'clock oneMonday morning as they were getting ready to commence work. 

It was still dark outside, but the scullery was dimly illuminated bythe flickering light of two candles which Crass had lighted and stuckon the shelf over the fireplace in order to enable him to see to serveout the different lots of paints and brushes to the men. 

'Yes, it do seem a 'ell of a long week, don't it?' remarked Harlow ashe hung his overcoat on a nail and proceeded to put on his apron andblouse. 'I've 'ad bloody near enough of it already. '

'Wish to Christ it was breakfast-time, ' growled the more easilysatisfied Easton. 

Extraordinary as it may appear, none of them took any pride in theirwork: they did not 'love' it. They had no conception of that loftyideal of 'work for work's sake', which is so popular with the peoplewho do nothing. On the contrary, when the workers arrived in themorning they wished it was breakfast-time. When they resumed workafter breakfast they wished it was dinner-time. After dinner theywished it was one o'clock on Saturday. 

So they went on, day after day, year after year, wishing their time wasover and, without realizing it, really wishing that they were dead. 

How extraordinary this must appear to those idealists who believe in'work for work's sake', but who themselves do nothing but devour or useand enjoy or waste the things that are produced by the labour of thoseothers who are not themselves permitted to enjoy a fair share of thegood things they help to create?

Crass poured several lots of colour into several pots. 

'Harlow, ' he said, 'you and Sawkins, when he comes, can go up and dothe top bedrooms out with this colour. You'll find a couple of candlesup there. It's only goin' to 'ave one coat, so see that you make itcover all right, and just look after Sawkins a bit so as 'e doesn'tmake a bloody mess of it. You do the doors and windows, and let 'im dothe cupboards and skirtings. '

'That's a bit of all right, I must say, ' Harlow said, addressing thecompany generally. 'We've got to teach a b--r like 'im so as 'e can dous out of a job presently by working under price. '

'Well, I can't 'elp it, ' growled Crass. 'You know 'ow it is: 'Untersends 'im 'ere to do paintin', and I've got to put 'im on it. Thereain't nothing else for 'im to do. '

Further discussion on this subject was prevented by Sawkins' arrival, nearly a quarter of an hour late. 

'Oh, you 'ave come, then, ' sneered Crass. 'Thought p'raps you'd gornfor a 'oliday. '

Sawkins muttered something about oversleeping himself, and havinghastily put on his apron, he went upstairs with Harlow. 

'Now, let's see, ' Crass said, addressing Philpot. 'You and Newman 'adbetter go and make a start on the second floor: this is the colour, and'ere's a couple of candles. You'd better not both go in one room or'Unter will growl about it. You take one of the front and let Newmantake one of the back rooms. Take a bit of stoppin' with you: they'regoin' to 'ave two coats, but you'd better putty up the 'oles as well asyou can, this time. '

'Only two coats!' said Philpot. 'Them rooms will never look nothingwith two coats--a light colour like this. '

'It's only goin' to get two, anyway, ' returned Crass, testily. ''Untersaid so, so you'll 'ave to do the best you can with 'em, and get 'emsmeared over middlin' sudden, too. '

Crass did not think it necessary to mention that according to the copyof the specification of the work which he had in his pocket the roomsin question were supposed to have four coats. 

Crass now turned to Owen. 

'There's that drorin'-room, ' he said. 'I don't know what's goin' to bedone with that yet. I don't think they've decided about it. Whatever'sto be done to it will be an extra, because all that's said about it inthe contract is to face it up with putty and give it one coat of white. So you and Easton 'ad better get on with it. '

Slyme was busy softening some putty by rubbing and squeezing it betweenhis hands. 

'I suppose I'd better finish the room I started on on Saturday?' heasked. 

'All right, ' replied Crass. 'Have you got enough colour?'

'Yes, ' said Slyme. 

As he passed through the kitchen on the way to his work, Slyme accostedBert, the boy, who was engaged in lighting, with some pieces of wood, afire to boil the water to make the tea for breakfast at eight o'clock. 

'There's a bloater I want's cooked, ' he said. 

'All right, ' replied Bert. 'Put it over there on the dresser along ofPhilpot's and mine. '

Slyme took the bloater from his food basket, but as he was about to putit in the place indicated, he observed that his was rather a larger onethan either of the other two. This was an important matter. Afterthey were cooked it would not be easy to say which was which: he mightpossibly be given one of the smaller ones instead of his own. He tookout his pocket knife and cut off the tail of the large bloater. 

''Ere it is, then, ' he said to Bert. 'I've cut the tail of mine so asyou'll know which it is. '

It was now about twenty minutes past seven and all the other men havingbeen started at work, Crass washed his hands under the tap. Then hewent into the kitchen and having rigged up a seat by taking two of thedrawers out of the dresser and placing them on the floor about six feetapart and laying a plank across, he sat down in front of the fire, which was now burning brightly under the pail, and, lighting his pipe, began to smoke. The boy went into the scullery and began washing upthe cups and jars for the men to drink out of. 

Bert was a lean, undersized boy about fifteen years of age and aboutfour feet nine inches in height. He had light brown hair and hazelgrey eyes, and his clothes were of many colours, being thicklyencrusted with paint, the result of the unskillful manner in which hedid his work, for he had only been at the trade about a year. Some ofthe men had nicknamed him 'the walking paint-shop', a title which Bertaccepted good-humouredly. 

This boy was an orphan. His father had been a railway porter who hadworked very laboriously for twelve or fourteen hours every day for manyyears, with the usual result, namely, that he and his family lived in acondition of perpetual poverty. Bert, who was their only child and notvery robust, had early shown a talent for drawing, so when his fatherdied a little over a year ago, his mother readily assented when the boysaid that he wished to become a decorator. It was a nice light trade, and she thought that a really good painter, such as she was sure hewould become, was at least always able to earn a good living. Resolving to give the boy the best possible chance, she decided ifpossible to place him at Rushton's, that being one of the leading firmsin the town. At first Mr Rushton demanded ten pounds as a premium, theboy to be bound for five years, no wages the first year, two shillingsa week the second, and a rise of one shilling every year for theremainder of the term. Afterwards, as a special favour--a matter ofcharity, in fact, as she was a very poor woman--he agreed to acceptfive pounds. 

This sum represented the thrifty savings of years, but the poor womanparted with it willingly in order that the boy should become a skilledworkman. So Bert was apprenticed--bound for five years--to Rushton &Co. 

For the first few months his life had been spent in the paint-shop atthe yard, a place that was something between a cellar and a stable. There, surrounded by the poisonous pigments and materials of the trade, the youthful artisan worked, generally alone, cleaning the dirtypaint-pots brought in by the workmen from finished 'jobs' outside, andoccasionally mixing paint according to the instructions of Mr Hunter, or one of the sub-foremen. 

Sometimes he was sent out to carry materials to the places where themen were working--heavy loads of paint or white lead--sometimes pailsof whitewash that his slender arms had been too feeble to carry morethan a few yards at a time. 

Often his fragile, childish figure was seen staggering manfully along, bending beneath the weight of a pair of steps or a heavy plank. 

He could manage a good many parcels at once: some in each hand and sometied together with string and slung over his shoulders. Occasionally, however, there were more than he could carry; then they were put into ahandcart which he pushed or dragged after him to the distant jobs. 

That first winter the boy's days were chiefly spent in the damp, evil-smelling, stone-flagged paint-shop, without even a fire to warmthe clammy atmosphere. 

But in all this he had seen no hardship. With the unconsciousness ofboyhood, he worked hard and cheerfully. As time went on, the goal ofhis childish ambition was reached--he was sent out to work with themen! And he carried the same spirit with him, always doing his best tooblige those with whom he was working. 

He tried hard to learn, and to be a good boy, and he succeeded, fairlywell. 

He soon became a favourite with Owen, for whom he conceived a greatrespect and affection, for he observed that whenever there was anyspecial work of any kind to be done it was Owen who did it. On suchoccasions, Bert, in his artful, boyish way, would scheme to be sent toassist Owen, and the latter whenever possible used to ask that the boymight be allowed to work with him. 

Bert's regard for Owen was equalled in intensity by his dislike ofCrass, who was in the habit of jeering at the boy's aspirations. 'There'll be plenty of time for you to think about doin' fancy workafter you've learnt to do plain painting, ' he would say. 

This morning, when he had finished washing up the cups and mugs, Bertreturned with them to the kitchen. 

'Now let's see, ' said Crass, thoughtfully, 'You've put the tea in thepail, I s'pose. '

'Yes. '

'And now you want a job, don't you?'

'Yes, ' replied the boy. 

'Well, get a bucket of water and that old brush and a swab, and go andwash off the old whitewash and colouring orf the pantry ceiling andwalls. '

'All right, ' said Bert. When he got as far as the door leading intothe scullery he looked round and said:

'I've got to git them three bloaters cooked by breakfast time. '

'Never mind about that, ' said Crass. 'I'll do them. '

Bert got the pail and the brush, drew some water from the tap, got apair of steps and a short plank, one end of which he rested on thebottom shelf of the pantry and the other on the steps, and proceeded tocarry out Crass's instructions. 

It was very cold and damp and miserable in the pantry, and the candleonly made it seem more so. Bert shivered: he would like to have puthis jacket on, but that was out of the question at a job like this. Helifted the bucket of water on to one of the shelves and, climbing up onto the plank, took the brush from the water and soaked about a squareyard of the ceiling; then he began to scrub it with the brush. 

He was not very skilful yet, and as he scrubbed the water ran down overthe stock of the brush, over his hand and down his uplifted arm, wetting the turned-up sleeves of his shirt. When he had scrubbed itsufficiently he rinsed it off as well as he could with the brush, andthen, to finish with, he thrust his hand into the pail of water and, taking out the swab, wrung the water out of it and wiped the part ofthe ceiling that he had washed. Then he dropped it back into the pail, and shook his numbed fingers to restore the circulation. Then hepeeped into the kitchen, where Crass was still seated by the fire, smoking and toasting one of the bloaters at the end of a pointed stick. Bert wished he would go upstairs, or anywhere, so that he himself mightgo and have a warm at the fire. 

''E might just as well 'ave let me do them bloaters, ' he muttered tohimself, regarding Crass malignantly through the crack of the door. 'This is a fine job to give to anybody--a cold mornin' like this. '

He shifted the pail of water a little further along the shelf and wenton with the work. 

A little later, Crass, still sitting by the fire, heard footstepsapproaching along the passage. He started up guiltily and, thrustingthe hand holding his pipe into his apron pocket, retreated hastily intothe scullery. He thought it might be Hunter, who was in the habit ofturning up at all sorts of unlikely times, but it was only Easton. 

'I've got a bit of bacon I want the young 'un to toast for me, ' he saidas Crass came back. 

'You can do it yourself if you like, ' replied Crass affably, looking athis watch. 'It's about ten to eight. '

Easton had been working for Rushton & Co. For a fortnight, and had beenwise enough to stand Crass a drink on several occasions: he wasconsequently in that gentleman's good books for the time being. 

'How are you getting on in there?' Crass asked, alluding to the workEaston and Owen were doing in the drawing-room. 'You ain't fell outwith your mate yet, I s'pose?'

'No; 'e ain't got much to say this morning; 'is cough's pretty bad. Ican generally manage to get on orl right with anybody, you know, 'Easton added. 

'Well, so can I as a rule, but I get a bit sick listening to thatbloody fool. Accordin' to 'im, everything's wrong. One day it'sreligion, another it's politics, and the next it's something else. '

'Yes, it is a bit thick; too much of it, ' agreed Easton, 'but I don'ttake no notice of the bloody fool: that's the best way. '

'Of course, we know that things is a bit bad just now, ' Crass went on, 'but if the likes of 'im could 'ave their own way they'd make 'em abloody sight worse. '

'That's just what I say, ' replied Easton. 

'I've got a pill ready for 'im, though, next time 'e start yappin', 'Crass continued as he drew a small piece of printed paper from hiswaistcoat pocket. 'Just read that; it's out of the Obscurer. '

Easton took the newspaper cutting and read it: 'Very good, ' he remarkedas he handed it back. 

'Yes, I think that'll about shut 'im up. Did yer notice the other daywhen we was talking about poverty and men bein' out of work, 'ow 'edodged out of answerin' wot I said about machinery bein' the cause ofit? 'e never answered me! Started talkin' about something else. '

'Yes, I remember 'e never answered it, ' said Easton, who had really norecollection of the incident at all. 

'I mean to tackle 'im about it at breakfast-time. I don't see why 'eshould be allowed to get out of it like that. There was a bloke downat the "Cricketers" the other night talkin' about the same thing--achap as takes a interest in politics and the like, and 'e said the verysame as me. Why, the number of men what's been throwed out of work byall this 'ere new-fangled machinery is something chronic!'

'Of course, ' agreed Easton, 'everyone knows it. '

'You ought to give us a look in at the "Cricketers" some night. There'sa lot of decent chaps comes there. '

'Yes, I think I will. '

'What 'ouse do you usually use?' asked Crass after a pause. 

Easton laughed. 'Well, to tell you the truth I've not used anywhere'slately. Been 'avin too many 'ollerdays. '

'That do make a bit of difference, don't it?' said Crass. 'But you'llbe all right 'ere, till this job's done. Just watch yerself a bit, anddon't get comin' late in the mornin's. Old Nimrod's dead nuts on that. '

'I'll see to that all right, ' replied Easton. 'I don't believe inlosing time when there IS work to do. It's bad enough when you can'tget it. '

'You know, ' Crass went on, confidentially. 'Between me an' you an' thegatepost, as the sayin' is, I don't think Mr bloody Owen will be 'eremuch longer. Nimrod 'ates the sight of 'im. '

Easton had it in his mind to say that Nimrod seemed to hate the sightof all of them: but he made no remark, and Crass continued:

''E's 'eard all about the way Owen goes on about politics and religion, an' one thing an' another, an' about the firm scampin' the work. Youknow that sort of talk don't do, does it?'

'Of course not. '

''Unter would 'ave got rid of 'im long ago, but it wasn't 'im as took'im on in the first place. It was Rushton 'imself as give 'im a start. It seems Owen took a lot of samples of 'is work an' showed 'em to theBloke. '

'Is them the things wot's 'angin' up in the shop-winder?'

'Yes!' said Crass, contemptuously. 'But 'e's no good on plain work. Ofcourse 'e does a bit of grainin' an' writin'--after a fashion--whenthere's any to do, and that ain't often, but on plain work, why, Sawkins is as good as 'im for most of it, any day!'

'Yes, I suppose 'e is, ' replied Easton, feeling rather ashamed ofhimself for the part he was taking in this conversation. 

Although he had for the moment forgotten the existence of Bert, Crasshad instinctively lowered his voice, but the boy--who had left offworking to warm his hands by putting them into his trouserspockets--managed, by listening attentively, to hear every word. 

'You know there's plenty of people wouldn't give the firm no more workif they knowed about it, ' Crass continued. 'Just fancy sendin' a b--rlike that to work in a lady's or gentleman's 'ouse--a bloody Atheist!'

'Yes, it is a bit orf, when you look at it like that. '

'I know my missis--for one--wouldn't 'ave a feller like that in ourplace. We 'ad a lodger once and she found out that 'e was afreethinker or something, and she cleared 'im out, bloody quick, I cantell yer!'

'Oh, by the way, ' said Easton, glad of an opportunity to change thesubject, 'you don't happen to know of anyone as wants a room, do you?We've got one more than we want, so the wife thought that we might aswell let it. '

Crass thought for a moment. 'Can't say as I do, ' he answered, doubtfully. 'Slyme was talking last week about leaving the place 'e'slodging at, but I don't know whether 'e's got another place to go to. You might ask him. I don't know of anyone else. '

'I'll speak to 'im, ' replied Easton. 'What's the time? it must benearly on it. '

'So it is: just on eight, ' exclaimed Crass, and drawing his whistle heblew a shrill blast upon it to apprise the others of the fact. 

'Has anyone seen old Jack Linden since 'e got the push?' inquiredHarlow during breakfast. 

'I seen 'im Saterdy, ' said Slyme. 

'Is 'e doin' anything?'

'I don't know: I didn't 'ave time to speak to 'im. '

'No, 'e ain't got nothing, ' remarked Philpot. 'I seen 'im Saterdynight, an' 'e told me 'e's been walkin' about ever since. '

Philpot did not add that he had 'lent' Linden a shilling, which henever expected to see again. 

''E won't be able to get a job again in a 'urry, ' remarked Easton. ''E's too old. '

'You know, after all, you can't blame Misery for sackin' 'im, ' saidCrass after a pause. ''E was too slow for a funeral. '

'I wonder how much YOU'LL be able to do when you're as old as he is?'said Owen. 

'P'raps I won't want to do nothing, ' replied Crass with a feeble laugh. 'I'm goin' to live on me means. '

'I should say the best thing old Jack could do would be to go in theunion, ' said Harlow. 

'Yes: I reckon that's what'll be the end of it, ' said Easton in amatter-of-fact tone. 

'It's a grand finish, isn't it?' observed Owen. 'After working hardall one's life to be treated like a criminal at the end. '

'I don't know what you call bein' treated like criminals, ' exclaimedCrass. 'I reckon they 'as a bloody fine time of it, an' we've got tofind the money. '

'Oh, for God's sake don't start no more arguments, ' cried Harlow, addressing Owen. 'We 'ad enough of that last week. You can't expect aboss to employ a man when 'e's too old to work. '

'Of course not, ' said Crass. 

Philpot said--nothing. 

'I don't see no sense in always grumblin', ' Crass proceeded. 'Thesethings can't be altered. You can't expect there can be plenty of workfor everyone with all this 'ere labour-savin' machinery what's beeninvented. '

'Of course, ' said Harlow, 'the people what used to be employed on thework what's now done by machinery, has to find something else to do. Some of 'em goes to our trade, for instance: the result is there's toomany at it, and there ain't enough work to keep 'em all goin'. '

'Yes, ' cried Crass, eagerly. 'That's just what I say. Machinery isthe real cause of the poverty. That's what I said the other day. '

'Machinery is undoubtedly the cause of unemployment, ' replied Owen, 'but it's not the cause of poverty: that's another matter altogether. '

The others laughed derisively. 

'Well, it seems to me to amount to the same thing, ' said Harlow, andnearly everyone agreed. 

'It doesn't seem to me to amount to the same thing, ' Owen replied. 'Inmy opinion, we are all in a state of poverty even when we haveemployment--the condition we are reduced to when we're out of work ismore properly described as destitution. '

'Poverty, ' continued Owen after a short silence, 'consists in ashortage of the necessaries of life. When those things are so scarceor so dear that people are unable to obtain sufficient of them tosatisfy all their needs, those people are in a condition of poverty. Ifyou think that the machinery, which makes it possible to produce allthe necessaries of life in abundance, is the cause of the shortage, itseems to me that there must be something the matter with your minds. '

'Oh, of course we're all bloody fools except you, ' snarled Crass. 'Whenthey were servin' out the sense, they give you such a 'ell of a lot, there wasn't none left for nobody else. '

'If there wasn't something wrong with your minds, ' continued Owen, 'youwould be able to see that we might have "Plenty of Work" and yet be ina state of destitution. The miserable wretches who toil sixteen oreighteen hours a day--father, mother and even the littlechildren--making match-boxes, or shirts or blouses, have "plenty ofwork", but I for one don't envy them. Perhaps you think that if therewas no machinery and we all had to work thirteen or fourteen hours aday in order to obtain a bare living, we should not be in a conditionof poverty? Talk about there being something the matter with yourminds! If there were not, you wouldn't talk one day about Tariff Reformas a remedy for unemployment and then the next day admit that Machineryis the cause of it! Tariff Reform won't do away with the machinery, will it?'

'Tariff Reform is the remedy for bad trade, ' returned Crass. 

'In that case Tariff Reform is the remedy for a disease that does notexist. If you would only take the trouble to investigate for yourselfyou would find out that trade was never so good as it is at present:the output--the quantity of commodities of every kind--produced in andexported from this country is greater than it has ever been before. The fortunes amassed in business are larger than ever before: but atthe same time--owing, as you have just admitted--to the continuedintroduction and extended use of wages-saving machinery, the number ofhuman beings being employed is steadily decreasing. I have here, 'continued Owen, taking out his pocket-book, 'some figures which Icopied from the Daily Mail Year Book for 1907, page 33:

'"It is a very noticeable fact that although the number of factoriesand their value have vastly increased in the United Kingdom, there isan absolute decrease in the number of men and women employed in thosefactories between 1895 and 1901. This is doubtless due to thedisplacement of hand labour by machinery!"

'Will Tariff Reform deal with that? Are the good, kind capitalistsgoing to abandon the use of wages-saving machinery if we tax allforeign-made goods? Does what you call "Free Trade" help us here? Ordo you think that abolishing the House of Lords, or disestablishing theChurch, will enable the workers who are displaced to obtain employment?Since it IS true--as you admit--that machinery is the principal causeof unemployment, what are you going to do about it? What's your remedy?'

No one answered, because none of them knew of any remedy: and Crassbegan to feel sorry that he had re-introduced the subject at all. 

'In the near future, ' continued Owen, 'it is probable that horses willbe almost entirely superseded by motor cars and electric trams. As theservices of horses will be no longer required, all but a few of thoseanimals will be caused to die out: they will no longer be bred to thesame extent as formerly. We can't blame the horses for allowingthemselves to be exterminated. They have not sufficient intelligenceto understand what's being done. Therefore they will submit tamely tothe extinction of the greater number of their kind. 

'As we have seen, a great deal of the work which was formerly done byhuman beings is now being done by machinery. This machinery belongs toa few people: it is worked for the benefit of those few, just the sameas were the human beings it displaced. These Few have no longer anyneed of the services of so many human workers, so they propose toexterminate them! The unnecessary human beings are to be allowed tostarve to death! And they are also to be taught that it is wrong tomarry and breed children, because the Sacred Few do not require so manypeople to work for them as before!'

'Yes, and you'll never be able to prevent it, mate!' shouted Crass. 

'Why can't we?'

'Because it can't be done!' cried Crass fiercely. 'It's impossible!'

'You're always sayin' that everything's all wrong, ' complained Harlow, 'but why the 'ell don't you tell us 'ow they're goin' to be put right?'

'It doesn't seem to me as if any of you really wish to know. I believethat even if it were proved that it could be done, most of you would besorry and would do all you could to prevent it. '

''E don't know 'isself, ' sneered Crass. 'Accordin' to 'im, TariffReform ain't no bloody good--Free Trade ain't no bloody good, andeverybody else is wrong! But when you arst 'im what ought to bedone--'e's flummoxed. '

Crass did not feel very satisfied with the result of this machineryargument, but he consoled himself with the reflection that he would beable to flatten out his opponent on another subject. The cutting fromthe Obscurer which he had in his pocket would take a bit of answering!When you have a thing in print--in black and white--why there it is, and you can't get away from it! If it wasn't right, a paper like thatwould never have printed it. However, as it was now nearly half pasteight, he resolved to defer this triumph till another occasion. It wastoo good a thing to be disposed of in a hurry. 

Chapter 8

The Cap on the Stairs

After breakfast, when they were working together in the drawing-room, Easton, desiring to do Owen a good turn, thought he would put him onhis guard, and repeated to him in a whisper the substance of theconversation he had held with Crass concerning him. 

'Of course, you needn't mention that I told you, Frank, ' he said, 'butI thought I ought to let you know: you can take it from me, Crass ain'tno friend of yours. '

'I've know that for a long time, mate, ' replied Owen. 'Thanks fortelling me, all the same. '

'The bloody rotter's no friend of mine either, or anyone else's, forthat matter, ' Easton continued, 'but of course it doesn't do to fallout with 'im because you never know what he'd go and say to ol' 'Unter. '

'Yes, one has to remember that. '

'Of course we all know what's the matter with 'im as far as YOU'REconcerned, ' Easton went on. 'He don't like 'avin' anyone on the firmwot knows more about the work than 'e does 'imself--thinks 'e might gitworked out of 'is job. '

Owen laughed bitterly. 

'He needn't be afraid of ME on THAT account. I wouldn't have his jobif it were offered to me. '

'But 'e don't think so, ' replied Easton, 'and that's why 'e's got 'isknife into you. '

'I believe that what he said about Hunter is true enough, ' said Owen. 'Every time he comes here he tries to goad me into doing or sayingsomething that would give him an excuse to tell me to clear out. Imight have done it before now if I had not guessed what he was after, and been on my guard. '

Meantime, Crass, in the kitchen, had resumed his seat by the fire withthe purpose of finishing his pipe of tobacco. Presently he took outhis pocket-book and began to write in it with a piece of black-leadpencil. When the pipe was smoked out he knocked the bowl against thegrate to get rid of the ash, and placed the pipe in his waistcoatpocket. Then, having torn out the leaf on which he had been writing, he got up and went into the pantry, where Bert was still strugglingwith the old whitewash. 

'Ain't yer nearly finished? I don't want yer to stop in 'ere all day, yer know. '

'I ain't got much more to do now, ' said the boy. 'Just this bit underthe bottom shelf and then I'm done. '

'Yes, and a bloody fine mess you've made, what I can see of it!'growled Crass. 'Look at all this water on the floor!'

Bert looked guiltily at the floor and turned very red. 

'I'll clean it all up', he stammered. 'As soon as I've got this bit ofwall done, I'll wipe all the mess up with the swab. '

Crass now took a pot of paint and some brushes and, having put somemore fuel on the fire, began in a leisurely way to paint some of thewoodwork in the kitchen. Presently Bert came in. 

'I've finished there, ' he said. 

'About time, too. You'll 'ave to look a bit livelier than you do, youknow, or me and you will fall out. '

Bert did not answer. 

'Now I've got another job for yer. You're fond of drorin, ain't yer?'continued Crass in a jeering tone. 

'Yes, a little, ' replied the boy, shamefacedly. 

'Well, ' said Crass, giving him the leaf he had torn out of thepocket-book, 'you can go up to the yard and git them things and put 'emon a truck and dror it up 'ere, and git back as soon as you can. Justlook at the paper and see if you understand it before you go. I don'twant you to make no mistakes. '

Bert took the paper and with some difficulty read as follows:

 I pare steppes 8 foot 1/2 gallon Plastor off perish 1 pale off witewosh 12 lbs wite led 1/2 gallon Linsede Hoil Do. Do. Turps

'I can make it out all right. '

'You'd better bring the big truck, ' said Crass, 'because I want you totake the venetian blinds with you on it when you take it back tonight. They've got to be painted at the shop. '

'All right. '

When the boy had departed Crass took a stroll through the house to seehow the others were getting on. Then he returned to the kitchen andproceeded with his work. 

Crass was about thirty-eight years of age, rather above middle heightand rather stout. He had a considerable quantity of curly black hairand wore a short beard of the same colour. His head was rather large, but low, and flat on top. When among his cronies he was in the habitof referring to his obesity as the result of good nature and acontented mind. Behind his back other people attributed it to beer, some even going to far as to nickname him the 'tank'. 

There was no work of a noisy kind being done this morning. Both thecarpenters and the bricklayers having been taken away, temporarily, toanother 'job'. At the same time there was not absolute silence:occasionally Crass could hear the voices of the other workmen as theyspoke to each other, sometimes shouting from one room to another. Nowand then Harlow's voice rang through the house as he sang snatches ofmusic-hall songs or a verse of a Moody and Sankey hymn, andoccasionally some of the others joined in the chorus or interrupted thesinger with squeals and catcalls. Once or twice Crass was on the pointof telling them to make less row: there would be a fine to do if Nimrodcame and heard them. Just as he had made up his mind to tell them tostop the noise, it ceased of itself and he heard loud whispers:

'Look out! Someone's comin'. '

The house became very quiet. 

Crass put out his pipe and opened the window and the back door to getrid of the smell of the tobacco smoke. Then he shifted the pair ofsteps noisily, and proceeded to work more quickly than before. Mostlikely it was old Misery. 

He worked on for some time in silence, but no one came to the kitchen:whoever it was must have gone upstairs. Crass listened attentively. Who could it be? He would have liked to go to see whom it was, but atthe same time, if it were Nimrod, Crass wished to be discovered atwork. He therefore waited a little longer and presently he heard thesound of voices upstairs but was unable to recognize them. He was justabout to go out into the passage to listen, when whoever it was begancoming downstairs. Crass at once resumed his work. The footsteps camealong the passage leading to the kitchen: slow, heavy, ponderousfootsteps, but yet the sound was not such as would be made by a manheavily shod. It was not Misery, evidently. 

As the footsteps entered the kitchen, Crass looked round and beheld avery tall, obese figure, with a large, fleshy, coarse-featured, clean-shaven face, and a great double chin, the complexion being of thecolour and appearance of the fat of uncooked bacon. A very largefleshy nose and weak-looking pale blue eyes, the slightly inflamed lidsbeing almost destitute of eye-lashes. He had large fat feet cased insoft calfskin boots, with drab-coloured spats. His overcoat, heavilytrimmed with sealskin, reached just below the knees, and although thetrousers were very wide they were filled by the fat legs within, theshape of the calves being distinctly perceptible. Even as the feetseemed about to burst the uppers of the boots, so the legs appeared tothreaten the trousers with disruption. This man was so large that hisfigure completely filled up the doorway, and as he came in he stoopedslightly to avoid damaging the glittering silk hat on his head. Onegloved hand was thrust into the pocket of the overcoat and in the otherhe carried a small Gladstone bag. 

When Crass beheld this being, he touched his cap respectfully. 

'Good morning, sir!'

'Good morning. They told me upstairs that I should find the foremanhere. Are you the foreman?'

'Yes, sir. '

'I see you're getting on with the work here. '

'Ho yes sir, we're beginning to make a bit hov a show now, sir, 'replied Crass, speaking as if he had a hot potato in his mouth. 

'Mr Rushton isn't here yet, I suppose?'

'No, sir: 'e don't horfun come hon the job hin the mornin, sir; 'egenerally comes hafternoons, sir, but Mr 'Unter's halmost sure to be'ere presently, sir. '

'It's Mr Rushton I want to see: I arranged to meet him here at teno'clock; but'--looking at his watch--'I'm rather before my time. '

'He'll be here presently, I suppose, ' added Mr Sweater. 'I'll justtake a look round till he comes. '

'Yes, sir, ' responded Crass, walking behind him obsequiously as he wentout of the room. 

Hoping that the gentleman might give him a shilling, Crass followed himinto the front hall and began explaining what progress had so far beenmade with the work, but as Mr Sweater answered only by monosyllablesand grunts, Crass presently concluded that his conversation was notappreciated and returned to the kitchen. 

Meantime, upstairs, Philpot had gone into Newman's room and wasdiscussing with him the possibility of extracting from Mr Sweater theprice of a little light refreshment. 

'I think, ' he remarked, 'that we oughter see-ise this 'ere tuneroppertyto touch 'im for an allowance. '

'We won't git nothin' out of 'IM, mate, ' returned Newman. ''E's ared-'ot teetotaller. '

'That don't matter. 'Ow's 'e to know that we buys beer with it? Wemight 'ave tea, or ginger ale, or lime-juice and glycerine for all 'eknows!'

Mr Sweater now began ponderously re-ascending the stairs and presentlycame into the room where Philpot was. The latter greeted him withrespectful cordiality:

'Good morning, sir. '

'Good morning. You've begun painting up here, then. '

'Yes, sir, we've made a start on it, ' replied Philpot, affably. 

'Is this door wet?' asked Sweater, glancing apprehensively at thesleeve of his coat. 

'Yes, sir, ' answered Philpot, and added, as he looked meaningly at thegreat man, 'the paint is wet, sir, but the PAINTERS is dry. '

'Confound it!' exclaimed Sweater, ignoring, or not hearing the latterpart of Philpot's reply. 'I've got some of the beastly stuff on mycoat sleeve. '

'Oh, that's nothing, sir, ' cried Philpot, secretly delighted. 'I'llget that orf for yer in no time. You wait just 'arf a mo!'

He had a piece of clean rag in his tool bag, and there was a can ofturps in the room. Moistening the rag slightly with turps he carefullyremoved the paint from Sweater's sleeve. 

'It's all orf not, sir, ' he remarked, as he rubbed the place with a drypart of the rag. 'The smell of the turps will go away in about ahour's time. '

'Thanks, ' said Sweater. 

Philpot looked at him wistfully, but Sweater evidently did notunderstand, and began looking about the room. 

'I see they've put a new piece of skirting here, ' he observed. 

'Yes, sir, ' said Newman, who came into the room just then to get theturps. 'The old piece was all to bits with dry-rot. '

'I feel as if I 'ad a touch of the dry-rot meself, don't you?' saidPhilpot to Newman, who smiled feebly and cast a sidelong glance atSweater, who did not appear to notice the significance of the remark, but walked out of the room and began climbing up to the next floor, where Harlow and Sawkins were working. 

'Well, there's a bleeder for yer!' said Philpot with indignation. 'After all the trouble I took to clean 'is coat! Not a bloody stiver!Well, it takes the cake, don't it?'

'I told you 'ow it would be, didn't I?' replied Newman. 

'P'raps I didn't make it plain enough, ' said Philpot, thoughtfully. 'Wemust try to get some of our own back somehow, you know. '

Going out on the landing he called softly upstairs. 

'I say, Harlow. '

'Hallo, ' said that individual, looking over the banisters. 

''Ow are yer getting on up there?'

'Oh, all right, you know. '

'Pretty dry job, ain't it?' Philpot continued, raising his voice alittle and winking at Harlow. 

'Yes, it is, rather, ' replied Harlow with a grin. 

'I think this would be a very good time to take up the collection, don't you?'

'Yes, it wouldn't be a bad idear. '

'Well, I'll put me cap on the stairs, ' said Philpot, suiting the actionto the word. 'You never knows yer luck. Things is gettin' a bitserious on this floor, you know; my mate's fainted away once already!'

Philpot now went back to his room to await developments: but as Sweatermade no sign, he returned to the landing and again hailed Harlow. 

'I always reckon a man can work all the better after 'e's 'ad a drink:you can seem to get over more of it, like. '

'Oh, that's true enough, ' responded Harlow. 'I've often noticed itmeself. '

Sweater came out of the front bedroom and passed into one of the backrooms without any notice of either of the men. 

'I'm afraid it's a frost, mate, ' Harlow whispered, and Philpot, shakinghis head sadly, returned to work; but in a little while he came outagain and once more accosted Harlow. 

'I knowed a case once, ' he said in a melancholy tone, 'where a chapdied--of thirst--on a job just like this; and at the inquest the doctorsaid as 'arf a pint would 'a saved 'im!'

'It must 'ave been a norrible death, ' remarked Harlow. 

''Orrible ain't the work for it, mate, ' replied Philpot, mournfully. 'It was something chronic!'

After this final heartrending appeal to Sweater's humanity theyreturned to work, satisfied that, whatever the result of their efforts, they had done their best. They had placed the matter fully and fairlybefore him: nothing more could be said: the issue now rested entirelywith him. 

But it was all in vain. Sweater either did not or would notunderstand, and when he came downstairs he took no notice whatever ofthe cap which Philpot had placed so conspicuously in the centre of thelanding floor. 

Chapter 9

Who is to Pay?

Sweater reached the hall almost at the same moment that Rushton enteredby the front door. They greeted each other in a friendly way and aftera few remarks concerning the work that was being done, they went intothe drawing-room where Owen and Easton were and Rushton said:

'What about this room? Have you made up your mind what you're going tohave done to it?'

'Yes, ' replied Sweater; 'but I'll tell you about that afterwards. WhatI'm anxious about is the drains. Have you brought the plans?'

'Yes. '

'What's it going to cost?'

'Just wait a minute, ' said Rushton, with a slight gesture callingSweater's attention to the presence of the two workmen. Sweaterunderstood. 

'You might leave that for a few minutes, will you?' Rushton continued, addressing Owen and Easton. 'Go and get on with something else for alittle while. '

When they were alone, Rushton closed the door and remarked: 'It'salways as well not to let these fellows know more than is necessary. '

Sweater agreed. 

'Now this 'ere drain work is really two separate jobs, ' said Rushton. 'First, the drains of the house: that is, the part of the work that'actually on your ground. When that's done, there will 'ave to be apipe carried right along under this private road to the main road toconnect the drains of the house with the town main. You follow me?'

'Perfectly. What's it going to cost for the lot?'

'For the drains of the house, �25. 0. 0. And for the connecting pipe�30. 0. 0. �55. 0. 0. For the lot. '

'Um! That the lower you can do it for, eh?'

'That's the lowest. I've figured it out most carefully, the time andmaterials, and that's practically all I'm charging you. '

The truth of the matter was that Rushton had had nothing whatever to dowith estimating the cost of this work: he had not the necessaryknowledge to do so. Hunter had drawn the plans, calculated the costand prepared the estimate. 

'I've been thinking over this business lately, ' said Sweater, lookingat Rushton with a cunning leer. 'I don't see why I should have to payfor the connecting pipe. The Corporation ought to pay for that. Whatdo you say?'

Rushton laughed. 'I don't see why not, ' he replied. 

'I think we could arrange it all right, don't you?' Sweater went on. 'Anyhow, the work will have to be done, so you'd better let 'em get onwith it. �55. 0. 0. Covers both jobs, you say?'

'Yes. '

'Oh, all right, you get on with it and we'll see what can be done withthe Corporation later on. '

'I don't suppose we'll find 'em very difficult to deal with, ' saidRushton with a grin, and Sweater smiled agreement. 

As they were passing through the hall they met Hunter, who had justarrived. He was rather surprised to see them, as he knew nothing oftheir appointment. He wished them 'Good morning' in an awkwardhesitating undertone as if he were doubtful how his greeting would bereceived. Sweater nodded slightly, but Rushton ignored him altogetherand Nimrod passed on looking and feeling like a disreputable cur thathad just been kicked. 

As Sweater and Rushton walked together about the house, Hunter hoveredabout them at a respectable distance, hoping that presently some noticemight be taken of him. His dismal countenance became even longer thanusual when he observed that they were about to leave the house withoutappearing even to know that he was there. However, just as they weregoing out, Rushton paused on the threshold and called him:

'Mr Hunter!'

'Yes, sir. '

Nimrod ran to him like a dog taken notice of by his master: if he hadpossessed a tail, it is probable that he would have wagged it. Rushtongave him the plans with an intimation that the work was to be proceededwith. 

For some time after they were gone, Hunter crawled silently about thehouse, in and out of the rooms, up and down the corridors and thestaircases. After a while he went into the room where Newman was andstood quietly watching him for about ten minutes as he worked. The manwas painting the skirting, and just then he came to a part that wassplit in several places, so he took his knife and began to fill thecracks with putty. He was so nervous under Hunter's scrutiny that hishand trembled to such an extent that it took him about twice as long asit should have done, and Hunter told him so with brutal directness. 

'Never mind about puttying up such little cracks as them!' he shouted. 'Fill 'em up with the paint. We can't afford to pay you for messingabout like that!'

Newman made no reply. 

Misery found no excuse for bullying anyone else, because they were alltearing into it for all they were worth. As he wandered up and downthe house like an evil spirit, he was followed by the furtivelyunfriendly glances of the men, who cursed him in their hearts as hepassed. 

He sneaked into the drawing-room and after standing with a malignantexpression, silently watching Owen and Easton, he came out againwithout having uttered a word. 

Although he frequently acted in this manner, yet somehow today thecircumstance worried Owen considerably. He wondered uneasily what itmeant, and began to feel vaguely apprehensive. Hunter's silence seemedmore menacing than his speech. 

Chapter 10

The Long Hill

Bert arrived at the shop and with as little delay as possible loaded upthe handcart with all the things he had been sent for and start on thereturn journey. He got on all right in the town, because the roadswere level and smooth, being paved with wood blocks. If it had onlybeen like that all the way it would have been easy enough, although hewas a small boy for such a large truck, and such a heavy load. Whilethe wood road lasted the principal trouble he experienced was thedifficulty of seeing where he was going, the handcart being so high andhimself so short. The pair of steps on the cart of course made it allthe worse in that respect. However, by taking great care he managed toget through the town all right, although he narrowly escaped collidingwith several vehicles, including two or three motor cars and anelectric tram, besides nearly knocking over an old woman who wascarrying a large bundle of washing. From time to time he saw othersmall boys of his acquaintance, some of them former schoolmates. Someof these passed by carrying heavy loads of groceries in baskets, andothers with wooden trays full of joints of meat. 

Unfortunately, the wood paving ceased at the very place where theground began to rise. Bert now found himself at the beginning of along stretch of macadamized road which rose slightly and persistentlythroughout its whole length. Bert had pushed a cart up this road manytimes before and consequently knew the best method of tackling it. Experience had taught him that a full frontal attack on this hill wasliable to failure, so on this occasion he followed his usual plan ofmaking diagonal movements, crossing the road repeatedly from right toleft and left to right, after the fashion of a sailing ship tackingagainst the wind, and halting about every twenty yards to rest and takebreath. The distance he was to go was regulated, not so much by hispowers of endurance as by the various objects by the wayside--thelamp-posts, for instance. During each rest he used to look ahead andselect a certain lamp-post or street corner as the next stopping-place, and when he start again he used to make the most strenuous anddesperate efforts to reach it. 

Generally the goal he selected was too distant, for he usuallyoverestimated his strength, and whenever he was forced to give in heran the truck against the kerb and stood there panting for breath andfeeling profoundly disappointed at his failure. 

On the present occasion, during one of these rests, it flashed upon himthat he was being a very long time: he would have to buck up or hewould get into a row: he was not even half-way up the road yet!

Selecting a distant lamp-post, he determined to reach it before restingagain. 

The cart had a single shaft with a cross-piece at the end, forming thehandle: he gripped this fiercely with both hands and, placing his chestagainst it, with a mighty effort he pushed the cart before him. 

It seemed to get heavier and heavier every foot of the way. His wholebody, but especially the thighs and calves of his legs, painedterribly, but still he strained and struggled and said to himself thathe would not give in until he reached the lamp-post. 

Finding that the handle hurt his chest, he lowered it to his waist, butthat being even more painful he raised it again to his chest, andstruggled savagely on, panting for breath and with his heart beatingwildly. 

The cart became heavier and heavier. After a while it seemed to theboy as if there were someone at the front of it trying to push him backdown the hill. This was such a funny idea that for a moment he feltinclined to laugh, but the inclination went almost as soon as it cameand was replaced by the dread that he would not be able to hold outlong enough to reach the lamp-post, after all. Clenching his teeth, hemade a tremendous effort and staggered forward two or three more stepsand then--the cart stopped. He struggled with it despairingly for afew seconds, but all the strength had suddenly gone out of him: hislegs felt so weak that he nearly collapsed on to the ground, and thecart began to move backwards down the hill. He was just able to stickto it and guide it so that it ran into and rested against the kerb, andthen he stood holding it in a half-dazed way, very pale, saturated withperspiration, and trembling. His legs in particular shook so much thathe felt that unless he could sit down for a little, he would FALL down. 

He lowered the handle very carefully so as not to spill the whitewashout of the pail which was hanging from a hook under the cart, then, sitting down on the kerbstone, he leaned wearily against the wheel. 

A little way down the road was a church with a clock in the tower. Itwas five minutes to ten by this clock. Bert said to himself that whenit was ten he would make another start. 

Whilst he was resting he thought of many things. Just behind thatchurch was a field with several ponds in it where he used to go withother boys to catch effets. It if were not for the cart he would goacross now, to see whether there were any there still. He rememberedthat he had been very eager to leave school and go to work, but theyused to be fine old times after all. 

Then he thought of the day when his mother took him to Mr Rushton'soffice to 'bind' him. He remembered that day very vividly: it wasalmost a year ago. How nervous he had been! His hand had trembled sothat he was scarcely able to hold the pen. And even when it was allover, they had both felt very miserable, somehow. His mother had beenvery nervous in the office also, and when they got home she cried a lotand called him her poor little fatherless boy, and said she hoped hewould be good and try to learn. And then he cried as well, andpromised her that he would do his best. He reflected with pride thathe was keeping his promise about being a good boy and trying to learn:in fact, he knew a great deal about the trade already--he could paintback doors as well as anybody! and railings as well. Owen had taughthim lots of things and had promised to do some patterns of graining forhim so that he might practise copying them at home in the evenings. Owen was a fine chap. Bert resolved that he would tell him what Crasshad been saying to Easton. Just fancy, the cheek of a rotter likeCrass, trying to get Owen the sack! It would be more like it if Crasswas to be sacked himself, so that Owen could be the foreman. 

One minute to ten. 

With a heavy heart Bert watched the clock. His legs were still achingvery badly. He could not see the hands of the clock moving, but theywere creeping on all the same. Now, the minute hand was over the edgeof the number, and he began to deliberate whether he might not rest foranother five minutes? But he had been such a long time already on hiserrand that he dismissed the thought. The minute hand was now uprightand it was time to go on. 

Just as he was about to get up a harsh voice behind him said:

'How much longer are you going to sit there?'

Bert started up guiltily, and found himself confronted by Mr Rushton, who was regarding him with an angry frown, whilst close by towered thecolossal figure of the obese Sweater, the expression on his greasycountenance betokening the pain he experienced on beholding such asappalling example of juvenile depravity. 

'What do you mean by sich conduct?' demanded Rushton, indignantly. 'Theidear of sitting there like that when most likely the men are waitingfor them things?'

Crimson with shame and confusion, the boy made no reply. 

'You've been there a long time, ' continued Rushton, 'I've been watchin'you all the time I've been comin' down the road. '

Bert tried to speak to explain why he had been resting, but his mouthand his tongue had become quite parched from terror and he was unableto articulate a single word. 

'You know, that's not the way to get on in life, my boy, ' observedSweater lifting his forefinger and shaking his fat head reproachfully. 

'Get along with you at once!' Rushton said, roughly. 'I'm surprised atyer! The idear! Sitting down in my time!'

This was quite true. Rushton was not merely angry, but astonished atthe audacity of the boy. That anyone in his employment should dare tohave the impertinence to sit down in his time was incredible. 

The boy lifted the handle of the cart and once more began to push it upthe hill. It seemed heavier now that ever, but he managed to get onsomehow. He kept glancing back after Rushton and Sweater, whopresently turned a corner and were lost to view: then he ran the cartto the kerb again to have a breathe. He couldn't have kept up muchfurther without a spell even if they had still been watching him, buthe didn't rest for more than about half a minute this time, because hewas afraid they might be peeping round the corner at him. 

After this he gave up the lamp-post system and halted for a minute orso at regular short intervals. In this way, he at length reached thetop of the hill, and with a sigh of relief congratulated himself thatthe journey was practically over. 

Just before he arrived at the gate of the house, he saw Hunter sneakout and mount his bicycle and ride away. Bert wheeled his cart up tothe front door and began carrying in the things. Whilst thus engagedhe noticed Philpot peeping cautiously over the banisters of thestaircase, and called out to him:

'Give us a hand with this bucket of whitewash, will yer, Joe?'

'Certainly, me son, with the greatest of hagony, ' replied Philpot as hehurried down the stairs. 

As they were carrying it in Philpot winked at Bert and whispered:

'Did yer see Pontius Pilate anywheres outside?'

''E went away on 'is bike just as I come in at the gate. '

'Did 'e? Thank Gord for that! I don't wish 'im no 'arm, ' saidPhilpot, fervently, 'but I 'opes 'e gets runned over with a motor. '

In this wish Bert entirely concurred, and similar charitable sentimentswere expressed by all the others as soon as they heard that Misery wasgone. 

Just before four o'clock that afternoon Bert began to load up the truckwith the venetian blinds, which had been taken down some dayspreviously. 

'I wonder who'll have the job of paintin' 'em?' remarked Philpot toNewman. 

'P'raps's they'll take a couple of us away from ere. '

'I shouldn't think so. We're short-'anded 'ere already. Most likelythey'll put on a couple of fresh 'ands. There's a 'ell of a lot ofwork in all them blinds, you know: I reckon they'll 'ave to 'ave thereor four coats, the state they're in. '

'Yes. No doubt that's what will be done, ' replied Newman, and addedwith a mirthless laugh:

'I don't suppose they'll have much difficulty in getting a couple ofchaps. '

'No, you're right, mate. There's plenty of 'em walkin' about as aweek's work would be a Gordsend to. '

'Come to think of it, ' continued Newman after a pause, 'I believe thefirm used to give all their blind work to old Latham, the venetianblind maker. Prap's they'll give 'im this lot to do. '

'Very likely, ' replied Philpot, 'I should think 'e can do 'em cheapereven than us chaps, and that's all the firm cares about. '

How far their conjectures were fulfilled will appear later. 

Shortly after Bert was gone it became so dark that it was necessary tolight the candles, and Philpot remarked that although he hated workingunder such conditions, yet he was always glad when lighting up timecame, because then knocking off time was not very far behind. 

About five minutes to five, just as they were all putting their thingsaway for the night, Nimrod suddenly appeared in the house. He had comehoping to find some of them ready dressed to go home before the propertime. Having failed in this laudable enterprise, he stood silently byhimself for some seconds in the drawing-room. This was a spacious andlofty apartment with a large semicircular bay window. Round the ceilingwas a deep cornice. In the semi-darkness the room appeared to be ofeven greater proportions than it really was. After standing thinkingin this room for a little while, Hunter turned and strode out to thekitchen, where the men were preparing to go home. Owen was taking offhis blouse and apron as the other entered. Hunter addressed him with amalevolent snarl:

'You can call at the office tonight as you go home. '

Owen's heart seemed to stop beating. All the petty annoyances he hadendured from Hunter rushed into his memory, together with what Eastonhad told him that morning. He stood, still and speechless, holding hisapron in his hand and staring at the manager. 

'What for?' he ejaculated at length. 'What's the matter?'

'You'll find out what you're wanted for when you get there, ' returnedHunter as he went out of the room and away from the house. 

When he was gone a dead silence prevailed. The hands ceased theirpreparations for departure and looked at each other and at Owen inastonishment. To stand a man off like that--when the job was not halffinished--and for no apparent reason: and of a Monday, too. It wasunheard of. There was a general chorus of indignation. Harlow andPhilpot especially were very wroth. 

'If it comes to that, ' Harlow shouted, 'they've got no bloody right todo it! We're entitled to an hour's notice. '

'Of course we are!' cried Philpot, his goggle eyes rolling wildly withwrath. 'And I should 'ave it too, if it was me. You take my tip, Frank: CHARGE UP TO SIX O'CLOCK on yer time sheet and get some of yourown back. '

Everyone joined in the outburst of indignant protest. Everyone, thatis, except Crass and Slyme. But then they were not exactly in thekitchen: they were out in the scullery putting their things away, andso it happened that they said nothing, although they exchangedsignificant looks. 

Owen had by this time recovered his self-possession. He collected allhis tools and put them with his apron and blouse into his tool-bag withthe purpose of taking them with him that night, but on reflection heresolved not to do so. After all, it was not absolutely certain thathe was going to be 'stood off': possibly they were going to send him onsome other job. 

They kept all together--some walking on the pavement and some in theroad--until they got down town, and then separated. Crass, Sawkins, Bundy and Philpot adjourned to the 'Cricketers' for a drink, Newmanwent on by himself, Slyme accompanied Easton who had arranged with himto come that night to see the bedroom, and Owen went in the directionof the office. 

Chapter 11

Hands and Brains

Rushton & Co. 's premises were situated in one of the principal streetsof Mugsborough and consisted of a double-fronted shop with plate glasswindows. The shop extended right through to the narrow back streetwhich ran behind it. The front part of the shop was stocked withwall-hangings, mouldings, stands showing patterns of embossed wall andceiling decorations, cases of brushes, tins of varnish and enamel, andsimilar things. 

The office was at the rear and was separated from the rest of the shopby a partition, glazed with muranese obscured glass. This office hadtwo doors, one in the partition, giving access to the front shop, andthe other by the side of the window and opening on to the back street. The glass of the lower sash of the back window consisted of one largepane on which was painted 'Rushton & Co. ' in black letters on a whiteground. 

Owen stood outside this window for two or three seconds beforeknocking. There was a bright light in the office. Then he knocked atthe door, which was at once opened from the inside by Hunter, and Owenwent in. 

Rushton was seated in an armchair at his desk, smoking a cigar andreading one of several letters that were lying before him. At the backwas a large unframed photograph of the size known as half-plate of theinterior of some building. At another desk, or rather table, at theother side of the office, a young woman was sitting writing in a largeledger. There was a typewriting machine on the table at her side. 

Rushton glanced up carelessly as Owen came in, but took no furthernotice of him. 

'Just wait a minute, ' Hunter said to Owen, and then, after conversingin a low tone with Rushton for a few minutes, the foreman put on hishat and went out of the office through the partition door which ledinto the front shop. 

Owen stood waiting for Rushton to speak. He wondered why Hunter hadsneaked off and felt inclined to open the door and call him back. Onething he was determined about: he meant to have some explanation: hewould not submit tamely to be dismissed without any just reason. 

When he had finished reading the letter, Rushton looked up, and, leaning comfortably back in his chair, he blew a cloud of smoke fromhis cigar, and said in an affable, indulgent tone, such as one mightuse to a child:

'You're a bit of a hartist, ain't yer?'

Owen was so surprised at this reception that he was for the momentunable to reply. 

'You know what I mean, ' continued Rushton; 'decorating work, somethinglike them samples of yours what's hanging up there. '

He noticed the embarrassment of Owen's manner, and was gratified. Hethought the man was confused at being spoken to by such a superiorperson as himself. 

Mr Rushton was about thirty-five years of age, with light grey eyes, fair hair and moustache, and his complexion was a whitey drab. He wastall--about five feet ten inches--and rather clumsily built; notcorpulent, but fat--in good condition. He appeared to be very well fedand well cared for generally. His clothes were well made, of goodquality and fitted him perfectly. He was dressed in a grey Norfolksuit, dark brown boots and knitted woollen stockings reaching to theknee. 

He was a man who took himself very seriously. There was an air ofpomposity and arrogant importance about him which--considering who andwhat he was--would have been entertaining to any observer gifted with asense of humour. 

'Yes, ' replied Owen at last. 'I can do a little of that sort of work, although of course I don't profess to be able to do it as well or asquickly as a man who does nothing else. '

'Oh, no, of course not, but I think you could manage this all right. It's that drawing-room at the 'Cave'. Mr Sweater's been speaking to meabout it. It seems that when he was over in Paris some time since hesaw a room that took his fancy. The walls and ceiling was not papered, but painted: you know what I mean; sort of panelled out, and decoratedwith stencils and hand painting. This 'ere's a photer of it: it's donein a sort of JAPANESE fashion. '

He handed the photograph to Owen as he spoke. It represented a room, the walls and ceiling of which were decorated in a Moorish style. 

'At first Mr Sweater thought of getting a firm from London to do it, but 'e gave up the idear on account of the expense; but if you can doit so that it doesn't cost too much, I think I can persuade 'im to goin for it. But if it's goin' to cost a lot it won't come off at all. 'E'll just 'ave a frieze put up and 'ave the room papered in theordinary way. '

This was not true: Rushton said it in case Owen might want to be paidextra wages while doing the work. The truth was that Sweater was goingto have the room decorated in any case, and intended to get a Londonfirm to do it. He had consented rather unwillingly to let Rushton &Co. Submit him an estimate, because he thought they would not be ableto do the work satisfactorily. 

Owen examined the photograph closely. 

'Could you do anything like that in that room?'

'Yes, I think so, ' replied Owen. 

'Well, you know, I don't want you to start on the job and not be ableto finish it. Can you do it or not?'

Rushton felt sure that Owen could do it, and was very desirous that heshould undertake it, but he did not want him to know that. He wishedto convey the impression that he was almost indifferent whether Owendid the work or not. In fact, he wished to seem to be conferring afavour upon him by procuring him such a nice job as this. 

'I'll tell you what I CAN do, ' Owen replied. 'I can make you awatercolour sketch--a design--and if you think it good enough, ofcourse, I can reproduce it on the ceiling and the walls, and I can letyou know, within a little, how long it will take. '

Rushton appeared to reflect. Owen stood examining the photograph andbegan to feel an intense desire to do the work. 

Rushton shook his head dubiously. 

'If I let you spend a lot of time over the sketches and then Mr Sweaterdoes not approve of your design, where do I come in?'

'Well, suppose we put it like this: I'll draw the design at home in theevenings--in my own time. If it's accepted, I'll charge you for thetime I've spent upon it. If it's not suitable, I won't charge the timeat all. '

Rushton brightened up considerably. 'All right. You can do so, ' hesaid with an affectation of good nature, 'but you mustn't pile it ontoo thick, in any case, you know, because, as I said before, 'e don'twant to spend too much money on it. In fact, if it's going to cost agreat deal 'e simply won't 'ave it done at all. '

Rushton knew Owen well enough to be sure that no consideration of timeor pains would prevent him from putting the very best that was in himinto this work. He knew that if the man did the room at all there wasno likelihood of his scamping it for the sake of getting it donequickly; and for that matter Rushton did not wish him to hurry over it. All that he wanted to do was to impress upon Owen from the very firstthat he must not charge too much time. Any profit that it was possibleto make out of the work, Rushton meant to secure for himself. He was asmart man, this Rushton, he possessed the ideal character: the kind ofcharacter that is necessary for any man who wishes to succeed inbusiness--to get on in life. In other words, his disposition was verysimilar to that of a pig--he was intensely selfish. 

No one had any right to condemn him for this, because all who liveunder the present system practise selfishness, more or less. We mustbe selfish: the System demands it. We must be selfish or we shall behungry and ragged and finally die in the gutter. The more selfish weare the better off we shall be. In the 'Battle of Life' only theselfish and cunning are able to survive: all others are beaten down andtrampled under foot. No one can justly be blamed for actingselfishly--it is a matter of self-preservation--we must either injureor be injured. It is the system that deserves to be blamed. What thosewho wish to perpetuate the system deserve is another question. 

'When do you think you'll have the drawings ready?' inquired Rushton. 'Can you get them done tonight?'

'I'm afraid not, ' replied Owen, feeling inclined to laugh at theabsurdity of the question. 'It will need a little thinking about. '

'When can you have them ready then? This is Monday. Wednesdaymorning?'

Owen hesitated. 

'We don't want to keep 'im waiting too long, you know, or 'e may giveup the idear altogether. '

'Well, sat Friday morning, then, ' said Owen, resolving that he wouldstay up all night if necessary to get it done. 

Rushton shook his head. 

'Can't you get it done before that? I'm afraid that if we keeps 'imwaiting all that time we may lose the job altogether. '

'I can't get them done any quicker in my spare time, ' returned Owen, flushing. 'If you like to let me stay home tomorrow and charge thetime the same as if I had gone to work at the house, I could go to myordinary work on Wednesday and let you have the drawings on Thursdaymorning. '

'Oh, all right, ' said Rushton as he returned to the perusal of hisletters. 

That night, long after his wife and Frankie were asleep, Owen worked inthe sitting-room, searching through old numbers of the Decorators'Journal and through the illustrations in other books of designs forexamples of Moorish work, and making rough sketches in pencil. 

He did not attempt to finish anything yet: it was necessary to thinkfirst; but he roughed out the general plan, and when at last he did goto bed he could not sleep for a long time. He almost fancied he was inthe drawing-room at the 'Cave'. First of all it would be necessary totake down the ugly plaster centre flower with its crevices all filledup with old whitewash. The cornice was all right; it was fortunately avery simple one, with a deep cove and without many enrichments. Then, when the walls and the ceiling had been properly prepared, theornamentation would be proceeded with. The walls, divided into panelsand arches containing painted designs and lattice-work; the panels ofthe door decorated in a similar manner. The mouldings of the door andwindow frames picked out with colours and gold so as to be in characterwith the other work; the cove of the cornice, a dull yellow with a boldornament in colour--gold was not advisable in the hollow because of theunequal distribution of the light, but some of the smaller mouldings ofthe cornice should be gold. On the ceiling there would be one largepanel covered with an appropriate design in gold and colours andsurrounded by a wide margin or border. To separate this margin fromthe centre panel there would be a narrow border, and anotherborder--but wider--round the outer edge of the margin, where theceiling met the cornice. Both these borders and the margin would becovered with ornamentation in colour and gold. Great care would benecessary when deciding what parts were to be gilded because--whilstlarge masses of gilding are apt to look garish and in bad taste--a lotof fine gold lines are ineffective, especially on a flat surface, wherethey do not always catch the light. Process by process he traced thework, and saw it advancing stage by stage until, finally, the largeapartment was transformed and glorified. And then in the midst of thepleasure he experienced in the planning of the work there came the fearthat perhaps they would not have it done at all. 

The question, what personal advantage would he gain never once occurredto Owen. He simply wanted to do the work; and he saw so fully occupiedwith thinking and planning how it was to be done that the question ofprofit was crowded out. 

But although this question of what profit could be made out of the worknever occurred to Owen, it would in due course by fully considered byMr Rushton. In fact, it was the only thing about the work that MrRushton would think of at all: how much money could be made out of it. This is what is meant by the oft-quoted saying, 'The men work withtheir hands--the master works with his brains. '

Chapter 12

The Letting of the Room

It will be remembered that when the men separated, Owen going to theoffice to see Rushton, and the others on their several ways, Easton andSlyme went together. 

During the day Easton had found an opportunity of speaking to him aboutthe bedroom. Slyme was about to leave the place where he was atpresent lodging, and he told Easton that although he had almost decidedon another place he would take a look at the room. At Easton'ssuggestion they arranged that Slyme was to accompany him home thatnight. As the former remarked, Slyme could come to see the place, andif he didn't like it as well as the other he was thinking of taking, there was no harm done. 

Ruth had contrived to furnish the room. Some of the things she hadobtained on credit from a second-hand furniture dealer. Exactly howshe had managed, Easton did not know, but it was done. 

'This is the house, ' said Easton. As they passed through, the gatecreaked loudly on its hinges and then closed of itself rather noisily. 

Ruth had just been putting the child to sleep and she stood up as theycame in, hastily fastening the bodice of her dress as she did so. 

'I've brought a gentleman to see you, ' said Easton. 

Although she knew that he was looking out for someone for the room, Ruth had not expected him to bring anyone home in this sudden manner, and she could not help wishing that he had told her beforehand of hisintention. It being Monday, she had been very busy all day and she wasconscious that she was rather untidy in her appearance. Her long brownhair was twisted loosely into a coil behind her head. She blushed inan embarrassed way as the young man stared at her. 

Easton introduced Slyme by name and they shook hands; and then atRuth's suggestion Easton took a light to show him the room, and whilethey were gone Ruth hurriedly tidied her hair and dress. 

When they came down again Slyme said he thought the room would suit himvery well. What were the terms?

Did he wish to take the room only--just to lodge? inquired Ruth, orwould he prefer to board as well?

Slyme intimated that he desired the latter arrangement. 

In that case she thought twelve shillings a week would be fair. Shebelieved that was about the usual amount. Of course that would includewashing, and if his clothes needed a little mending she would do it forhim. 

Slyme expressed himself satisfied with these terms, which were as Ruthhad said--about the usual ones. He would take the room, but he was notleaving his present lodgings until Saturday. It was therefore agreedthat he was to bring his box on Saturday evening. 

When he had gone, Easton and Ruth stood looking at each other insilence. Ever since this plan of letting the room first occurred tothem they had been very anxious to accomplish it; and yet, now that itwas done, they felt dissatisfied and unhappy, as if they had suddenlyexperienced some irreparable misfortune. In that moment theyremembered nothing of the darker side of their life together. The hardtimes and the privations were far off and seemed insignificant besidethe fact that this stranger was for the future to share their home. ToRuth especially it seemed that the happiness of the past twelve monthshad suddenly come to an end. She shrank with involuntary aversion andapprehension from the picture that rose before her of the future inwhich this intruder appeared the most prominent figure, dominatingeverything and interfering with every detail of their home life. Ofcourse they had known all this before, but somehow it had never seemedso objectionable as it did now, and as Easton thought of it he wasfilled an unreasonable resentment against Slyme, as if the latter hadforced himself upon them against their will. 

'Damn him!' he thought. 'I wish I'd never brought him here at all!'

Ruth did not appear to him to be very happy about it either. 

'Well?' he said at last. 'What do you think of him?'

'Oh, he'll be all right, I suppose. '

'For my part, I wish he wasn't coming, ' Easton continued. 

'That's just what I was thinking, ' replied Ruth dejectedly. 'I don'tlike him at all. I seemed to turn against him directly he came in thedoor. '

'I've a good mind to back out of it, somehow, tomorrow, ' exclaimedEaston after another silence. 'I could tell him we've unexpectedly gotsome friends coming to stay with us. '

'Yes, ' said Ruth eagerly. 'It would be easy enough to make some excuseor other. '

As this way of escape presented itself she felt as if a weight had beenlifted from her mind, but almost in the same instant she remembered thereasons which had at first led them to think of letting the room, andshe added, disconsolately:

'It's foolish for us to go on like this, dear. We must let the roomand it might just as well be him as anyone else. We must make the bestof it, that's all. '

Easton stood with his back to the fire, staring gloomily at her. 

'Yes, I suppose that's the right way to look at it, ' he replied atlength. 'If we can't stand it, we'll give up the house and take acouple of rooms, or a small flat--if we can get one. '

Ruth agreed, although neither alternative was very inviting. Theunwelcome alteration in their circumstances was after all notaltogether without its compensations, because from the moment ofarriving at this decision their love for each other seemed to berenewed and intensified. They remembered with acute regret thathitherto they had not always fully appreciated the happiness of thatexclusive companionship of which there now remained to them but oneweek more. For once the present was esteemed at its proper value, being invested with some of the glamour which almost always envelopsthe past. 

Chapter 13

Penal Servitude and Death

On Tuesday--the day after his interview with Rushton--Owen remained athome working at the drawings. He did not get them finished, but theywere so far advanced that he thought he would be able to complete themafter tea on Wednesday evening. He did not go to work until afterbreakfast on Wednesday and his continued absence served to confirm theopinion of the other workmen that he had been discharged. This beliefwas further strengthened by the fact that a new hand had been sent tothe house by Hunter, who came himself also at about a quarter pastseven and very nearly caught Philpot in the act of smoking. 

During breakfast, Philpot, addressing Crass and referring to Hunter, inquired anxiously:

''Ow's 'is temper this mornin', Bob?'

'As mild as milk, ' replied Crass. 'You'd think butter wouldn't melt in'is mouth. '

'Seemed quite pleased with 'isself, didn't 'e?' said Harlow. 

'Yes, ' remarked Newman. ''E said good morning to me!'

'So 'e did to me!' said Easton. ''E come inter the drorin'-room an' 'eses, "Oh, you're in 'ere are yer, Easton, " 'e ses--just like that, quite affable like. So I ses, "Yes, sir. " "Well, " 'e ses, "get itslobbered over as quick as you can, " 'e ses, "'cos we ain't got muchfor this job: don't spend a lot of time puttying up. Just smear itover an' let it go!"'

''E certinly seemed very pleased about something, ' said Harlow. 'Ithought prap's there was a undertaking job in: one o' them generallyputs 'im in a good humour. '

'I believe that nothing would please 'im so much as to see a epidemicbreak out, ' remarked Philpot. 'Small-pox, Hinfluenza, Cholery morbus, or anything like that. '

'Yes: don't you remember 'ow good-tempered 'e was last summer whenthere was such a lot of Scarlet Fever about?' observed Harlow. 

'Yes, ' said Crass with a chuckle. 'I recollect we 'ad six children'sfunerals to do in one week. Ole Misery was as pleased as Punch, because of course as a rule there ain't many boxin'-up jobs in thesummer. It's in winter as hundertakers reaps their 'arvest. '

'We ain't 'ad very many this winter, though, so far, ' said Harlow. 

'Not so many as usual, ' admitted Crass, 'but still, we can't grumble:we've 'ad one nearly every week since the beginning of October. That'snot so bad, you know. '

Crass took a lively interest in the undertaking department of Rushton &Co. 's business. He always had the job of polishing or varnishing thecoffin and assisting to take it home and to 'lift in' the corpse, besides acting as one of the bearers at the funeral. This work wasmore highly paid for than painting. 

'But I don't think there's no funeral job in, ' added Crass after apause. 'I think it's because 'e's glad to see the end of Owen, if yehask me. '

'Praps that 'as got something to do with it, ' said Harlow. 'But allthe same I don't call that a proper way to treat anyone--givin' a manthe push in that way just because 'e 'appened to 'ave a spite against'im. '

'It's wot I call a bl--dy shame!' cried Philpot. 'Owen's a chap wotsalways ready to do a good turn to anybody, and 'e knows 'is work, although 'e is a bit of a nuisance sometimes, I must admit, when 'egets on about Socialism. '

'I suppose Misery didn't say nothin' about 'im this mornin'?' inquiredEaston. 

'No, ' replied Crass, and added: 'I only 'ope Owen don't think as Inever said anything against 'im. 'E looked at me very funny that nightafter Nimrod went away. Owen needn't think nothing like that about ME, because I'm a chap like this--if I couldn't do nobody no good, Iwouldn't never do 'em no 'arm!'

At this some of the others furtively exchanged significant glances, andHarlow began to smile, but no one said anything. 

Philpot, noticing that the newcomer had not helped himself to any tea, called Bert's attention to the fact and the boy filled Owen's cup andpassed it over to the new hand. 

Their conjectures regarding the cause of Hunter's good humour were allwrong. As the reader knows, Owen had not been discharged at all, andthere was nobody dead. The real reason was that, having decided totake on another man, Hunter had experienced no difficulty in gettingone at the same reduced rate as that which Newman was working for, there being such numbers of men out of employment. Hitherto the usualrate of pay in Mugsborough had been sevenpence an hour for skilledpainters. The reader will remember that Newman consented to accept ajob at sixpence halfpenny. So far none of the other workmen knew thatNewman was working under price: he had told no one, not feeling surewhether he was the only one or not. The man whom Hunter had taken onthat morning also decided in his mind that he would keep his owncounsel concerning what pay he was to receive, until he found out whatthe others were getting. 

Just before half past eight Owen arrived and was immediately assailedwith questions as to what had transpired at the office. Crass listenedwith ill-concealed chagrin to Owen's account, but most of the otherswere genuinely pleased. 

'But what a way to speak to anybody!' observed Harlow, referring toHunter's manner on the previous Monday night. 

'You know, I reckon if ole Misery 'ad four legs, 'e'd make a very goodpig, ' said Philpot, solemnly, 'and you can't expect nothin' from a pigbut a grunt. '

During the morning, as Easton and Owen were working together in thedrawing-room, the former remarked:

'Did I tell you I had a room I wanted to let, Frank?'

'Yes, I think you did. '

'Well, I've let it to Slyme. I think he seems a very decent sort ofchap, don't you?'

'Yes, I suppose he is, ' replied Owen, hesitatingly. 'I know nothingagainst him. '

'Of course, we'd rather 'ave the 'ouse to ourselves if we could affordit, but work is so scarce lately. I've been figuring out exactly whatmy money has averaged for the last twelve months and how much a week doyou think it comes to?'

'God only knows, ' said Owen. 'How much?'

'About eighteen bob. '

'So you see we had to do something, ' continued Easton; 'and I reckonwe're lucky to get a respectable sort of chap like Slyme, religious andteetotal and all that, you know. Don't you think so?'

'Yes, I suppose you are, ' said Owen, who, although he intenselydisliked Slyme, knew nothing definite against him. 

They worked in silence for some time, and then Owen said:

'At the present time there are thousands of people so badly off that, compared with them, WE are RICH. Their sufferings are so great thatcompared with them, we may be said to be living in luxury. You knowthat, don't you?'

'Yes, that's true enough, mate. We really ought to be very thankful:we ought to consider ourselves lucky to 'ave a inside job like thiswhen there's such a lot of chaps walkin' about doin' nothing. '

'Yes, ' said Owen: 'we're lucky! Although we're in a condition ofabject, miserable poverty we must consider ourselves lucky that we'renot actually starving. '

Owen was painting the door; Easton was doing the skirting. This workcaused no noise, so they were able to converse without difficulty. 

'Do you think it's right for us to tamely make up our minds to live forthe rest of our lives under such conditions as that?'

'No; certainly not, ' replied Easton; 'but things are sure to get betterpresently. Trade hasn't always been as bad as it is now. Why, you canremember as well as I can a few years ago there was so much work thatwe was putting in fourteen and sixteen hours a day. I used to be sodone up by the end of the week that I used to stay in bed nearly allday on Sunday. '

'But don't you think it's worth while trying to find out whether it'spossible to so arrange things that we may be able to live likecivilized human beings without being alternately worked to death orstarved?'

'I don't see how we're goin' to alter things, ' answered Easton. 'Atthe present time, from what I hear, work is scarce everywhere. WEcan't MAKE work, can we?'

'Do you think, then, that the affairs of the world are something likethe wind or the weather--altogether beyond our control? And that ifthey're bad we can do nothing but just sit down and wait for them toget better?'

'Well, I don't see 'ow we can odds it. If the people wot's got themoney won't spend it, the likes of me and you can't make 'em, can we?'

Owen looked curiously at Easton. 

'I suppose you're about twenty-six now, ' he said. 'That means that youhave about another thirty years to live. Of course, if you had properfood and clothes and hadn't to work more than a reasonable number ofhours every day, there is no natural reason why you should not live foranother fifty or sixty years: but we'll say thirty. Do you mean to saythat you are able to contemplate with indifference the prospect ofliving for another thirty years under such conditions as those weendure at present?'

Easton made no reply. 

'If you were to commit some serious breach of the law, and weresentenced next week to ten years' penal servitude, you'd probably thinkyour fate a very pitiable one: yet you appear to submit quitecheerfully to this other sentence, which is--that you shall die apremature death after you have done another thirty years' hard labour. '

Easton continued painting the skirting. 

'When there's no work, ' Owen went on, taking another dip of paint as hespoke and starting on one of the lower panels of the door, 'whenthere's no work, you will either starve or get into debt. When--as atpresent--there is a little work, you will live in a state ofsemi-starvation. When times are what you call "good", you will workfor twelve or fourteen hours a day and--if you're VERYlucky--occasionally all night. The extra money you then earn will goto pay your debts so that you may be able to get credit again whenthere's no work. '

Easton put some putty in a crack in the skirting. 

'In consequence of living in this manner, you will die at least twentyyears sooner than is natural, or, should you have an unusually strongconstitution and live after you cease to be able to work, you will beput into a kind of jail and treated like a criminal for the remainderof your life. '

Having faced up the cracks, Easton resumed the painting of the skirting. 

'If it were proposed to make a law that all working men and women wereto be put to death--smothered, or hung, or poisoned, or put into alethal chamber--as soon as they reached the age of fifty years, thereis not the slightest doubt that you would join in the uproar of protestthat would ensue. Yet you submit tamely to have your life shortened byslow starvation, overwork, lack of proper boots and clothing, andthough having often to turn out and go to work when you are so ill thatyou ought to be in bed receiving medical care. '

Easton made no reply: he knew that all this was true, but he was notwithout a large share of the false pride which prompts us to hide ourpoverty and to pretend that we are much better off than we really are. He was at that moment wearing the pair of second-hand boots that Ruthhad bought for him, but he had told Harlow--who had passed some remarkabout them--that he had had them for years, wearing them only for best. He felt very resentful as he listened to the other's talk, and Owenperceived it, but nevertheless he continued:

'Unless the present system is altered, that is all we have to lookforward to; and yet you're one of the upholders of the presentsystem--you help to perpetuate it!'

''Ow do I help to perpetuate it?' demanded Easton. 

'By not trying to find out how to end it--by not helping those who aretrying to bring a better state of things into existence. Even if youare indifferent to your own fate--as you seem to be--you have no rightto be indifferent to that of the child for whose existence in thisworld you are responsible. Every man who is not helping to bring abouta better state of affairs for the future is helping to perpetuate thepresent misery, and is therefore the enemy of his own children. Thereis no such thing as being natural: we must either help or hinder. '

As Owen opened the door to paint its edge, Bert came along the passage. 

'Look out!' he cried, 'Misery's comin' up the road. 'E'll be 'ere in aminit. '

It was not often that Easton was glad to hear of the approach ofNimrod, but on this occasion he heard Bert's message with a sigh ofrelief. 

'I say, ' added the boy in a whisper to Owen, 'if it comes orf--I meanif you gets the job to do this room--will you ask to 'ave me along ofyou?'

'Yes, all right, sonny, ' replied Owen, and Bert went off to warn theothers. 

'Unaware that he had been observed, Nimrod sneaked stealthily into thehouse and began softly crawling about from room to room, peeping aroundcorners and squinting through the cracks of doors, and looking throughkeyholes. He was almost pleased to see that everybody was very hard atwork, but on going into Newman's room Misery was not satisfied with theprogress made since his last visit. The fact was that Newman had beenforgetting himself again this morning. He had been taking a littlepains with the work, doing it something like properly, instead ofscamping and rushing it in the usual way. The result was that he hadnot done enough. 

'You know, Newman, this kind of thing won't do!' Nimrod howled. 'Youmust get over a bit more than this or you won't suit me! If you can'tmove yourself a bit quicker I shall 'ave to get someone else. You'vebeen in this room since seven o'clock this morning and it's dam neartime you was out of it!'

Newman muttered something about being nearly finished now, and Hunterascended to the next landing--the attics, where the cheap man--Sawkins, the labourer--was at work. Harlow had been taken away from the atticsto go on with some of the better work, so Sawkins was now workingalone. He had been slogging into it like a Trojan and had done quite alot. He had painted not only the sashes of the window, but also alarge part of the glass, and when doing the skirting he had includedpart of the floor, sometimes an inch, sometimes half an inch. 

The paint was of a dark drab colour and the surface of the newlypainted doors bore a strong resemblance to corduroy cloth, and from thebottom corners of nearly every panel there was trickling down a largetear, as if the doors were weeping for the degenerate condition of thedecorative arts. But these tears caused to throb of pity in the bosomof Misery: neither did the corduroy-like surface of the work grate uponhis feelings. He perceived them not. He saw only that there was a Lotof Work done and his soul was filled with rapture as he reflected thatthe man who had accomplished all this was paid only fivepence an hour. At the same time it would never do to let Sawkins know that he wassatisfied with the progress made, so he said:

'I don't want you to stand too much over this up 'ere, you know, Sawkins. Just mop it over anyhow, and get away from it as quick as youcan. '

'All right, sir, ' replied Sawkins, wiping the sweat from his brow asMisery began crawling downstairs again. 

'Where's Harlow go to, then?' he demanded of Philpot. ''E wasn't 'erejust now, when I came up. '

''E's gorn downstairs, sir, out the back, ' replied Joe, jerking histhumb over his shoulder and winking at Hunter. ''E'll be back in 'arfa mo. ' And indeed at that moment Harlow was just coming upstairs again. 

''Ere, we can't allow this kind of thing in workin' hours, you know. 'Hunter bellowed. 'There's plenty of time for that in the dinner hour!'

Nimrod now went down to the drawing-room, which Easton and Owen hadbeen painting. He stood here deep in thought for some time, mentallycomparing the quantity of work done by the two men in this room withthat done by Sawkins in the attics. Misery was not a painter himself:he was a carpenter, and he thought but little of the difference in thequality of the work: to him it was all about the same: just plainpainting. 

'I believe it would pay us a great deal better, ' he thought to himself, 'if we could get hold of a few more lightweights like Sawkins. ' Andwith his mind filled with this reflection he shortly afterwards sneakedstealthily from the house. 

Chapter 14

Three Children. The Wages of Intelligence

Owen spent the greater part of the dinner hour by himself in thedrawing-room making pencil sketches in his pocket-book and takingmeasurements. In the evening after leaving off, instead of goingstraight home as usual he went round to the Free Library to see if hecould find anything concerning Moorish decorative work in any of thebooks there. Although it was only a small and ill-equipped institutionhe was rewarded by the discovery of illustrations of several examplesof which he made sketches. After about an hour spent this way, as hewas proceeding homewards he observed two children--a boy and agirl--whose appearance seemed familiar. They were standing at thewindow of a sweetstuff shop examining the wares exposed therein. AsOwen came up the children turned round and the recognized each othersimultaneously. They were Charley and Elsie Linden. Owen spoke tothem as he drew near and the boy appealed to him for his opinionconcerning a dispute they had been having. 

'I say, mister. Which do you think is the best: a fardensworth ofeverlasting stickjaw torfee, or a prize packet?'

'I'd rather have a prize packet, ' replied Owen, unhesitatingly. 

'There! I told you so!' cried Elsie, triumphantly. 

'Well, I don't care. I'd sooner 'ave the torfee, ' said Charley, doggedly. 

'Why, can't you agree which of the two to buy?'

'Oh no, it's not that, ' replied Elsie. 'We was only just SUPPOSINGwhat we'd buy if we 'ad a fardin; but we're not really goin' to buynothing, because we ain't got no money. '

'Oh, I see, ' said Owen. 'But I think _I_ have some money, ' and puttinghis hand into his pocket he produced two halfpennies and gave one toeach of the children, who immediately went in to buy the toffee and theprize packet, and when they came out he walked along with them, as theywere going in the same direction as he was: indeed, they would have topass by his house. 

'Has your grandfather got anything to do yet?' he inquired as they wentalong. 

'No. 'E's still walkin' about, mister, ' replied Charley. 

When they reached Owen's door he invited them to come up to see thekitten, which they had been inquiring about on the way. Frankie wasdelighted with these two visitors, and whilst they were eating somehome-made cakes that Nora gave them, he entertained them by displayingthe contents of his toy box, and the antics of the kitten, which wasthe best toy of all, for it invented new games all the time: acrobaticperformances on the rails of chairs; curtain climbing; running slidesup and down the oilcloth; hiding and peeping round corners and underthe sofa. The kitten cut so many comical capers, and in a little whilethe children began to create such an uproar, that Nora had to interferelest the people in the flat underneath should be annoyed. 

However, Elsie and Charley were not able to stay very long, becausetheir mother would be anxious about them, but they promised to comeagain some other day to play with Frankie. 

'I'm going to 'ave a prize next Sunday at our Sunday School, ' saidElsie as they were leaving. 

'What are you going to get it for?' asked Nora. 

''Cause I learned my text properly. I had to learn the whole of thefirst chapter of Matthew by heart and I never made one single mistake!So teacher said she'd give me a nice book next Sunday. '

'I 'ad one too, the other week, about six months ago, didn't I, Elsie?'said Charley. 

'Yes, ' replied Elsie and added: 'Do they give prizes at your SundaySchool, Frankie?'

'I don't go to Sunday School. '

'Ain't you never been?' said Charley in a tone of surprise. 

'No, ' replied Frankie. 'Dad says I have quite enough of school all theweek. '

'You ought to come to ours, man!' urged Charley. 'It's not like beingin school at all! And we 'as a treat in the summer, and prizes andsometimes a magic lantern 'tainment. It ain't 'arf all right, I cantell you. '

Frankie looked inquiringly at his mother. 

'Might I go, Mum?'

'Yes, if you like, dear. '

'But I don't know the way. '

'Oh, it's not far from 'ere, ' cried Charley. 'We 'as to pass by your'ouse when we're goin', so I'll call for you on Sunday if you like. '

'It's only just round in Duke Street; you know, the "Shining LightChapel", ' said Elsie. 'It commences at three o'clock. '

'All right, ' said Nora. 'I'll have Frankie ready at a quarter tothree. But now you must run home as fast as you can. Did you likethose cakes?'

'Yes, thank you very much, ' answered Elsie. 

'Not 'arf!' said Charley. 

'Does your mother make cakes for you sometimes?'

'She used to, but she's too busy now, making blouses and one thing andanother, ' Elsie answered. 

'I suppose she hasn't much time for cooking, ' said Nora, 'so I'vewrapped up some more of those cakes in this parcel for you to take homefor tomorrow. I think you can manage to carry it all right, can't you, Charley?'

'I think I'd better carry it myself, ' said Elsie. 'Charley's SOcareless, he's sure to lose some of them. '

'I ain't no more careless than you are, ' cried Charley, indignantly. 'What about the time you dropped the quarter of butter you was sent forin the mud?'

'That wasn't carelessness: that was an accident, and it wasn't butterat all: it was margarine, so there!'

Eventually it was arranged that they were to carry the parcel in turns, Elsie to have first innings. Frankie went downstairs to the front doorwith them to see them off, and as they went down the street he shoutedafter them:

'Mind you remember, next Sunday!'

'All right, ' Charley shouted back. 'We shan't forget. '

On Thursday Owen stayed at home until after breakfast to finish thedesigns which he had promised to have ready that morning. 

When he took them to the office at nine o'clock, the hour at which hehad arranged to meet Rushton, the latter had not yet arrived, and hedid not put in an appearance until half an hour later. Like themajority of people who do brain work, he needed a great deal more restthan those who do only mere physical labour. 

'Oh, you've brought them sketches, I suppose, ' he remarked in a surlytone as he came in. 'You know, there was no need for you to wait: youcould 'ave left 'em 'ere and gone on to your job. '

He sat down at his desk and looked carelessly at the drawing that Owenhanded to him. It was on a sheet of paper about twenty-four byeighteen inches. The design was drawn with pencil and one half of itwas coloured. 

'That's for the ceiling, ' said Owen. 'I hadn't time to colour all ofit. '

With an affectation of indifference, Rushton laid the drawing down andtook the other which Owen handed to him. 

'This is for the large wall. The same design would be adapted for theother walls; and this one shows the door and the panels under thewindow. '

Rushton expressed no opinion about the merits of the drawings. Heexamined them carelessly one after the other, and then, laying themdown, he inquired:

'How long would it take you to do this work--if we get the job?'

'About three weeks: say 150 hours. That is--the decorative work only. Of course, the walls and ceiling would have to be painted first: theywill need three coats of white. '

Rushton scribbled a note on a piece of paper. 

'Well, ' he said, after a pause, 'you can leave these 'ere and I'll seeMr Sweater about it and tell 'im what it will cost, and if he decidesto have it done I'll let you know. '

He put the drawings aside with the air of a man who has other mattersto attend to, and began to open one of the several letters that were onhis desk. He meant this as an intimation that the audience was at anend and that he desired the 'hand' to retire from the presence. Owenunderstood this, but he did not retire, because it was necessary tomention one or two things which Rushton would have to allow for whenpreparing the estimate. 

'Of course I should want some help, ' he said. 'I should need a manoccasionally, and the boy most of the time. Then there's the goldleaf--say, fifteen books. '

'Don't you think it would be possible to use gold paint?'

'I'm afraid not. '

'Is there anything else?' inquired Rushton as he finished writing downthese items. 

'I think that's all, except a few sheets of cartridge paper forstencils and working drawings. The quantity of paint necessary for thedecorative work will be very small. '

As soon as Owen was gone, Rushton took up the designs and examined themattentively. 

'These are all right, ' he muttered. 'Good enough for anywhere. If hecan paint anything like as well as this on the walls and ceiling of theroom, it will stand all the looking at that anyone in this town islikely to give it. '

'Let's see, ' he continued. 'He said three weeks, but he's so anxiousto do the job that he's most likely under-estimated the time; I'dbetter allow four weeks: that means about 200 hours: 200 hours ateight-pence: how much is that? And say he has a painter to help himhalf the time. 100 hours at sixpence-ha'penny. '

He consulted a ready reckoner that was on the desk. 

'Time, �9. 7. 6. Materials: fifteen books of gold, say a pound. Thenthere's the cartridge paper and the colours--say another pound, at theoutside. Boy's time? Well, he gets no wages as yet, so we needn'tmention that at all. Then there's the preparing of the room. Threecoats of white paint. I wish Hunter was here to give me an idea whatit will cost. '

As if in answer to his wish, Nimrod entered the office at that moment, and in reply to Rushton's query said that to give the walls and ceilingthree coats of paint would cost about three pounds five for time andmaterial. Between them the two brain workers figured that fifteenpounds would cover the entire cost of the work--painting and decorating. 

'Well, I reckon we can charge Sweater forty-five pounds for it, ' saidRushton. 'It isn't like an ordinary job, you know. If he gets aLondon firm to do it, it'll cost him double that, if not more. '

Having arrived at this decision, Rushton rung up Sweater's Emporium onthe telephone, and, finding that Mr Sweater was there, he rolled up thedesigns and set out for that gentleman's office. 

The men work with their hands, and the masters work with their brains. What a dreadful calamity it would be for the world and for mankind ifall these brain workers were to go on strike. 

Chapter 15

The Undeserving Persons and the Upper and Nether Millstones

Hunter had take on three more painters that morning. Bundy and twolabourers had commenced the work of putting in the new drains; thecarpenters were back again doing some extra work, and there was also aplumber working on the house; so there was quite a little crowd in thekitchen at dinner-time. Crass had been waiting for a suitableopportunity to produce the newspaper cutting which it will beremembered he showed to Easton on Monday morning, but he had waited invain, for there had been scarcely any 'political' talk at meal-timesall the week, and it was now Thursday. As far as Owen was concerned, his thoughts were so occupied with the designs for the drawing-roomthat he had no time for anything else, and most of the others were onlytoo willing to avoid a subject which frequently led to unpleasantness. As a rule Crass himself had no liking for such discussion, but he wasso confident of being able to 'flatten out' Owen with the cutting fromthe Obscurer that he had several times tried to lead the conversationinto the desired channel, but so far without success. 

During dinner--as they called it--various subjects were discussed. Harlow mentioned that he had found traces of bugs in one of thebedrooms upstairs and this called forth a number of anecdotes of thosevermin and of houses infested by them. Philpot remembered working in ahouse over at Windley; the people who lived in it were very dirty andhad very little furniture; no bedsteads, the beds consisting ofdilapidated mattresses and rags on the floor. He declared that theseragged mattresses used to wander about the rooms by themselves. Thehouse was so full of fleas that if one placed a sheet of newspaper onthe floor one could hear and see them jumping on it. In fact, directlyone went into that house one was covered from head to foot with fleas!During the few days he worked at that place, he lost several pounds inweight, and of evenings as he walked homewards the children and peoplein the streets, observing his ravaged countenance, thought he wassuffering from some disease and used to get out of his way when theysaw him coming. 

There were several other of these narratives, four or five men talkingat the top of their voices at the same time, each one telling adifferent story. At first each story-teller addressed himself to thecompany generally, but after a while, finding it impossible to makehimself heard, he would select some particular individual who seemeddisposed to listen and tell him the story. It sometimes happened thatin the middle of the tale the man to whom it was being told wouldremember a somewhat similar adventure of his own, which he wouldimmediately proceed to relate without waiting for the other to finish, and each of them was generally so interested in the gruesome details ofhis own story that he was unconscious of the fact that the other wastelling one at all. In a contest of this kind the victory usually wentto the man with the loudest voice, but sometimes a man who had a weakvoice, scored by repeating the same tale several times until someoneheard it. 

Barrington, who seldom spoke and was an ideal listener, wasappropriated by several men in succession, who each told him adifferent yarn. There was one man sitting on an up-ended pail in thefar corner of the room and it was evident from the movements of hislips that he also was relating a story, although nobody knew what itwas about or heard a single word of it, for no one took the slightestnotice of him. .. 

When the uproar had subsided Harlow remembered the case of a familywhose house got into such a condition that the landlord had given themnotice and the father had committed suicide because the painters hadcome to turn 'em out of house and home. There were a man, his wife anddaughter--a girl about seventeen--living in the house, and all three of'em used to drink like hell. As for the woman, she COULD shift it andno mistake! Several times a day she used to send the girl with a jugto the pub at the corner. When the old man was out, one could haveanything one liked to ask for from either of 'em for half a pint ofbeer, but for his part, said Harlow, he could never fancy it. Theywere both too ugly. 

The finale of this tale was received with a burst of incredulouslaughter by those who heard it. 

'Do you 'ear what Harlow says, Bob?' Easton shouted to Crass. 

'No. What was it?'

''E ses 'e once 'ad a chance to 'ave something but 'e wouldn't take iton because it was too ugly!'

'If it 'ad bin me, I should 'ave shut me bl--y eyes, ' cried Sawkins. 'Iwouldn't pass it for a trifle like that. '

'No, ' said Crass amid laughter, 'and you can bet your life 'e didn'tlose it neither, although 'e tries to make 'imself out to be soinnocent. '

'I always though old Harlow was a bl--y liar, ' remarked Bundy, 'but nowwe knows 'e is. '

Although everyone pretended to disbelieve him, Harlow stuck to hisversion of the story. 

'It's not their face you want, you know, ' added Bundy as he helpedhimself to some more tea. 

'I know it wasn't my old woman's face that I was after last night, 'observed Crass; and then he proceeded amid roars of laughter to give aminutely detailed account of what had taken place between himself andhis wife after they had retired for the night. 

This story reminded the man on the pail of a very strange dream he hadhad a few weeks previously: 'I dreamt I was walkin' along the top of a'igh cliff or some sich place, and all of a sudden the ground give wayunder me feet and I began to slip down and down and to save meself fromgoing over I made a grab at a tuft of grass as was growin' just withinreach of me 'and. And then I thought that some feller was 'ittin me onthe 'ead with a bl--y great stick, and tryin' to make me let go of thetuft of grass. And then I woke up to find my old woman shouting outand punchin' me with 'er fists. She said I was pullin' 'er 'air!'

While the room was in an uproar with the merriment induced by thesestories, Crass rose from his seat and crossed over to where hisovercoat was hanging on a nail in the wall, and took from the pocket apiece of card about eight inches by about four inches. One side of itwas covered with printing, and as he returned to his seat Crass calledupon the others to listen while he read it aloud. He said it was oneof the best things he had ever seen: it had been given to him by abloke in the Cricketers the other night. 

Crass was not a very good reader, but he was able to read this allright because he had read it so often that he almost knew it by heart. It was entitled 'The Art of Flatulence', and it consisted of a numberof rules and definitions. Shouts of laughter greeted the reading ofeach paragraph, and when he had ended, the piece of dirty card washanded round for the benefit of those who wished to read it forthemselves. Several of the men, however, when it was offered to them, refused to take it, and with evident disgust suggested that it shouldbe put into the fire. This view did not commend itself to Crass, who, after the others had finished with it, put it back in the pocket of hiscoat. 

Meanwhile, Bundy stood up to help himself to some more tea. The cup hewas drinking from had a large piece broken out of one side and did nothold much, so he usually had to have three or four helpings. 

'Anyone else want any' he asked. 

Several cups and jars were passed to him. These vessels had beenstanding on the floor, and the floor was very dirty and covered withdust, so before dipping them into the pail, Bundy--who had been workingat the drains all morning--wiped the bottoms of the jars upon histrousers, on the same place where he was in the habit of wiping hishands when he happened to get some dirt on them. He filled the jars sofull that as he held them by the rims and passed them to their ownerspart of the contents slopped over and trickled through his fingers. Bythe time he had finished the floor was covered with little pools of tea. 

'They say that Gord made everything for some useful purpose, ' remarkedHarlow, reverting to the original subject, 'but I should like to knowwhat the hell's the use of sich things as bugs and fleas and the like. '

'To teach people to keep theirselves clean, of course, ' said Slyme. 

'That's a funny subject, ain't it?' continued Harlow, ignoring Slyme'sanswer. 'They say as all diseases is caused by little insects. IfGord 'adn't made no cancer germs or consumption microbes there wouldn'tbe no cancer or consumption. '

'That's one of the proofs that there ISN'T an individual God, ' saidOwen. 'If we were to believe that the universe and everything thatlives was deliberately designed and created by God, then we must alsobelieve that He made his disease germs you are speaking of for thepurpose of torturing His other creatures. '

'You can't tell me a bloody yarn like that, ' interposed Crass, roughly. 'There's a Ruler over us, mate, and so you're likely to find out. '

'If Gord didn't create the world, 'ow did it come 'ere?' demanded Slyme. 

'I know no more about that than you do, ' replied Owen. 'That is--Iknow nothing. The only difference between us is that you THINK youknow. You think you know that God made the universe; how long it tookHim to do it; why He made it; how long it's been in existence and howit will finally pass away. You also imagine you know that we shalllive after we're dead; where we shall go, and the kind of existence weshall have. In fact, in the excess of your "humility", you think youknow all about it. But really you know no more of these things thanany other human being does; that is, you know NOTHING. '

'That's only YOUR opinion, ' said Slyme. 

'If we care to take the trouble to learn, ' Owen went on, 'we can know alittle of how the universe has grown and changed; but of the beginningwe know nothing. '

'That's just my opinion, matey, ' observed Philpot. 'It's just a bloodymystery, and that's all about it. '

'I don't pretend to 'ave no 'ead knowledge, ' said Slyme, 'but 'eadknowledge won't save a man's soul: it's 'EART knowledge as does that. Iknows in my 'eart as my sins is all hunder the Blood, and it's knowin'that, wot's given 'appiness and the peace which passes allunderstanding to me ever since I've been a Christian. '

'Glory, glory, hallelujah!' shouted Bundy, and nearly everyone laughed. 

'"Christian" is right, ' sneered Owen. 'You've got some title to callyourself a Christian, haven't you? As for the happiness that passesall understanding, it certainly passes MY understanding how you can behappy when you believe that millions of people are being tortured inHell; and it also passes my understanding why you are not ashamed ofyourself for being happy under such circumstances. '

'Ah, well, you'll find it all out when you come to die, mate, ' repliedSlyme in a threatening tone. 'You'll think and talk different then!'

'That's just wot gets over ME, ' observed Harlow. 'It don't seem rightthat after living in misery and poverty all our bloody lives, workin'and slavin' all the hours that Gord A'mighty sends, that we're to bebloody well set fire and burned in 'ell for all eternity! It don'tseem feasible to me, you know. '

'It's my belief, ' said Philpot, profoundly, 'that when you're dead, you're done for. That's the end of you. '

'That's what _I_ say, ' remarked Easton. 'As for all this religiousbusiness, it's just a money-making dodge. It's the parson's trade, just the same as painting is ours, only there's no work attached to itand the pay's a bloody sight better than ours is. '

'It's their livin', and a bloody good livin' too, if you ask me, ' saidBundy. 

'Yes, ' said Harlow; 'they lives on the fat o' the land, and wears thebest of everything, and they does nothing for it but talk a lot oftwaddle two or three times a week. The rest of the time they spendcadgin' money orf silly old women who thinks it's a sorter fireinsurance. '

'It's an old sayin' and a true one, ' chimed in the man on the upturnedpail. 'Parsons and publicans is the worst enemies the workin' man ever'ad. There may be SOME good 'uns, but they're few and far between. '

'If I could only get a job like the Harchbishop of Canterbury, ' saidPhilpot, solemnly, 'I'd leave this firm. '

'So would I, ' said Harlow, 'if I was the Harchbishop of Canterbury, I'dtake my pot and brushes down the office and shy 'em through the bloodywinder and tell ole Misery to go to 'ell. '

'Religion is a thing that don't trouble ME much, ' remarked Newman; 'andas for what happens to you after death, it's a thing I believe inleavin' till you comes to it--there's no sense in meetin' trouble'arfway. All the things they tells us may be true or they may not, butit takes me all my time to look after THIS world. I don't believe I'vebeen to church more than arf a dozen times since I've beenmarried--that's over fifteen years ago now--and then it's been when thekids 'ave been christened. The old woman goes sometimes and of coursethe young 'uns goes; you've got to tell 'em something or other, andthey might as well learn what they teaches at the Sunday School asanything else. '

A general murmur of approval greeted this. It seemed to be the almostunanimous opinion, that, whether it were true or not, 'religion' was anice thing to teach children. 

'I've not been even once since I was married, ' said Harlow, 'and Isometimes wish to Christ I 'adn't gorn then. '

'I don't see as it matters a dam wot a man believes, ' said Philpot, 'aslong as you don't do no 'arm to nobody. If you see a poor b--r wot'sdown on 'is luck, give 'im a 'elpin' 'and. Even if you ain't got nomoney you can say a kind word. If a man does 'is work and looks arter'is 'ome and 'is young 'uns, and does a good turn to a fellow creaturewhen 'e can, I reckon 'e stands as much chance of getting into'eaven--if there IS sich a place--as some of there 'ere Bible-busters, whether 'e ever goes to church or chapel or not. '

These sentiments were echoed by everyone with the solitary exception ofSlyme, who said that Philpot would find out his mistake after he wasdead, when he would have to stand before the Great White Throne forjudgement!

'And at the Last Day, when yer sees the moon turned inter Blood, you'llbe cryin' hout for the mountings and the rocks to fall on yer and 'ideyer from the wrath of the Lamb!'

The others laughed derisively. 

'I'm a Bush Baptist meself, ' remarked the man on the upturned pail. This individual, Dick Wantley by name, was of what is usually termed a'rugged' cast of countenance. He reminded one strongly of an ancientgargoyle, or a dragon. 

Most of the hands had by now lit their pipes, but there were a few whopreferred chewing their tobacco. As they smoked or chewed theyexpectorated upon the floor or into the fire. Wantley was one of thosewho preferred chewing and he had been spitting upon the floor to suchan extent that he was by this time partly surrounded by a kind ofsemicircular moat of dark brown spittle. 

'I'm a Bush Baptist!' he shouted across the moat, 'and you all knowswot that is. '

This confession of faith caused a fresh outburst of hilarity, becauseof course everyone knew what a Bush Baptist was. 

'If 'evven's goin' to be full of sich b--r's as Hunter, ' observedEaton, 'I think I'd rather go to the other place. '

'If ever ole Misery DOES get into 'eaven, ' said Philpot, ''e won't stopthere very long. I reckon 'e'll be chucked out of it before 'e's beenthere a week, because 'e's sure to start pinchin' the jewels out of theother saints' crowns. '

'Well, if they won't 'ave 'im in 'eaven, I'm sure I don't know wot's tobecome of 'im, ' said Harlow with pretended concern, 'because I don'tbelieve 'e'd be allowed into 'ell, now. '

'Why not?' demanded Bundy. 'I should think it's just the bloody placefor sich b--r's as 'im. '

'So it used to be at one time o' day, but they've changed all that now. They've 'ad a revolution down there: deposed the Devil, elected aparson as President, and started puttin' the fire out. '

'From what I hears of it, ' continued Harlow when the laughter hadceased, ''ell is a bloody fine place to live in just now. There'sunderground railways and 'lectric trams, and at the corner of nearlyevery street there's a sort of pub where you can buy ice-cream, lemonsquash, four ale, and American cold drinks; and you're allowed to sitin a refrigerator for two hours for a tanner. '

Although they laughed and made fun of these things the reader must notthink that they really doubted the truth of the Christian religion, because--although they had all been brought up by 'Christian' parentsand had been 'educated' in 'Christian' schools--none of them knewenough about Christianity to either really believe it or disbelieve it. The imposters who obtain a comfortable living by pretending to be theministers and disciples of the Workman of Nazareth are too cunning toencourage their dupes to acquire anything approaching an intelligentunderstanding of the subject. They do not want people to know orunderstand anything: they want them to have Faith--to believe withoutknowledge, understanding, or evidence. For years Harlow and hismates--when children--had been 'taught' 'Christianity' in day school, Sunday School and in church or chapel, and now they knew practicallynothing about it! But they were 'Christians' all the same. Theybelieved that the Bible was the word of God, but they didn't know whereit came from, how long it had been in existence, who wrote it, whotranslated it or how many different versions there were. Most of themwere almost totally unacquainted with the contents of the book itself. But all the same, they believed it--after a fashion. 

'But puttin' all jokes aside, ' said Philpot, 'I can't believe there'ssich a place as 'ell. There may be some kind of punishment, but Idon't believe it's a real fire. '

'Nor nobody else, what's got any sense, ' replied Harlow, contemptuously. 

'I believe as THIS world is 'ell, ' said Crass, looking around with aphilosophic expression. This opinion was echoed by most of the others, although Slyme remained silent and Owen laughed. 

'Wot the bloody 'ell are YOU laughin' at?' Crass demanded in anindignant tone. 

'I was laughing because you said you think this world is hell. '

'Well, I don't see nothing to laugh at in that, ' said Crass. 

'So it IS a 'ell, ' said Easton. 'There can't be anywheres much worsethan this. '

''Ear, 'ear, ' said the man behind the moat. 

'What I was laughing at is this, ' said Owen. 'The present system ofmanaging the affairs of the world is so bad and has produced suchdreadful results that you are of the opinion that the earth is a hell:and yet you are a Conservative! You wish to preserve the presentsystem--the system which has made the world into a hell!'

'I thought we shouldn't get through the dinner hour without politics ifOwen was 'ere, ' growled Bundy. 'Bloody sickenin' I call it. '

'Don't be 'ard on 'im, ' said Philpot. ''E's been very quiet for thelast few days. '

'We'll 'ave to go through it today, though, ' remarked Harlowdespairingly. 'I can see it comin'. '

'I'M not goin' through it, ' said Bundy, 'I'm orf!' And he accordinglydrank the remainder of his tea, closed his empty dinner basket and, having placed it on the mantelshelf, made for the door. 

'I'll leave you to it, ' he said as he went out. The others laughed. 

Crass, remembering the cutting from the Obscurer that he had in hispocket, was secretly very pleased at the turn the conversation wastaking. He turned roughly on Owen:

'The other day, when we was talkin' about the cause of poverty, youcontradicted everybody. Everyone else was wrong! But you yourselfcouldn't tell us what's the cause of poverty, could you?'

'I think I could. '

'Oh, of course, you think you know, ' sneered Crass, 'and of course youthink your opinion's right and everybody else's is wrong. '

'Yes, ' replied Owen. 

Several men expressed their abhorrence of this intolerant attitude ofOwen's, but the latter rejoined:

'Of course I think that my opinions are right and that everyone whodiffers from me is wrong. If I didn't think their opinions were wrongI wouldn't differ from them. If I didn't think my own opinions right Iwouldn't hold them. '

'But there's no need to keep on arguin' about it day after day, ' saidCrass. 'You've got your opinion and I've got mine. Let everyone enjoyhis own opinion, I say. '

A murmur of approbation from the crowd greeted these sentiments; butOwen rejoined:

'But we can't both be right; if your opinions are right and mine arenot, how am I to find out the truth if we never talk about them?'

'Well, wot do you reckon is the cause of poverty, then?' demandedEaston. 

'The present system--competition--capitalism. '

'It's all very well to talk like that, ' snarled Crass, to whom thisstatement conveyed no meaning whatever. 'But 'ow do you make it out?'

'Well, I put it like that for the sake of shortness, ' replied Owen. 'Suppose some people were living in a house--'

'More supposin'!' sneered Crass. 

'And suppose they were always ill, and suppose that the house was badlybuilt, the walls so constructed that they drew and retained moisture, the roof broken and leaky, the drains defective, the doors and windowsill-fitting and the rooms badly shaped and draughty. If you were askedto name, in a word, the cause of the ill-health of the people who livedthere you would say--the house. All the tinkering in the world wouldnot make that house fit to live in; the only thing to do with it wouldbe to pull it down and build another. Well, we're all living in ahouse called the Money System; and as a result most of us are sufferingfrom a disease called poverty. There's so much the matter with thepresent system that it's no good tinkering at it. Everything about itis wrong and there's nothing about it that's right. There's only onething to be done with it and that is to smash it up and have adifferent system altogether. We must get out of it. '

'It seems to me that that's just what you're trying to do, ' remandedHarlow, sarcastically. 'You seem to be tryin' to get out of answeringthe question what Easton asked you. '

'Yes!' cried Crass, fiercely. 'Why don't you answer the bloodyquestion? Wot's the cause of poverty?'

'What the 'ell's the matter with the present system?' demanded Sawkins. 

'Ow's it goin' to be altered?' said Newman. 

'Wot the bloody 'ell sort of a system do YOU think we ought to 'ave?'shouted the man behind the moat. 

'It can't never be altered, ' said Philpot. 'Human nature's humannature and you can't get away from it. '

'Never mind about human nature, ' shouted Crass. 'Stick to the point. Wot's the cause of poverty?'

'Oh, b--r the cause of poverty!' said one of the new hands. 'I've 'adenough of this bloody row. ' And he stood up and prepared to go out ofthe room. 

This individual had two patches on the seat of his trousers and thebottoms of the legs of that garment were frayed and ragged. He hadbeen out of work for about six weeks previous to having been taken onby Rushton & Co. During most of that time he and his family had beenexisting in a condition of semi-starvation on the earnings of his wifeas a charwoman and on the scraps of food she brought home from thehouses where she worked. But all the same, the question of what is thecause of poverty had no interest for him. 

'There are many causes, ' answered Owen, 'but they are all part of andinseparable from the system. In order to do away with poverty we mustdestroy the causes: to do away with the causes we must destroy thewhole system. '

'What are the causes, then?'

'Well, money, for one thing. '

This extraordinary assertion was greeted with a roar of merriment, inthe midst of which Philpot was heard to say that to listen to Owen wasas good as going to a circus. Money was the cause of poverty!

'I always thought it was the want of it!' said the man with the patcheson the seat of his trousers as he passed out of the door. 

'Other things, ' continued Owen, 'are private ownership of land, privateownership of railways, tramways, gasworks, waterworks, privateownership of factories, and the other means of producing thenecessaries and comforts of life. Competition in business--'

'But 'ow do you make it out?' demanded Crass, impatiently. 

Owen hesitated. To his mind the thing appeared very clear and simple. The causes of poverty were so glaringly evident that he marvelled thatany rational being should fail to perceive them; but at the same timehe found it very difficult to define them himself. He could not thinkof words that would convey his thoughts clearly to these others whoseemed so hostile and unwilling to understand, and who appeared to havemade up their minds to oppose and reject whatever he said. They didnot know what were the causes of poverty and apparently they did notWANT to know. 

'Well, I'll try to show you one of the causes, ' he said nervously atlast. 

He picked up a piece of charred wood that had fallen from the fire andknelt down and began to draw upon the floor. Most of the othersregarded him, with looks in which an indulgent, contemptuous kind ofinterest mingled with an air of superiority and patronage. There wasno doubt, they thought, that Owen was a clever sort of chap: his workproved that: but he was certainly a little bit mad. 

By this time Owen had drawn a circle about two feet in diameter. Insidehe had drawn two squares, one much larger than the other. These twosquares he filled in solid black with the charcoal. 

'Wot's it all about?' asked Crass with a sneer. 

'Why, can't you see?' said Philpot with a wink. ''E's goin' to do someconjurin'! In a minit 'e'll make something pass out o' one o' themsquares into the other and no one won't see 'ow it's done. '

When he had finished drawing, Owen remained for a few minutes awkwardlysilent, oppressed by the anticipation of ridicule and a sense of hisinability to put his thoughts into plain language. He began to wishthat he had not undertaken this task. At last, with an effort, hebegan to speak in a halting, nervous way:

 . .. .. .. . .. . .. . . . . . ### . . ### . . . . ############### . . ############### . . ############### . . ############### . . ############### . . ############### . . . . . . . . .. . .. . .. .. .. .. 

'This circle--or rather the space inside the circle--is supposed torepresent England. '

'Well, I never knowed it was round before, ' jeered Crass. 'I've heardas the WORLD is round--'

'I never said it was the shape--I said it was supposed to REPRESENTEngland. '

'Oh, I see. I thought we'd very soon begin supposin'. '

'The two black squares, ' continued Owen, 'represent the people who livein the country. The small square represents a few thousand people. The large square stands for the remainder--about forty millions--thatis, the majority. '

'We ain't sich bloody fools as to think that the largest number is theminority, ' interrupted Crass. 

'The greater number of the people represented by the large black squarework for their living: and in return for their labour they receivemoney: some more, some less than others. '

'You don't think they'd be sich bloody fools as to work for nothing, doyou?' said Newman. 

'I suppose you think they ought all to get the same wages!' criedHarlow. 'Do you think it's right that a scavenger should get as muchas a painter?'

'I'm not speaking about that at all, ' replied Owen. 'I'm trying toshow you what I think is one of the causes of poverty. '

'Shut up, can't you, Harlow, ' remonstrated Philpot, who began to feelinterested. 'We can't all talk at once. '

'I know we can't, ' replied Harlow in an aggrieved tone: 'but 'e takessich a 'ell of a time to say wot 'e's got to say. Nobody else can'tget a word in edgeways. '

'In order that these people may live, ' continued Owen, pointing to thelarge black square, 'it is first necessary that they shall have a PLACEto live in--'

'Well! I should never a thought it!' exclaimed the man on the pail, pretending to be much impressed. The others laughed, and two or threeof them went out of the room, contemptuously remarking to each other inan audible undertone as they went:

'Bloody rot!'

'Wonder wot the bloody 'ell 'e thinks 'e is? A sort of schoolmaster?'

Owen's nervousness increased as he continued:

'Now, they can't live in the air or in the sea. These people are landanimals, therefore they must live on the land. '

'Wot do yer mean by animals?' demanded Slyme. 

'A human bean ain't a animal!' said Crass indignantly. 

'Yes, we are!' cried Harlow. 'Go into any chemist's shop you like andask the bloke, and 'e'll tell you--'

'Oh, blow that!' interrupted Philpot. 'Let's 'ear wot Owen's sayin'. '

'They must live on the land: and that's the beginning of the trouble;because--under the present system--the majority of the people havereally no right to be in the country at all! Under the present systemthe country belongs to a few--those who are here represented by thissmall black square. If it would pay them to do so, and if they felt sodisposed, these few people have a perfect right--under the presentsystem--to order everyone else to clear out!

'But they don't do that, they allow the majority to remain in the landon one condition--that is, they must pay rent to the few for theprivilege of being permitted to live in the land of their birth. Theamount of rent demanded by those who own this country is so large that, in order to pay it, the greater number of the majority have often todeprive themselves and their children, not only of the comforts, buteven the necessaries of life. In the case of the working classes therent absorbs at the lowest possible estimate, about one-third of theirtotal earnings, for it must be remembered that the rent is an expensethat goes on all the time, whether they are employed or not. If theyget into arrears when out of work, they have to pay double when theyget employment again. 

'The majority work hard and live in poverty in order that the minoritymay live in luxury without working at all, and as the majority aremostly fools, they not only agree to pass their lives in incessantslavery and want, in order to pay this rent to those who own thecountry, but they say it is quite right that they should have to do so, and are very grateful to the little minority for allowing them toremain in the country at all. '

Owen paused, and immediately there arose a great clamour from hislisteners. 

'So it IS right, ain't it?' shouted Crass. 'If you 'ad a 'ouse and letit to someone, you'd want your rent, wouldn't yer?'

'I suppose, ' said Slyme with resentment, for he had some shares in alocal building society, 'after a man's been careful, and scraping andsaving and going without things he ought to 'ave 'ad all 'is life, andmanaged to buy a few 'ouses to support 'im in 'is old age--they oughtall to be took away from 'im? Some people, ' he added, 'ain't gotcommon honesty. '

Nearly everyone had something to say in reprobation of the viewssuggested by Owen. Harlow, in a brief but powerful speech, bristlingwith numerous sanguinary references to the bottomless pit, protestedagainst any interference with the sacred rights of property. Eastonlistened with a puzzled expression, and Philpot's goggle eyes rolledhorribly as he glared silently at the circle and the two squares. 

'By far the greatest part of the land, ' said Owen when the row hadceased, 'is held by people who have absolutely no moral right to it. Possession of much of it was obtained by means of murder and theftperpetrated by the ancestors of the present holders. In other cases, when some king or prince wanted to get rid of a mistress of whom he hadgrown weary, he presented a tract of our country to some 'nobleman' oncondition that he would marry the female. Vast estates were alsobestowed upon the remote ancestors of the present holders in return forreal or alleged services. Listen to this, ' he continued as he took asmall newspaper cutting from his pocket-book. 

Crass looked at the piece of paper dolefully. It reminded him of theone he had in his own pocket, which he was beginning to fear that hewould not have an opportunity of producing today after all. 

'Ballcartridge Rent Dat. 

'The hundredth anniversary of the Battle of Ballcartridge occurredyesterday and in accordance with custom the Duke of Ballcartridgehanded to the authorities the little flag which he annually presents tothe State in virtue of his tenure of the vast tract of this countrywhich was presented to one of his ancestors--the first Duke--inaddition to his salary, for his services at the battle of Ballcartridge. 

'The flag--which is the only rent the Duke has to pay for the greatestate which brings him in several hundreds of thousands of pounds perannum--is a small tricoloured one with a staff surmounted by an eagle. 

'The Duke of Blankmind also presents the State with a little colouredsilk flag every year in return for being allowed to retain possessionof that part of England which was presented--in addition to hissalary--to one of His Grace's very remote ancestors, for his servicesat the battle of Commissariat--in the Netherlands. 

'The Duke of Southward is another instance, ' continued Owen. 'He"owns" miles of the country we speak of as "ours". Much of his partconsists of confiscated monastery lands which were stolen from theowners by King Henry VIII and presented to the ancestors of the presentDuke. 

'Whether it was right or wrong that these parts of our country shouldever have been given to those people--the question whether thoseancestor persons were really deserving cases or not--is a thing we neednot trouble ourselves about now. But the present holders are certainlynot deserving people. They do not even take the trouble to pretendthey are. They have done nothing and they do nothing to justify theirpossession of these "estates" as they call them. And in my opinion noman who is in his right mind can really think it's just that thesepeople should be allowed to prey upon their fellow men as they aredoing now. Or that it is right that their children should be allowedto continue to prey upon our children for ever! The thousands ofpeople on those estates work and live in poverty in order that thesethree men and their families may enjoy leisure and luxury. Just thinkof the absurdity of it!' continued Owen, pointing to the drawings. 'All those people allowing themselves to be overworked and bullied andstarved and robbed by this little crowd here!'

Observing signs of a renewal of the storm of protests, Owen hurriedlyconcluded:

'Whether it's right or wrong, you can't deny that the fact that thissmall minority possesses nearly all the land of the country is one ofthe principal causes of the poverty of the majority. '

'Well, that seems true enough, ' said Easton, slowly. 'The rent's thebiggest item a workin' man's got to pay. When you're out of work andyou can't afford other things, you goes without 'em, but the rent 'asto be paid whether you're workin' or not. '

'Yes, that's enough, ' said Harlow impatiently; 'but you gets value foryer money: you can't expect to get a 'ouse for nothing. '

'Suppose we admits as it's wrong, just for the sake of argyment, ' saidCrass in a jeering tone. 'Wot then? Wot about it? 'Ow's it agoin' tobe altered. '

'Yes!' cried Harlow triumphantly. 'That's the bloody question! 'Ow'sit goin' to be altered? It can't be done!'

There was a general murmur of satisfaction. Nearly everyone seemedvery pleased to think that the existing state of things could notpossibly be altered. 

'Whether it can be altered or not, whether it's right or wrong, landlordism is one of the causes of poverty, ' Owen repeated. 'Povertyis not caused by men and women getting married; it's not caused bymachinery; it's not caused by "over-production"; it's not caused bydrink or laziness; and it's not caused by "over-population". It'scaused by Private Monopoly. That is the present system. They havemonopolized everything that it is possible to monopolize; they have gotthe whole earth, the minerals in the earth and the streams that waterthe earth. The only reason they have not monopolized the daylight andthe air is that it is not possible to do it. If it were possible toconstruct huge gasometers and to draw together and compress within themthe whole of the atmosphere, it would have been done long ago, and weshould have been compelled to work for them in order to get money tobuy air to breathe. And if that seemingly impossible thing wereaccomplished tomorrow, you would see thousands of people dying for wantof air--or of the money to buy it--even as now thousands are dying forwant of the other necessities of life. You would see people going aboutgasping for breath, and telling each other that the likes of them couldnot expect to have air to breathe unless they had the money to pay forit. Most of you here, for instance, would think and say so. Even asyou think at present that it's right for so few people to own theEarth, the Minerals and the Water, which are all just as necessary asis the air. In exactly the same spirit as you now say: "It's TheirLand, " "It's Their Water, " "It's Their Coal, " "It's Their Iron, " so youwould say "It's Their Air, " "These are their gasometers, and what righthave the likes of us to expect them to allow us to breathe fornothing?" And even while he is doing this the air monopolist will bepreaching sermons on the Brotherhood of Man; he will be dispensingadvice on "Christian Duty" in the Sunday magazines; he will giveutterance to numerous more or less moral maxims for the guidance of theyoung. And meantime, all around, people will be dying for want of someof the air that he will have bottled up in his gasometers. And whenyou are all dragging out a miserable existence, gasping for breath ordying for want of air, if one of your number suggests smashing a holein the side of one of the gasometers, you will all fall upon him in thename of law and order, and after doing your best to tear him limb fromlimb, you'll drag him, covered with blood, in triumph to the nearestPolice Station and deliver him up to "justice" in the hope of beinggiven a few half-pounds of air for your trouble. '

'I suppose you think the landlords ought to let people live in their'ouses for nothing?' said Crass, breaking the silence that followed. 

'Certainly, ' remarked Harlow, pretending to be suddenly converted toOwen's views, 'I reckon the landlord ought to pay the rent to thetenant!'

'Of course, Landlordism is not the only cause, ' said Owen, ignoringthese remarks. 'The wonderful system fosters a great many others. Employers of labour, for instance, are as great a cause of poverty aslandlords are. '

This extraordinary statement was received with astonished silence. 

'Do you mean to say that if I'm out of work and a master gives me ajob, that 'e's doin' me a injury?' said Crass at length. 

'No, of course not, ' replied Owen. 

'Well, what the bloody 'ell DO yer mean, then?'

'I mean this: supposing that the owner of a house wishes to have itrepainted. What does he usually do?'

'As a rule, 'e goes to three or four master painters and asks 'em togive 'im a price for the job. '

'Yes; and those master painters are so eager to get the work that theycut the price down to what they think is the lowest possible point, 'answered Owen, 'and the lowest usually gets the job. The successfultenderer has usually cut the price so fine that to make it pay he hasto scamp the work, pay low wages, and drive and sweat the men whom heemploys. He wants them to do two days' work for one day's pay. Theresult is that a job which--if it were done properly--would employ saytwenty men for two months, is rushed and scamped in half that time withhalf that number of men. 

'This means that--in one such case as this--ten men are deprived of onemonth's employment; and ten other men are deprived of two months'employment; and all because the employers have been cutting eachother's throats to get the work. '

'And we can't 'elp ourselves, you nor me either, ' said Harlow. 'Supposing one of us on this job was to make up 'is mind not to tearinto it like we do, but just keep on steady and do a fair day's work:wot would 'appen?'

No one answered; but the same thought was in everyone's mind. Such aone would be quickly marked by Hunter; and even if the latter failed tonotice it would not be long before Crass reported his conduct. 

'We can't 'elp ourselves, ' said Easton, gloomily. 'If one man won't doit there's twenty others ready to take 'is place. '

'We could help ourselves to a certain extent if we would stand by eachother. If, for instance, we all belonged to the Society, ' said Owen. 

'I don't believe in the Society, ' observed Crass. 'I can't see as it'sright that a inferior man should 'ave the same wages as me. '

'They're a drunken lot of beer-swillers, ' remarked Slyme. 'That's whythey always 'as their meetings in public 'ouses. '

Harlow made no comment on this question. He had at one time belongedto the Union and he was rather ashamed of having fallen away from it. 

'Wot good 'as the Society ever done 'ere?' said Easton. 'None that Iever 'eard of. '

'It might be able to do some good if most of us belonged to it; butafter all, that's another matter. Whether we could help ourselves ornot, the fact remains that we don't. But you must admit that thiscompetition of the employers is one of the causes of unemployment andpoverty, because it's not only in our line--exactly the same thinghappens in every other trade and industry. Competing employers are theupper and nether millstones which grind the workers between them. '

'I suppose you think there oughtn't to be no employers at all?' sneeredCrass. 'Or p'raps you think the masters ought to do all the bloodywork theirselves, and give us the money?'

'I don't see 'ow its goin' to be altered, ' remarked Harlow. 'ThereMUST be masters, and SOMEONE 'as to take charge of the work and do thethinkin'. '

'Whether it can be altered or not, ' said Owen, 'Landlordism andCompeting Employers are two of the causes of poverty. But of coursethey're only a small part of the system which produces luxury, refinement and culture for a few, and condemns the majority to alifelong struggle with adversity, and many thousands to degradation, hunger and rags. This is the system you all uphold and defend, although you don't mind admitting that it has made the world into ahell. '

Crass slowly drew the Obscurer cutting from his waistcoat pocket, butafter a moment's thought he replaced it, deciding to defer itsproduction till a more suitable occasion. 

'But you 'aven't told us yet 'ow you makes out that money causespoverty, ' cried Harlow, winking at the others. 'That's what I'Manxious to 'ear about!'

'So am I, ' remarked the man behind the moat. 'I was just wonderingwhether I 'adn't better tell ole Misery that I don't want no wages thisweek. '

'I think I'll tell 'im on Saterday to keep MY money and get 'imself afew drinks with it, ' said Philpot. 'It might cheer 'im up a bit andmake 'im a little more sociable and friendly like. '

'Money IS the principal cause of poverty, ' said Owen. 

''Ow do yer make it out?' cried Sawkins. 

But their curiosity had to remain unsatisfied for the time beingbecause Crass announced that it was 'just on it'. 

Chapter 16

True Freedom

About three o'clock that afternoon, Rushton suddenly appeared and beganwalking silently about the house, and listening outside the doors ofrooms where the hands were working. He did not succeed in catchinganyone idling or smoking or talking. The nearest approach to what themen called 'a capture' that he made was, as he stood outside the doorof one of the upper rooms in which Philpot and Harlow were working, heheard them singing one of Sankey's hymns--'Work! for the night iscoming'. He listened to two verses and several repetitions of thechorus. Being a 'Christian', he could scarcely object to this, especially as by peeping through the partly open door he could seethat they were suiting the action to the word. When he went into theroom they glanced around to see who it was, and stopped singing. Rushton did not speak, but stood in the middle of the floor, silentlywatching them as they worked, for about a quarter of an hour. Then, without having uttered a syllable, he turned and went out. 

They heard him softly descend the stairs, and Harlow, turning toPhilpot said in a hoarse whisper:

'What do you think of the b--r, standing there watchin' us like that, as if we was a couple of bloody convicts? If it wasn't that I've gotsomeone else beside myself to think of, I would 'ave sloshed the bloodysod in the mouth with this pound brush!'

'Yes; it does make yer feel like that, mate, ' replied Philpot, 'but ofcourse we mustn't give way to it. '

'Several times, ' continued Harlow, who was livid with anger, 'I was onthe point of turnin' round and sayin' to 'im, "What the bloody 'ell doyou mean by standin' there and watchin' me, you bloody, psalm-singin'swine?" It took me all my time to keep it in, I can tell you. '

Meanwhile, Rushton was still going about the house, occasionallystanding and watching the other men in the same manner as he hadwatched Philpot and Harlow. 

None of the men looked round from their work or spoke either to Rushtonor to each other. The only sounds heard were the noises made by thesaws and hammers of the carpenters who were fixing the frieze rails anddado rails or repairing parts of the woodwork in some of the rooms. 

Crass placed himself in Rushton's way several times with the hope ofbeing spoken to, but beyond curtly acknowledging the 'foreman's'servile 'Good hafternoon, sir, ' the master took no notice of him. 

After about an hour spent in this manner Rushton went away, but as noone say him go, it was not until some considerable time after hisdeparture that they knew that he was gone. 

Owen was secretly very disappointed. 'I thought he had come to tell meabout the drawing-room, ' he said to himself, 'but I suppose it's notdecided yet. '

Just as the 'hands' were beginning to breathe freely again, Miseryarrived, carrying some rolled-up papers in his hand. He also flittedsilently from one room to another, peering round corners and listeningat doors in the hope of seeing or hearing something which would givehim an excuse for making an example of someone. Disappointed in this, he presently crawled upstairs to the room where Owen was working and, handing to him the roll of papers he had been carrying, said:

'Mr Sweater had decided to 'ave this work done, so you can start on itas soon as you like. '

It is impossible to describe, without appearing to exaggerate, theemotions experienced by Owen as he heard this announcement. For onething it meant that the work at this house would last longer than itwould otherwise have done; and it also meant that he would be paid forthe extra time he had spent on the drawings, besides having his wagesincreased--for he was always paid an extra penny an hour when engagedon special work, such as graining or sign-writing or work of thepresent kind. But these considerations did not occur to him at themoment at all, for to him it meant much more. Since his firstconversation on the subject with Rushton he had though of little elsethan this work. 

In a sense he had been DOING it ever since. He had thought and plannedand altered the details of the work repeatedly. The colours for thedifferent parts had been selected and rejected and re-selected over andover again. A keen desire to do the work had grown within him, but hehad scarcely allowed himself to hope that it would be done at all. Hisface flushed slightly as he took the drawings from Hunter. 

'You can make a start on it tomorrow morning, ' continued thatgentleman. 'I'll tell Crass to send someone else up 'ere to finishthis room. '

'I shan't be able to commence tomorrow, because the ceiling and wallswill have to be painted first. '

'Yes: I know. You and Easton can do that. One coat tomorrow, anotheron Friday and the third on Saturday--that is, unless you can make it dowith two coats. Even if it has to be the three, you will be able to goon with your decoratin' on Monday. '

'I won't be able to start on Monday, because I shall have to make someworking drawings first. '

'Workin' drorins!' ejaculated Misery with a puzzled expression. 'Wotworkin' drorins? You've got them, ain't yer?' pointing to the roll ofpapers. 

'Yes: but as the same ornaments are repeated several times, I shallhave to make a number of full-sized drawings, with perforated outlines, to transfer the design to the walls, ' said Owen, and he proceeded tolaboriously explain the processes. 

Nimrod looked at him suspiciously. 'Is all that really necessary?' heasked. 'Couldn't you just copy it on the wall, free-hand?'

'No; that wouldn't do. It would take much longer that way. '

This consideration appealed to Misery. 

'Ah, well, ' he sighed. 'I s'pose you'll 'ave to do it the way yousaid; but for goodness sake don't spend too much time over it, becausewe've took it very cheap. We only took it on so as you could 'ave ajob, not that we expect to make any profit out of it. '

'And I shall have to cut some stencils, so I shall need several sheetsof cartridge paper. '

Upon hearing of this addition expense, Misery's long visage appeared tobecome several inches longer; but after a moment's thought hebrightened up. 

'I'll tell you what!' he exclaimed with a cunning leer, 'there's lotsof odd rolls of wallpaper down at the shop. Couldn't you manage withsome of that?'

'I'm afraid it wouldn't do, ' replied Owen doubtfully, 'but I'll have alook at it and if possible I'll use it. '

'Yes, do!' said Misery, pleased at the thought of saving something. 'Call at the shop on your way home tonight, and we'll see what we canfind. 'Ow long do you think it'll take you to make the drorins and thestencils?'

'Well, today's Thursday. If you let someone else help Easton to getthe room ready, I think I can get them done in time to bring them withme on Monday morning. '

'Wot do yer mean, "bring them with you"?' demanded Nimrod. 

'I shall have to do them at home, you know. '

'Do 'em at 'ome! Why can't you do 'em 'ere?'

'Well, there's no table, for one thing. '

'Oh, but we can soon fit you out with a table. You can 'ave a pair ofpaperhanger's tressels and boards for that matter. '

'I have a lot of sketches and things at home that I couldn't very wellbring here, ' said Owen. 

Misery argued about it for a long time, insisting that the drawingsshould be made either on the 'job' or at the paint-shop down at theyard. How, he asked, was he to know at what hour Owen commenced orleft off working, if the latter did them at home?

'I shan't charge any more time than I really work, ' replied Owen. 'Ican't possibly do them here or at the paint-shop. I know I should onlymake a mess of them under such conditions. '

'Well, I s'pose you'll 'ave to 'ave your own way, ' said Misery, dolefully. 'I'll let Harlow help Easton paint the room out, so as youcan get your stencils and things ready. But for Gord's sake get 'emdone as quick as you can. If you could manage to get done by Fridayand come down and help Easton on Saturday, it would be so much thebetter. And when you do get a start on the decoratin', I shouldn'ttake too much care over it, you know, if I was you, because we 'ad totake the job for next to nothing or Mr Sweater would never 'ave 'ad itdone at all!'

Nimrod now began to crawl about the house, snarling and grumbling ateveryone. 

'Now then, you chaps. Rouse yourselves!' he bellowed, 'you seem tothink this is a 'orspital. If some of you don't make a better showthan this, I'll 'ave to 'ave a Alteration! There's plenty of chapswalkin' about doin' nothin' who'll be only too glad of a job!'

He went into the scullery, where Crass was mixing some colour. 

'Look 'ere, Crass!' he said. 'I'm not at all satisfied with the wayyou're gettin' on with the work. You must push the chaps a bit morethan you're doin'. There's not enough being done, by a long way. Weshall lose money over this job before we're finished!'

Crass--whose fat face had turned a ghastly green with fright--mumbledsomething about getting on with it as fast as he could. 

'Well, you'll 'ave to make 'em move a bit quicker than this!' Miseryhowled, 'or there'll 'ave to be a ALTERATION!'

By an 'alteration' Crass understood that he might get the sack, or thatsomeone else might be put in charge of the job, and that would ofcourse reduce him to the ranks and do away with his chance of beingkept on longer than the others. He determined to try to ingratiatehimself with Hunter and appease his wrath by sacrificing someone else. He glanced cautiously into the kitchen and up the passage and then, lowering his voice, he said:

'They all shapes pretty well, except Newman. I would 'ave told youabout 'im before, but I thought I'd give 'im a fair chance. I've spoketo 'im several times myself about not doin' enough, but it don't seemto make no difference. '

'I've 'ad me eye on 'im meself for some time, ' replied Nimrod in thesame tone. 'Anybody would think the work was goin' to be sent to aExhibition, the way 'e messes about with it, rubbing it with glasspaperand stopping up every little crack! I can't understand where 'e getsall the glasspaper FROM. '

''E brings it 'isself!' said Crass hoarsely. 'I know for a fact that'e bought two 'a'penny sheets of it, last week out of 'is own money!'

'Oh, 'e did, did 'e?' snarled Misery. 'I'll give 'im glasspaper! I'll'ave a Alteration!'

He went into the hall, where he remained alone for a considerable time, brooding. At last, with the manner of one who has resolved on acertain course of action, he turned and entered the room where Philpotand Harlow were working. 

'You both get sevenpence an hour, don't you?' he said. 

They both replied to the affirmative. 

'I've never worked under price yet, ' added Harlow. 

'Nor me neither, ' observed Philpot. 

'Well, of course you can please yourselves, ' Hunter continued, 'butafter this week we've decided not to pay more than six and a half. Things is cut so fine nowadays that we can't afford to go on payin'sevenpence any longer. You can work up till tomorrow night on the oldterms, but if you're not willin' to accept six and a half you needn'tcome on Saturday morning. Please yourselves. Take it or leave it. '

Harlow and Philpot were both too much astonished to say anything inreply to this cheerful announcement, and Hunter, with the final remark, 'You can think it over, ' left them and went to deliver the sameultimatum to all the other full-price men, who took it in the same wayas Philpot and Harlow had done. Crass and Owen were the only two whosewages were not reduced. 

It will be remembered that Newman was one of those who were alreadyworking for the reduced rate. Misery found him alone in one of theupper rooms, to which he was giving the final coat. He was at his oldtricks. The woodwork of the cupboard be was doing was in a ratherdamaged condition, and he was facing up the dents with white-lead puttybefore painting it. He knew quite well that Hunter objected to any butvery large holes or cracks being stopped, and yet somehow or other hecould not scamp the work to the extent that he was ordered to; and so, almost by stealth, he was in the habit of doing it--not properly but aswell as he dared. He even went to the length of occasionally buying afew sheets of glasspaper with his own money, as Crass had told Hunter. When the latter came into the room he stood with a sneer on his face, watching Newman for about five minutes before he spoke. The workmanbecame very nervous and awkward under this scrutiny. 

'You can make out yer time-sheet and come to the office for yer moneyat five o'clock, ' said Nimrod at last. 'We shan't require yourvaluable services no more after tonight. '

Newman went white. 

'Why, what's wrong?' said he. 'What have I done?'

'Oh, it's not wot you've DONE, ' replied Misery. 'It's wot you've notdone. That's wot's wrong! You've not done enough, that's all!' Andwithout further parley he turned and went out. 

Newman stood in the darkening room feeling as if his heart had turnedto lead. There rose before his mind the picture of his home andfamily. He could see them as they were at this very moment, the wifeprobably just beginning to prepare the evening meal, and the childrensetting the cups and saucers and other things on the kitchen table--anoisy work, enlivened with many a frolic and childish dispute. Eventhe two-year-old baby insisted on helping, although she always puteverything in the wrong place and made all sorts of funny mistakes. They had all been so happy lately because they knew that he had workthat would last till nearly Christmas--if not longer. And now this hadhappened--to plunge them back into the abyss of wretchedness from whichthey had so recently escaped. They still owed several weeks' rent, andwere already so much in debt to the baker and the grocer that it washopeless to expect any further credit. 

'My God!' said Newman, realizing the almost utter hopelessness of thechance of obtaining another 'job' and unconsciously speaking aloud. 'MyGod! How can I tell them? What WILL become of us?'

Having accomplished the objects of his visit, Hunter shortly afterwardsdeparted, possibly congratulating himself that he had not been hidinghis light under a bushel, but that he had set it upon a candlestick andgiven light unto all that were within that house. 

As soon as they knew that he was gone, the men began to gather intolittle groups, but in a little while they nearly all found themselvesin the kitchen, discussing the reduction. Sawkins and the other'lightweights' remained at their work. Some of them got only fourpencehalfpenny--Sawkins was paid fivepence--so none of these were affectedby the change. The other two fresh hands--the journeymen--joined thecrowd in the kitchen, being anxious to conceal the fact that they hadagreed to accept the reduced rate before being 'taken on'. Owen alsowas there, having heard the news hem Philpot. 

There was a lot of furious talk. At first several of them spoke of'chucking up', at once; but others were more prudent, for they knewthat if they did leave there were dozens of others who would be eagerto take their places. 

'After all, you know, ' said Slyme, who had--stowed away somewhere atthe back of his head--an idea of presently starting business on his ownaccount: he was only waiting until he had saved enough money, 'afterall, there's something in what 'Unter says. It's very 'ard to get afair price for work nowadays. Things IS cut very fine. '

'Yes! We know all about that!' shouted Harlow. 'And who the bloody'ell is it cuts 'em? Why, sich b--rs as 'Unter and Rushton! If thisfirm 'adn't cut this job so fine, some other firm would 'ave 'ad it formore money. Rushton's cuttin' it fine didn't MAKE this job, did it?It would 'ave been done just the same if they 'adn't tendered for it atall! The only difference is that we should 'ave been workin' for someother master. '

'I don't believe the bloody job's cut fine at all!' said Philpot. 

'Rushton is a pal of Sweater's and they're both members of the TownCouncil. '

'That may be, ' replied Slyme; 'but all the same I believe Sweater gotseveral other prices besides Rushton's--friend or no friend; and youcan't blame 'im: it's only business. But pr'aps Rushton got thepreference--Sweater may 'ave told 'im the others' prices. '

'Yes, and a bloody fine lot of prices they was, too, if the truth wasknown!' said Bundy. 'There was six other firms after this job to myknowledge--Pushem and Sloggem, Bluffum and Doemdown, Dodger andScampit, Snatcham and Graball, Smeeriton and Leavit, Makehaste andSloggitt, and Gord only knows 'ow many more. '

At this moment Newman came into the room. He looked so white and upsetthat the others involuntarily paused in their conversation. 

'Well, what do YOU think of it?' asked Harlow. 

'Think of what?' said Newman. 

'Why, didn't 'Unter tell you?' cried several voices, whose ownerslooked suspiciously at him. They thought--if Hunter had not spoken toNewman, it must be because he was already working under price. Therehad been a rumour going about the last few days to that effect. 

'Didn't Misery tell you? They're not goin' to pay more than six and ahalf after this week. '

'That's not what 'e said to me. 'E just told me to knock off. Said Ididn't do enough for 'em. '

'Jesus Christ!' exclaimed Crass, pretending to be overcome withsurprise. 

Newman's account of what had transpired was listened to in gloomysilence. 'Those who--a few minutes previously--had been talking loudlyof chucking up the job became filled with apprehension that they mightbe served in the same manner as he had been. Crass was one of theloudest in his expression of astonishment and indignation, but herather overdid it and only succeeded in confirming the secret suspicionof the others that he had had something to do with Hunter's action. 

The result of the discussion was that they decided to submit toMisery's terms for the time being, until they could see a chance ofgetting work elsewhere. 

As Owen had to go to the office to see the wallpaper spoken of byHunter, he accompanied Newman when the latter went to get his wages. Nimrod was waiting for them, and had the money ready in an envelope, which he handed to Newman, who took it without speaking and went away. 

Misery had been rummaging amongst the old wallpapers, and had got out agreat heap of odd rolls, which he now submitted to Owen, but afterexamining them the latter said that they were unsuitable for thepurpose, so after some argument Misery was compelled to sign an orderfor some proper cartridge paper, which Owen obtained at a stationer'son his way home. 

The next morning, when Misery went to the 'Cave', he was in a fearfulrage, and he kicked up a terrible row with Crass. He said that MrRushton had been complaining of the lack of discipline on the job, andhe told Crass to tell all the hands that for the future singing inworking hours was strictly forbidden, and anyone caught breaking thisrule would be instantly dismissed. 

Several times during the following days Nimrod called at Owen's flat tosee how the work was progressing and to impress upon him the necessityof not taking too much trouble over it. 

Chapter 17

The Rev. John Starr

'What time is it now, Mum?' asked Frankie as soon as he had finisheddinner on the following Sunday. 

'Two o'clock. '

'Hooray! Only one more hour and Charley will be here! Oh, I wish itwas three o'clock now, don't you, Mother?'

'No, dear, I don't. You're not dressed yet, you know. '

Frankie made a grimace. 

'You're surely not going to make me wear my velvets, are you, Mum?Can't I go just as I am, in my old clothes?'

The 'velvets' was a brown suit of that material that Nora had made outof the least worn parts of an old costume of her own. 

'Of course not: if you went as you are now, you'd have everyone staringat you. '

'Well, I suppose I'll have to put up with it, ' said Frankie, resignedly. 

'And I think you'd better begin to dress me now, don't you?'

'Oh, there's plenty of time yet; you'd only make yourself untidy andthen I should have the trouble all over again. Play with your toys alittle while, and when I've done the washing up I'll get you ready. '

Frankie obeyed, and for about ten minutes his mother heard him in thenext room rummaging in the box where he stored his collection of'things'. At the end of that time, however, he returned to thekitchen. 'Is it time to dress me yet, Mum?'

'No, dear, not yet. You needn't be afraid; you'll be ready in plentyof time. '

'But I can't help being afraid; you might forget. '

'Oh, I shan't forget. There's lots of time. '

'Well, you know, I should be much easier in my mind if you would dressme now, because perhaps our clock's wrong, or p'r'aps when you begindressing me you'll find some buttons off or something, and thenthere'll be a lot of time wasted sewing them on; or p'r'aps you won'tbe able to find my clean stockings or something and then while you'relooking for it Charley might come, and if he sees I'm not ready hemightn't wait for me. '

'Oh, dear!' said Nora, pretending to be alarmed at this appalling listof possibilities. 'I suppose it will be safer to dress you at once. It's very evident you won't let me have much peace until it is done, but mind when you're dressed you'll have to sit down quietly and waittill he comes, because I don't want the trouble of dressing you twice. '

'Oh, I don't mind sitting still, ' returned Frankie, loftily. 'That'svery easy. 

'I don't mind having to take care of my clothes, ' said Frankie as hismother--having washed and dressed him, was putting the finishingtouches to his hair, brushing and combing and curling the long yellowlocks into ringlets round her fingers, 'the only thing I don't like ishaving my hair done. You know all these curls are quite unnecessary. I'm sure it would save you a lot of trouble if you wouldn't mindcutting them off. '

Nora did not answer: somehow or other she was unwilling to comply withthis often-repeated entreaty. It seemed to her that when this hair wascut off the child would have become a different individual--moreseparate and independent. 

'If you don't want to cut it off for your own sake, you might do it formy sake, because I think it's the reason some of the big boys don'twant to play with me, and some of them shout after me and say I'm agirl, and sometimes they sneak up behind me and pull it. Onlyyesterday I had to have a fight with a boy for doing it: and evenCharley Linden laughs at me, and he's my best friend--except you andDad of course. 

'Why don't you cut it off, Mum?'

'I am going to cut it as I promised you, after your next birthday. '

'Then I shall be jolly glad when it comes. Won't you? Why, what's thematter, Mum? What are you crying for?' Frankie was so concerned thathe began to cry also, wondering if he had done or said something wrong. He kissed her repeatedly, stroking her face with his hand. What's thematter, Mother?'

'I was thinking that when you're over seven and you've had your haircut short you won't be a baby any more. '

'Why, I'm not a baby now, am I? Here, look at this!'

He strode over to the wall and, dragging out two chairs, he placed themin the middle of the room, back to back, about fifteen inches apart, and before his mother realized what he was doing he had climbed up andstood with one leg on the back of each chair. 

'I should like to see a baby who could do this, ' he cried, with hisface wet with tears. 'You needn't lift me down. I can get down bymyself. Babies can't do tricks like these or even wipe up the spoonsand forks or sweep the passage. But you needn't cut it off if youdon't want to. I'll bear it as long as you like. Only don't cry anymore, because it makes me miserable. If I cry when I fall down or whenyou pull my hair when you're combing it you always tell me to bear itlike a man and not be a baby, and now you're crying yourself justbecause I'm not a baby. You ought to be jolly glad that I'm nearlygrown up into a man, because you know I've promised to build you ahouse with the money I earn, and then you needn't do no more work. We'll have a servant the same as the people downstairs, and Dad canstop at home and sit by the fire and read the paper or play with me andMaud and have pillow fights and tell stories and--'

'It's all right, dearie, ' said Nora, kissing him. 'I'm not crying now, and you mustn't either, or your eyes will be all red and you won't beable to go with Charley at all. '

When she had finished dressing him, Frankie sat for some time insilence, apparently lost in thought. At last he said:

'Why don't you get a baby, Mother? You could nurse it, and I couldhave it to play with instead of going out in the street. '

'We can't afford to keep a baby, dear. You know, even as it is, sometimes we have to go without things we want because we haven't themoney to buy them. Babies need many things that cost lots of money. '

'When I build our house when I'm a man, I'll take jolly good care notto have a gas-stove in it. That's what runs away with all the money;we're always putting pennies in the slot. And that reminds me: Charleysaid I'll have to take a ha'penny to put in the mishnery box. Oh, dear, I'm tired of sitting still. I wish he'd come. What time is it now, Mother?'

Before she could answer both Frankie's anxiety and the painful ordealof sitting still were terminated by the loud peal at the bellannouncing Charley's arrival, and Frankie, without troubling to observethe usual formality of looking out of the window to see if it was arunaway ring, had clattered half-way downstairs before he heard hismother calling him to come back for the halfpenny; then he clattered upagain and then down again at such a rate and with so much noise as torouse the indignation of all the respectable people in the house. 

When he arrived at the bottom of the stairs he remembered that he hadomitted to say goodbye, and as it was too far to go up again he rangthe bell and then went into the middle of the road and looked up at thewindow that Nora opened. 

'Goodbye, Mother, ' he shouted. 'Tell Dad I forgot to say it before Icame down. '

The School was not conducted in the chapel itself, but in a largelecture hall under it. At one end was a small platform raised aboutsix inches from the floor; on this was a chair and a small table. Anumber of groups of chairs and benches were arranged at intervals roundthe sides and in the centre of the room, each group of seatsaccommodating a separate class. On the walls--which were painted apale green--were a number of coloured pictures: Moses striking theRock, the Israelites dancing round the Golden Calf, and so on. As thereader is aware, Frankie had never been to a Sunday School of any kindbefore, and he stood for a moment looking in at the door and halfafraid to enter. The lessons had already commenced, but the scholarshad not yet settled down to work. 

The scene was one of some disorder: some of the children talking, laughing or playing, and the teachers alternately threatening andcoaxing them. The girls' and the very young children's classes werepresided over by ladies: the boys' teachers were men. 

The reader already has some slight knowledge of a few of these people. There was Mr Didlum, Mr Sweater, Mr Rushton and Mr Hunter and MrsStarvem (Ruth Easton's former mistress). On this occasion, in additionto the teachers and other officials of the Sunday School, there werealso present a considerable number of prettily dressed ladies and a fewgentlemen, who had come in the hope of meeting the Rev. John Starr, theyoung clergyman who was going to be their minister for the next fewweeks during the absence of their regular shepherd, Mr Belcher, who wasgoing away for a holiday for the benefit of his health. Mr Belcher wasnot suffering from any particular malady, but was merely 'run down', and rumour had it that this condition had been brought about by therigorous asceticism of his life and his intense devotion to the arduouslabours of his holy calling. 

Mr Starr had conducted the service in the Shining Light Chapel thatmorning, and a great sensation had been produced by the youngminister's earnest and eloquent address, which was of a very differentstyle from that of their regular minister. Although perhaps they hadnot quite grasped the real significance of all that he had said, mostof them had been favourably impressed by the young clergyman'sappearance and manner in the morning: but that might have arisen fromprepossession and force of habit, for they were accustomed, as a matterof course, to think well of any minister. There were, however, one ortwo members of the congregation who were not without some misgivingsand doubts as to the soundness of his doctrines. Mr Starr had promisedthat he would look in some time during the afternoon to say a few wordsto the Sunday School children, and consequently on this particularafternoon all the grown-ups were looking forward so eagerly to hearinghim again that not much was done in the way of lessons. Every time alate arrival entered all eyes were directed towards the door in thehope and expectation that it was he. 

When Frankie, standing at the door, saw all the people looking at himhe drew back timidly. 

'Come on, man, ' said Charley. 'You needn't be afraid; it's not like aweekday school; they can't do nothing to us, not even if we don'tbehave ourselves. There's our class over in that corner and that's ourteacher, Mr Hunter. You can sit next to me. Come on!'

Thus encouraged, Frankie followed Charley over to the class, and bothsat down. The teacher was so kind and spoke so gently to the childrenthat in a few minutes Frankie felt quite at home. 

When Hunter noticed how well cared for and well dressed he was hethought the child must belong to well-to-do, respectable parents. Frankie did not pay much attention to the lesson, for he was too muchinterested in the pictures on the walls and in looking at the otherchildren. He also noticed a very fat man who was not teaching at all, but drifted aimlessly about he room from one class to another. After atime he came and stood by the class where Frankie was, and, afternodding to Hunter, remained near, listening and smiling patronizinglyat the children. He was arrayed in a long garment of costly blackcloth, a sort of frock coat, and by the rotundity of his figure heseemed to be one of those accustomed to sit in the chief places atfeasts. This was the Rev. Mr Belcher, minister of the Shining LightChapel. His short, thick neck was surrounded by a studless collar, andapparently buttonless, being fastened in some mysterious way known onlyto himself, and he showed no shirt front. 

The long garment beforementioned was unbuttoned and through the openingthere protruded a vast expanse of waistcoat and trousers, distendedalmost to bursting by the huge globe of flesh they contained. A goldwatch-chain with a locket extended partly across the visible portion ofthe envelope of the globe. He had very large feet which were carefullyencased in soft calfskin boots. If he had removed the long garment, this individual would have resembled a balloon: the feet representingthe car and the small head that surmounted the globe, the safety valve;as it was it did actually serve the purpose of a safety valve, theowner being, in consequence of gross overfeeding and lack of naturalexercise, afflicted with chronic flatulence, which manifested itself infrequent belchings forth through the mouth of the foul gases generatedin the stomach by the decomposition of the foods with which it wasgenerally loaded. But as the Rev. Mr Belcher had never been seen withhis coat off, no one ever noticed the resemblance. It was notnecessary for him to take his coat off: his part in life was not tohelp to produce, but to help to devour the produce of the labour ofothers. 

After exchanging a few words and grins with Hunter, he moved on toanother class, and presently Frankie with a feeling of awe noticed thatthe confused murmuring sound that had hitherto pervaded the place washushed. The time allotted for lessons had expired, and the teacherswere quietly distributing hymn-books to the children. Meanwhile theballoon had drifted up to the end of the hall and had ascended theplatform, where it remained stationary by the side of the table, occasionally emitting puffs of gas through the safety valve. On thetable were several books, and also a pile of folded cards. These latterwere about six inches by three inches; there was some printing on theoutside: one of them was lying open on the table, showing the inside, which was ruled and had money columns. 

Presently Mr Belcher reached out a flabby white hand and, taking up oneof the folded cards, he looked around upon the under-fed, ill-cladchildren with a large, sweet, benevolent, fatherly smile, and then in adrawling voice occasionally broken by explosions of flatulence, he said:

'My dear children. This afternoon as I was standing near BrotherHunter's class I heard him telling them of the wanderings of theChildren of Israel in the wilderness, and of all the wonderful thingsthat were done for them; and I thought how sad it was that they were soungrateful. 

'Now those ungrateful Israelites had received many things, but we haveeven more cause to be grateful than they had, for we have received evenmore abundantly than they did. ' (Here the good man's voice was stilledby a succession of explosions. ) 'And I am sure, ' he resumed, 'thatnone of you would like to be even as those Israelites, ungrateful forall the good things you have received. Oh, how thankful you should befor having been made happy English children. Now, I am sure that youare grateful and that you will all be very glad of an opportunity ofshowing your gratitude by doing something in return. 

'Doubtless some of you have noticed the unseemly condition of theinterior of our Chapel. The flooring is broken in countless places. The walls are sadly in need of cleansing and distempering, and theyalso need cementing externally to keep out the draught. The seats andbenches and the chairs are also in a most unseemly condition and needvarnishing. 

'Now, therefore, after much earnest meditation and prayer, it has beendecided to open a Subscription List, and although times are very hardjust now, we believe we shall succeed in getting enough to have thework done; so I want each one of you to take one of these cards and goround to all your friends to see how much you can collect. It doesn'tmatter how trifling the amounts are, because the smallest donationswill be thankfully received. 

'Now, I hope you will all do your very best. Ask everyone you know; donot refrain from asking people because you think that they are too poorto give a donation, but remind them that if they cannot give theirthousands they can give the widow's mite. Ask Everyone! First of allask those whom you feel certain will give: then ask all those whom youthink may possibly give: and, finally, ask all those whom you feelcertain will not give: and you will be surprised to find that many ofthese last will donate abundantly. 

'If your friends are very poor and unable to give a large donation atone time, a good plan would be to arrange to call upon them everySaturday afternoon with your card to collect their donations. Andwhile you are asking others, do not forget to give what you canyourselves. Just a little self-denial, and those pennies andhalf-pennies which you so often spend on sweets and other unnecessarythings might be given--as a donation--to the good cause. '

Here the holy man paused again, and there was a rumbling, gurglingnoise in the interior of the balloon, followed by several escapes ofgas through the safety valve. The paroxysm over, the apostle ofself-denial continued:

'All those who wish to collect donations will stay behind for a fewminutes after school, when Brother Hunter--who has kindly consented toact as secretary to the fund--will issue the cards. 

'I would like here to say a few words of thanks to Brother Hunter forthe great interest he has displayed in this matter, and for all thetrouble he is taking to help us to gather in the donations. '

This tribute was well deserved; Hunter in fact had originated the wholescheme in the hope of securing the job for Rushton & Co. , andtwo-and-a-half per cent of the profits for himself. 

Mr Belcher now replaced the collecting card on the table and, taking upone of the hymn-books, gave out the words and afterwards conducted thesinging, nourishing one fat, flabby white hand in the air and holdingthe book in the other. 

As the last strains of the music died away, he closed his eyes and asweet smile widened his mouth as he stretched forth his right hand, open, palm down, with the fingers close together, and said:

'Let us pray. '

With much shuffling of feet everyone knelt down. Hunter's lanky formwas distributed over a very large area; his body lay along one of thebenches, his legs and feet sprawled over the floor, and his huge handsclasped the sides of the seat. His eyes were tightly closed and anexpression of the most intense misery pervaded his long face. 

Mrs Starvem, being so fat that she knew if she once knelt down shewould never be able to get up again, compromised by sitting on theextreme edge of her chair, resting her elbows on the back of the seatin front of her, and burying her face in her hands. It was a verylarge face, but her hands were capacious enough to receive it. 

In a seat at the back of the hall knelt a pale-faced, weary-lookinglittle woman about thirty-six years of age, very shabbily dressed, whohad come in during the singing. This was Mrs White, the caretaker, Bert White's mother. When her husband died, the committee of theChapel, out of charity, gave her this work, for which they paid her sixshillings a week. Of course, they could not offer her full employment;the idea was that she could get other work as well, charing and thingsof that kind, and do the Chapel work in between. There wasn't much todo: just the heating furnace to light when necessary; the Chapel, committee rooms, classrooms and Sunday School to sweep and scrub outoccasionally; the hymn-books to collect, etc. Whenever they had a teameeting--which was on an average about twice a week--there were thetrestle tables to fix up, the chairs to arrange, the table to set out, and then, supervised by Miss Didlum or some other lady, the tea tomake. There was rather a lot to do on the days following thesefunctions: the washing up, the tables and chairs to put away, the floorto sweep, and so on; but the extra work was supposed to be compensatedby the cakes and broken victuals generally left over from the feast, which were much appreciated as a welcome change from the bread anddripping or margarine that constituted Mrs White's and Bert's usualfare. 

There were several advantages attached to the position: the caretakerbecame acquainted with the leading members and their wives, some ofwho, out of charity, occasionally gave her a day's work as charwoman, the wages being on about the same generous scale as those she earned atthe Chapel, sometimes supplemented by a parcel of broken victuals orsome castoff clothing. 

An evil-minded, worldly or unconverted person might possibly sum up thematter thus: these people required this work done: they employed thiswoman to do it, taking advantage of her poverty to impose upon herconditions of price and labour that they would not have liked to endurethemselves. Although she worked very hard, early and late, the moneythey paid her as wages was insufficient to enable her to provideherself with the bare necessaries of life. Then her employers, beinggood, kind, generous, Christian people, came to the rescue and bestowedcharity, in the form of cast-off clothing and broken victuals. 

Should any such evil-minded, worldly or unconverted persons happen toread these lines, it is a sufficient answer to their impious andmalicious criticisms to say that no such thoughts ever entered thesimple mind of Mrs White herself: on the contrary, this very afternoonas she knelt in the Chapel, wearing an old mantle that some yearspreviously had adorned the obese person of the saintly Mrs Starvem, herheart was filled with gratitude towards her generous benefactors. 

During the prayer the door was softly opened: a gentleman in clericaldress entered on tiptoe and knelt down next to Mr Didlum. He came invery softly, but all the same most of those present heard him andlifted their heads or peeped through their fingers to see who it was, and when they recognized him a sound like a sigh swept through the hall. 

At the end of the prayer, amid groans and cries of 'Amen', the balloonslowly descended from the platform, and collapsed into one of theseats, and everyone rose up from the floor. When all were seated andthe shuffling, coughing and blowing of noses had ceased Mr Didlum stoodup and said:

'Before we sing the closin' 'ymn, the gentleman hon my left, the Rev. Mr John Starr, will say a few words. '

An expectant murmur rippled through the hall. The ladies lifted theireyebrows and nodded, smiled and whispered to each other; the gentlemenassumed various attitudes and expressions; the children were veryquiet. Everyone was in a state of suppressed excitement as John Starrrose from his seat and, stepping up on to the platform, stood by theside of the table, facing them. 

He was about twenty-six years of age, tall and slenderly built. Hisclean-cut, intellectual face, with its lofty forehead, and his air ofrefinement and culture were in striking contrast to the coarseappearance of the other adults in the room: the vulgar, ignorant, uncultivated crowd of profit-mongers and hucksters in front of him. Butit was not merely his air of good breeding and the general comelinessof his exterior that attracted and held one. There was an indefinablesomething about him--an atmosphere of gentleness and love that seemedto radiate from his whole being, almost compelling confidence andaffection from all those with whom he came in contact. As he stoodthere facing the others with an inexpressibly winning smile upon hiscomely face, it seemed impossible that there could be any fellowshipbetween him and them. 

There was nothing in his appearance to give anyone even an inkling ofthe truth, which was: that he was there for the purpose of bolsteringup the characters of the despicable crew of sweaters and slave-driverswho paid his wages. 

He did not give a very long address this afternoon--only just a FewWords but they were very precious, original and illuminating. He toldthem of certain Thoughts that had occurred to his mind on his way therethat afternoon; and as they listened, Sweater, Rushton, Didlum, Hunter, and the other disciples exchanged significant looks and gestures. Wasit not magnificent! Such power! Such reasoning! In fact, as theyafterwards modestly admitted to each other, it was so profound thateven they experienced great difficulty in fathoming the speaker'smeaning. 

As for the ladies, they were motionless and dumb with admiration. Theysat with flushed faces, shining eyes and palpitating hearts, lookinghungrily at the dear man as he proceeded:

'Unfortunately, our time this afternoon does not permit us to dwell atlength upon these Thoughts. Perhaps at some future date we may havethe blessed privilege of so doing; but this afternoon I have been askedto say a Few Words on another subject. The failing health of your dearminister has for some time past engaged the anxious attention of thecongregation. '

Sympathetic glances were directed towards the interesting invalid; theladies murmured, 'Poor dear!' and other expressions of anxious concern. 

'Although naturally robust, ' continued Starr, 'long, continuedOverwork, the loving solicitude for Others that often prevented himtaking even necessary repose, and a too rigorous devotion to thepractice of Self-denial have at last brought about the inevitableBreakdown, and rendered a period of Rest absolutely imperative. '

The orator paused to take breath, and the silence that ensued wasdisturbed only by faint rumblings in the interior of the ascetic victimof overwork. 

'With this laudable object, ' proceeded Start, 'a Subscription List wasquietly opened about a month ago, and those dear children who had cardsand assisted in the good work of collecting donations will be pleasedto hear that altogether a goodly sum was gathered, but as it was notquite enough, the committee voted a further amount out of the GeneralFund, and at a special meeting held last Friday evening, your dearShepherd was presented with an illuminated address, and a purse of goldsufficient to defray the expenses of a month's holiday in the South ofFrance. 

'Although, of course, he regrets being separated from you even for sucha brief period he feels that in going he is choosing the lesser of twoevils. It is better to go to the South of France for a month than tocontinue Working in spite of the warnings of exhausted nature andperhaps be taken away from you altogether--by Heaven. '

'God forbid!' fervently ejaculated several disciples, and a ghastlypallor overspread the features of the object of their prayers. 

'Even as it is there is a certain amount of danger. Let us hope andpray for the best, but if the worst should happen and he is called uponto Ascend, there will be some satisfaction in knowing that you havedone what you could to avert the dreadful calamity. '

Here, probably as a precaution against the possibility of aninvoluntary ascent, a large quantity of gas was permitted to escapethrough the safety valve of the balloon. 

'He sets out on his pilgrimage tomorrow, ' concluded Starr, 'and I amsure he will be followed by the good wishes and prayers of all themembers of his flock. '

The reverend gentleman resumed his seat, and almost immediately itbecame evident from the oscillations of the balloon that Mr Belcher wasdesirous of rising to say a Few Words in acknowledgement, but he wasrestrained by the entreaties of those near him, who besought him not toexhaust himself. He afterwards said that he would not have been ableto say much even if they had permitted him to speak, because he felttoo full. 

'During the absence of our beloved pastor, ' said Brother Didlum, whonow rose to give out the closing hymn, 'his flock will not be lefthentirely without a shepherd, for we 'ave arranged with Mr Starr tocome and say a Few Words to us hevery Sunday. '

From the manner in which they constantly referred to themselves, itmight have been thought that they were a flock of sheep instead ofbeing what they really were--a pack of wolves. 

When they heard Brother Didlum's announcement a murmur of intenserapture rose from the ladies, and Mr Starr rolled his eyes and smiledsweetly. Brother Didlum did not mention the details of the'arrangement', to have done so at that time would have been mostunseemly, but the following extract from the accounts of the chapelwill not be out of place here: 'Paid to Rev. John Starr for Sunday, Nov. 14--�4. 4. 0 per the treasurer. ' It was not a large sum consideringthe great services rendered by Mr Starr, but, small as it was, it is tobe feared that many worldly, unconverted persons will think it was fartoo much to pay for a Few Words, even such wise words as Mr JohnStarr's admittedly always were. But the Labourer is worthy of his hire. 

After the 'service' was over, most of the children, including Charleyand Frankie, remained to get collecting cards. Mr Starr was surroundedby a crowd of admirers, and a little later, when he rode away with MrBelcher and Mr Sweater in the latter's motor car, the ladies lookedhungrily after that conveyance, listening to the melancholy 'pip, pip'of its hooter and trying to console themselves with the reflection thatthey would see him again in a few hours' time at the evening service. 

Chapter 18

The Lodger

In accordance with his arrangement with Hunter, Owen commenced the workin the drawing-room on the Monday morning. Harlow and Easton weredistempering some of the ceilings, and about ten o'clock they went downto the scullery to get some more whitewash. Crass was there as usual, pretending to be very busy mixing colours. 

'Well, wot do you think of it?' he said as he served them with whatthey required. 

'Think of what?' asked Easton. 

'Why, hour speshul hartist, ' replied Crass with a sneer. 'Do you think'e's goin' to get through with it?'

'Shouldn't like to say, ' replied Easton guardedly. 

'You know it's one thing to draw on a bit of paper and colour it with apenny box of paints, and quite another thing to do it on a wall orceiling, ' continued Crass. 'Ain't it?'

'Yes; that's true enough, ' said Harlow. 

'Do you believe they're 'is own designs?' Crass went on. 

'Be rather 'ard to tell, ' remarked Easton, embarrassed. 

Neither Harlow nor Easton shared Crass's sentiments in this matter, butat the same time they could not afford to offend him by sticking up forOwen. 

'If you was to ast me, quietly, ' Crass added, 'I should be moreinclined to say as 'e copied it all out of some book. '

'That's just about the size of it, mate, ' agreed Harlow. 

'It would be a bit of all right if 'e was to make a bloody mess of it, wouldn't it?' Crass continued with a malignant leer. 

'Not arf!' said Harlow. 

When the two men regained the upper landing on which they were workingthey exchanged significant glances and laughed quietly. Hearing thesehalf-suppressed sounds of merriment, Philpot, who was working alone ina room close by, put his head out of the doorway. 

'Wot's the game?' he inquired in a low voice. 

'Ole Crass ain't arf wild about Owen doin' that room, ' replied Harlow, and repeated the substance of Crass's remarks. 

'It is a bit of a take-down for the bleeder, ain't it, 'avin' to playsecond fiddle, ' said Philpot with a delighted grin. 

''E's opin' Owen'll make a mess of it, ' Easton whispered. 

'Well, 'e'll be disappointed, mate, ' answered Philpot. 'I was workin'along of Owen for Pushem and Sloggem about two year ago, and I seen 'imdo a job down at the Royal 'Otel--the smokin'-room ceilin' it was--andI can tell you it looked a bloody treat!'

'I've heard tell of it, ' said Harlow. 

'There's no doubt Owen knows 'is work, ' remarked Easton, 'although 'eis a bit orf is onion about Socialism. '

'I don't know so much about that, mate, ' returned Philpot. 'I agreewith a lot that 'e ses. I've often thought the same things meself, butI can't talk like 'im, 'cause I ain't got no 'ead for it. '

'I agree with some of it too, ' said Harlow with a laugh, 'but all thesame 'e does say some bloody silly things, you must admit. Forinstance, that stuff about money bein' the cause of poverty. '

'Yes. I can't exactly see that meself, ' agreed Philpot. 

'We must tackle 'im about that at dinner-time, ' said Harlow. 'I shouldrather like to 'ear 'ow 'e makes it out. '

'For Gord's sake don't go startin' no arguments at dinner-time, ' saidEaston. 'Leave 'im alone when 'e is quiet. '

'Yes; let's 'ave our dinner in peace, if possible, ' said Philpot. 'Sh!!' he added, hoarsely, suddenly holding up his hand warningly. Theylistened intently. It was evident from the creaking of the stairs thatsomeone was crawling up them. Philpot instantly disappeared. Harlowlifted up the pail of whitewash and set it down again noisily. 

'I think we'd better 'ave the steps and the plank over this side, Easton, ' he said in a loud voice. 

'Yes. I think that'll be the best way, ' replied Easton. 

While they were arranging their scaffold to do the ceiling Crassarrived on the landing. He made no remark at first, but walked intothe room to see how many ceilings they had done. 

'You'd better look alive, you chaps, he said as he went downstairsagain. 'If we don't get these ceilings finished by dinner-time, Nimrod's sure to ramp. '

'All right, ' said Harlow, gruffly. 'We'll bloody soon slosh 'em over. '

'Slosh' was a very suitable word; very descriptive of the manner inwhich the work was done. The cornices of the staircase ceilings wereenriched with plaster ornaments. These ceilings were supposed to havebeen washed off, but as the men who were put to do that work had notbeen allowed sufficient time to do it properly, the crevices of theornaments were still filled up with old whitewash, and by the timeHarlow and Easton had 'sloshed' a lot more whitewash on to them theywere mere formless unsightly lumps of plaster. The 'hands' who did the'washing off' were not to blame. They had been hunted away from thework before it was half done. 

While Harlow and Easton were distempering these ceiling, Philpot andthe other hands were proceeding with the painting in different parts ofthe inside of the house, and Owen, assisted by Bert, was getting onwith the work in the drawing-room, striking chalk lines and measuringand setting out the different panels. 

There were no 'political' arguments that day at dinner-time, to thedisappointment of Crass, who was still waiting for an opportunity toproduce the Obscurer cutting. After dinner, when the others had allgone back to their work, Philpot unobtrusively returned to the kitchenand gathered up the discarded paper wrappers in which some of the menhad brought their food. Spreading one of these open, he shook thecrumbs from the others upon it. In this way and by picking upparticles of bread from the floor, he collected a little pile of crumbsand crusts. To these he added some fragments that he had left from hisown dinner. He then took the parcel upstairs and opening one of thewindows threw the crumbs on to the roof of the portico. He hadscarcely closed the window when two starlings fluttered down and beganto eat. Philpot watching them furtively from behind the shutter. Theafternoon passed uneventfully. From one till five seemed a very longtime to most of the hands, but to Owen and his mate, who was doingsomething in which they were able to feel some interest and pleasure, the time passed so rapidly that they both regretted the approach ofevening. 

'Other days, ' remarked Bert, 'I always keeps on wishin' it was time togo 'ome, but today seems to 'ave gorn like lightnin'!'

After leaving off that night, all the men kept together till theyarrived down town, and then separated. Owen went by himself: Easton, Philpot, Crass and Bundy adjourned to the 'Cricketers Arms' to have adrink together before going home, and Slyme, who was a teetotaler, wentby himself, although he was now lodging with Easton. 

'Don't wait for me, ' said the latter as he went off with Crass and theothers. 'I shall most likely catch you up before you get there. '

'All right, ' replied Slyme. 

This evening Slyme did not take the direct road home. He turned intothe main street, and, pausing before the window of a toy shop, examinedthe articles displayed therein attentively. After some minutes heappeared to have come to a decision, and entering the shop he purchaseda baby's rattle for fourpence halfpenny. It was a pretty toy made ofwhite bone and coloured wool, with a number of little bells hangingupon it, and a ring of white bone at the end of the handle. 

When he came out of the shop Slyme set out for home, this time walkingrapidly. When he entered the house Ruth was sitting by the fire withthe baby on her lap. She looked up with an expression ofdisappointment as she perceived that he was alone. 

'Where's Will got to again?' she asked. 

'He's gone to 'ave a drink with some of the chaps. He said he wouldn'tbe long, ' replied Slyme as he put his food basket on the dresser andwent upstairs to his room to wash and to change his clothes. 

When he came down again, Easton had not yet arrived. 

'Everything's ready, except just to make the tea, ' said Ruth, who wasevidently annoyed at the continued absence of Easton, 'so you may aswell have yours now. '

'I'm in no hurry. I'll wait a little and see if he comes. He's sureto be here soon. '

'If you're sure you don't mind, I shall be glad if you will wait, ' saidRuth, 'because it will save me making two lots of tea. '

They waited for about half an hour, talking at intervals in aconstrained, awkward way about trivial subjects. Then as Easton didnot come, Ruth decided to serve Slyme without waiting any longer. Withthis intention she laid the baby in its cot, but the child resentedthis arrangement and began to cry, so she had to hold him under herleft arm while she made the tea. Seeing her in this predicament, Slymeexclaimed, holding out his hands:

'Here, let me hold him while you do that. '

'Will you?' said Ruth, who, in spite of her instinctive dislike of theman, could not help feeling gratified with this attention. 'Well, mindyou don't let him fall. '

But the instant Slyme took hold of the child it began to cry evenlouder than it did when it was put into the cradle. 

'He's always like that with strangers, ' apologized Ruth as she took himback again. 

'Wait a minute, ' said Slyme, 'I've got something upstairs in my pocketthat will keep him quiet. I'd forgotten all about it. '

He went up to his room and presently returned with the rattle. Whenthe baby saw the bright colours and heard the tinkling of the bells hecrowed with delight, and reached out his hands eagerly towards it andallowed Slyme to take him without a murmur of protest. Before Ruth hadfinished making and serving the tea the man and child were on the verybest of terms with each other, so much so indeed that when Ruth hadfinished and went to take him again, the baby seemed reluctant to partfrom Slyme, who had been dancing him in the air and tickling him in themost delightful way. 

Ruth, too, began to have a better opinion of Slyme, and felt inclinedto reproach herself for having taken such an unreasonable dislike ofhim at first. He was evidently a very good sort of fellow after all. 

The baby had by this time discovered the use of the bone ring at theend of the handle of the toy and was biting it energetically. 

'It's a very beautiful rattle, ' said Ruth. 'Thank you very much forit. It's just the very thing he wanted. '

'I heard you say the other day that he wanted something of the kind tobite on to help his teeth through, ' answered Slyme, 'and when Ihappened to notice that in the shop I remembered what you said andthought I'd bring it home. '

The baby took the ring out of its mouth and shaking the rattlefrantically in the air laughed and crowed merrily, looking at Slyme. 

'Dad! Dad! Dad!' he cried, holding out his arms. 

Slyme and Ruth burst out laughing. 

'That's not your Dad, you silly boy, ' she said, kissing the child asshe spoke. 'Your dad ought to be ashamed of himself for staying outlike this. We'll give him dad, dad, dad, when he does come home, won'twe?'

But the baby only shook the rattle and rang the bells and laughed andcrowed and laughed again, louder than ever. 

Chapter 19

The Filling of the Tank

Viewed from outside, the 'Cricketers Arms' was a pretentious-lookingbuilding with plate-glass windows and a profusion of gilding. Thepilasters were painted in imitation of different marbles and the doorsgrained to represent costly woods. There were panels containingpainted advertisements of wines and spirits and beer, written in gold, and ornamented with gaudy colours. On the lintel over the principalentrance was inscribed in small white letters:

'A. Harpy. Licensed to sell wines, spirits and malt liquor by retailto be consumed either on or off the premises. '

The bar was arranged in the usual way, being divided into severalcompartments. First there was the 'Saloon Bar': on the glass of thedoor leading into this was fixed a printed bill: 'No four ale served inthis bar. ' Next to the saloon bar was the jug and bottle department, much appreciated by ladies who wished to indulge in a drop of gin onthe quiet. There were also two small 'private' bars, only capable ofholding two or three persons, where nothing less than fourpennyworth ofspirits or glasses of ale at threepence were served. Finally, thepublic bar, the largest compartment of all. At each end, separating itfrom the other departments, was a wooden partition, painted andvarnished. 

Wooden forms fixed across the partitions and against the walls underthe windows provided seating accommodation for the customers. A largeautomatic musical instrument--a 'penny in the slot'polyphone--resembling a grandfather's clock in shape--stood against oneof the partitions and close up to the counter, so that those behind thebar could reach to wind it up. Hanging on the partition near thepolyphone was a board about fifteen inches square, over the surface ofwhich were distributed a number of small hooks, numbered. At thebottom of the board was a net made of fine twine, extended by means ofa semi-circular piece of wire. In this net several india-rubber ringsabout three inches in diameter were lying. There was no table in theplace but jutting out from the other partition was a hinged flap aboutthree feet long by twenty inches wide, which could be folded down whennot in use. This was the shove-ha'penny board. The coins--old Frenchpennies--used in playing this game were kept behind the bar and mightbe borrowed on application. On the partition, just above theshove-ha'penny board was a neatly printed notice, framed and glazed:

 NOTICE

 Gentlemen using this house are requested to refrain from using obscene language. 

Alongside this notice were a number of gaudily-coloured billsadvertising the local theatre and the music-hall, and another of atravelling circus and menagerie, then visiting the town and encamped ona piece of waste ground about half-way on the road to Windley. Thefittings behind the bar, and the counter, were of polished mahogany, with silvered plate glass at the back of the shelves. On the shelveswere rows of bottles and cut-glass decanters, gin, whisky, brandy andwines and liqueurs of different kinds. 

When Crass, Philpot, Easton and Bundy entered, the landlord, awell-fed, prosperous-looking individual in white shirt-sleeves, and abright maroon fancy waistcoat with a massive gold watch-chain and adiamond ring, was conversing in an affable, friendly way with one ofhis regular customers, who was sitting on the end of the seat close tothe counter, a shabbily dressed, bleary-eyed, degraded, beer-sodden, trembling wretch, who spent the greater part of every day, and all hismoney, in this bar. He was a miserable-looking wreck of a man aboutthirty years of age, supposed to be a carpenter, although he neverworked at that trade now. It was commonly said that some yearspreviously he had married a woman considerably his senior, the landladyof a third-rate lodging-house. This business was evidentlysufficiently prosperous to enable him to exist without working and tomaintain himself in a condition of perpetual semi-intoxication. Thisbesotted wretch practically lived at the 'Cricketers'. He cameregularly very morning and sometimes earned a pint of beer by assistingthe barman to sweep up the sawdust or clean the windows. He usuallyremained in the bar until closing time every night. He was a very goodcustomer; not only did he spend whatever money he could get hold ofhimself, but he was the cause of others spending money, for he wasacquainted with most of the other regular customers, who, knowing hisimpecunious condition, often stood him a drink 'for the good of thehouse'. 

The only other occupant of the public bar--previous to the entrance ofCrass and his mates--was a semi-drunken man, who appeared to be ahouse-painter, sitting on the form near the shove-ha'penny board. Hewas wearing a battered bowler hat and the usual shabby clothes. Thisindividual had a very thin, pale face, with a large, high-bridged nose, and bore a striking resemblance to the portraits of the first Duke ofWellington. He was not a regular customer here, having dropped incasually about two o'clock and had remained ever since. He wasbeginning to show the effects of the drink he had taken during thattime. 

As Crass and the others came in they were hailed with enthusiasm by thelandlord and the Besotted Wretch, while the semi-drunk workman regardedthem with fishy eyes and stupid curiosity. 

'Wot cheer, Bob?' said the landlord, affably, addressing Crass, andnodding familiarly to the others. ''Ow goes it?'

'All reet me ole dear!' replied Crass, jovially. ''Ow's yerself?'

'A. 1, ' replied the 'Old Dear', getting up from his chair in readinessto execute their orders. 

'Well, wot's it to be?' inquired Philpot of the others generally. 

'Mine's a pint o' beer, ' said Crass. 

'Half for me, ' said Bundy. 

'Half o' beer for me too, ' replied Easton. 

'That's one pint, two 'arves, and a pint o' porter for meself, ' saidPhilpot, turning and addressing the Old Dear. 

While the landlord was serving these drinks the Besotted Wretchfinished his beer and set the empty glass down on the counter, andPhilpot observing this, said to him:

''Ave one along o' me?'

'I don't mind if I do, ' replied the other. 

When the drinks were served, Philpot, instead of paying for them, winked significantly at the landlord, who nodded silently andunobtrusively made an entry in an account book that was lying on one ofthe shelves. Although it was only Monday and he had been at work allthe previous week, Philpot was already stony broke. This was accountedfor by the fact that on Saturday he had paid his landlady something onaccount of the arrears of board and lodging money that had accumulatedwhile he was out of work; and he had also paid the Old Dear fourshillings for drinks obtained on tick during the last week. 

'Well, 'ere's the skin orf yer nose, ' said Crass, nodding to Philpot, and taking a long pull at the pint glass which the latter had handed tohim. 

Similar appropriate and friendly sentiments were expressed by theothers and suitably acknowledged by Philpot, the founder of the feast. 

The Old Dear now put a penny in the slot of the polyphone, and windingit up started it playing. It was some unfamiliar tune, but when theSemi-drunk Painter heard it he rose unsteadily to his feet and beganshuffling and dancing about, singing:

 'Oh, we'll inwite you to the wedding, An' we'll 'ave a glorious time! Where the boys an' girls is a-dancing, An' we'll all get drunk on wine. '

''Ere! that's quite enough o' that!' cried the landlord, roughly. 'Wedon't want that row 'ere. '

The Semi-drunk stopped, and looking stupidly at the Old Dear, sankabashed on to the seat again. 

'Well, we may as well sit as stand--for a few minutes, ' remarked Crass, suiting the action to the word. The others followed his example. 

At frequent intervals the bar was entered by fresh customers, most ofthem working men on their way home, who ordered and drank their pint orhalf-pint of ale or porter and left at once. Bundy began reading theadvertisement of the circus and menageries and a conversation ensuedconcerning the wonderful performances of the trained animals. The OldDear said that some of them had as much sense as human beings, and themanner with which he made this statement implied that he thought it wasa testimonial to the sagacity of the brutes. He further said that hehad heard--a little earlier in the evening--a rumour that one of thewild animals, a bear or something, had broken loose and was at presentat large. This was what he had heard--he didn't know if it were trueor not. For his own part he didn't believe it, and his hearers agreedthat it was highly improbable. Nobody ever knew how these silly yarnsgot about. 

Presently the Besotted Wretch got up and, taking the india-rubber ringsout of the net with a trembling hand, began throwing them one at a timeat the hooks on the board. The rest of the company watched him withmuch interest, laughing when he made a very bad shot and applaudingwhen he scored. 

''E's a bit orf tonight, ' remarked Philpot aside to Easton, 'but as arule 'e's a fair knockout at it. Throws a splendid ring. '

The Semidrunk regarded the proceedings of the Besotted Wretch with anexpression of profound contempt. 

'You can't play for nuts, ' he said scornfully. 

'Can't I? I can play you, anyway. '

'Right you are! I'll play you for drinks round!' cried the Semi-drunk. 

For a moment the Besotted Wretch hesitated. He had not money enough topay for drinks round. However, feeling confident of winning, hereplied:

'Come on then. What's it to be? Fifty up?'

'Anything you like! Fifty or a 'undred or a bloody million!'

'Better make it fifty for a start. '

'All right!'

'You play first if you like. '

'All right, ' agreed the Semi-drunk, anxious to distinguish himself. Holding the six rings in his left hand, the man stood in the middle ofthe floor at a distance of about three yards from the board, with hisright foot advanced. Taking one of the rings between the forefingerand thumb of his right hand, and closing his left eye, he carefully'sighted' the centre hook, No. 13; then he slowly extended his arm toits full length in the direction of the board: then bending his elbow, he brought his hand back again until it nearly touched his chin, andslowly extended his arm again. He repeated these movements severaltimes, whilst the others watched with bated breath. Getting it rightat last he suddenly shot the ring at the board, but it did not go onNo. 13; it went over the partition into the private bar. 

This feat was greeted with a roar of laughter. The player stared atthe board in a dazed way, wondering what had become of the ring. Whensomeone in the next bar threw it over the partition again, he realizedwhat had happened and, turning to the company with a sickly smile, remarked:

'I ain't got properly used to this board yet: that's the reason of it. '

He now began throwing the other rings at the board rather wildly, without troubling to take aim. One struck the partition to the rightof the board: one to the left: one underneath: one went over thecounter, one on the floor, the other--the last--hit the board, and amida shout of applause, caught on the centre hook No. 13, the highestnumber it was possible to scare with a single throw. 

'I shall be all right now that I've got the range, ' observed theSemi-drunk as he made way for his opponent. 

'You'll see something now, ' whispered Philpot to Easton. 'This bloke isa dandy!'

The Besotted Wretch took up his position and with an affectation ofcarelessness began throwing the rings. It was really a remarkableexhibition, for notwithstanding the fact that his hand trembled likethe proverbial aspen leaf, he succeeded in striking the board almost inthe centre every time; but somehow or other most of them failed tocatch on the hooks and fell into the net. When he finished hisinnings, he had only scored 4, two of the rings having caught on theNo. 2 hook. 

''Ard lines, ' remarked Bundy as he finished his beer and put the glassdown on the counter. 

'Drink up and 'ave another, ' said Easton as he drained his own glass. 

'I don't mind if I do, ' replied Crass, pouring what remained of thepint down his throat. 

Philpot's glass had been empty for some time. 

'Same again, ' said Easton, addressing the Old Dear and putting sixpennies on the counter. 

By this time the Semi-drunk had again opened fire on the board, but heseemed to have lost the range, for none of the rings scored. 

They flew all over the place, and he finished his innings withoutincreasing his total. 

The Besotted Wretch now sailed in and speedily piled up 37. Then theSemi-drunk had another go, and succeeded in getting 8. His caseappeared hopeless, but his opponent in his next innings seemed to goall to pieces. Twice he missed the board altogether, and when he didhit it he failed to score, until the very last throw, when he made 1. Then the Semi-drunk went in again and got 10. 

The scores were now:

 Besotted Wretch . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 42 Semi-drunk . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 31

So far it was impossible to foresee the end. It was anybody's game. Crass became so excited that he absentmindedly opened his mouth andshot his second pint down into his stomach with a single gulp, andBundy also drained his glass and called upon Philpot and Easton todrink up and have another, which they accordingly did. 

While the Semi-drunk was having his next innings, the Besotted Wretchplaced a penny on the counter and called for a half a pint, which hedrank in the hope of steadying his nerves for a great effort. Hisopponent meanwhile threw the rings at the board and missed it everytime, but all the same he scored, for one ring, after striking thepartition about a foot above the board, fell down and caught on thehook. 

The other man now began his innings, playing very carefully, and nearlyevery ring scored. As he played, the others uttered exclamations ofadmiration and called out the result of every throw. 

'One!'

'One again!'

'Miss! No! Got 'im! Two!'

'Miss!'

'Miss!'

'Four!'

The Semi-drunk accepted his defeat with a good grace, and afterexplaining that he was a bit out of practice, placed a shilling on thecounter and invited the company to give their orders. Everyone askedfor 'the same again, ' but the landlord served Easton, Bundy and theBesotted Wretch with pints instead of half-pints as before, so therewas no change out of the shilling. 

'You know, there's a great deal in not bein' used to the board, ' saidthe Semi-drunk. 

'There's no disgrace in bein' beat by a man like 'im, mate, ' saidPhilpot. ''E's a champion!'

'Yes, there's no mistake about it. 'E throws a splendid ring!' saidBundy. 

This was the general verdict. The Semi-drunk, though beaten, was notdisgraced: and he was so affected by the good feeling manifested by thecompany that he presently produced a sixpence and insisted on payingfor another half-pint all round. 

Crass had gone outside during this conversation, but he returned in afew minutes. 'I feel a bit easier now, ' he remarked with a laugh as hetook the half-pint glass that the Semi-drunk passed to him with ashaking hand. One after the other, within a few minutes, the restfollowed Crass's example, going outside and returning almostimmediately: and as Bundy, who was the last to return, came back heexclaimed:

'Let's 'ave a game of shove-'a'penny. '

'All right, ' said Easton, who was beginning to feel reckless. 'Butdrink up first, and let's 'ave another. '

He had only sevenpence left, just enough to pay for another pint forCrass and half a pint for everyone else. 

The shove-ha'penny table was a planed mahogany board with a number ofparallel lines scored across it. The game is played by placing thecoin at the end of the board--the rim slightly overhanging theedge--and striking it with the back part of the palm of the hand, regulating the force of the blow according to the distance it isdesired to drive the coin. 

'What's become of Alf tonight?' inquired Philpot of the landlord whilstEaston and Bundy were playing. Alf was the barman. 

''E's doing a bit of a job down in the cellar; some of the valves gonea bit wrong. But the missus is comin' down to lend me a handpresently. 'Ere she is now. '

The landlady--who at this moment entered through the door at the backof the bar--was a large woman with a highly-coloured countenance and atremendous bust, incased in a black dress with a shot silk blouse. Shehad several jewelled gold rings on the fingers of each fat white hand, and a long gold watch guard hung round her fat neck. She greeted Crassand Philpot with condescension, smiling affably upon them. 

Meantime the game of shove-ha'penny proceeded merrily, the Semi-drunktaking a great interest in it and tendering advice to both playersimpartially. Bundy was badly beaten, and then Easton suggested that itwas time to think of going home. This proposal--slightly modified--metwith general approval, the modification being suggested by Philpot, whoinsisted on standing one final round of drinks before they went. 

While they were pouring this down their throats, Crass took a pennyfrom his waistcoat pocket and put it in the slot of the polyphone. Thelandlord put a fresh disc into it and wound it up and it began to play'The Boys of the Bulldog Breed. ' The Semi-drunk happened to know thewords of the chorus of this song, and when he heard the music hestarted unsteadily to his feet and with many fierce looks and gesturesbegan to roar at the top of his voice:

 'They may build their ships, my lads, And try to play the game, But they can't build the boys of the Bulldog breed, Wot made ole Hingland's--'

''Ere! Stop that, will yer?' cried the Old Dear, fiercely. 'I told youonce before that I don't allow that sort of thing in my 'ouse!'

The Semi-drunk stopped in confusion. 

'I don't mean no 'arm, ' he said unsteadily, appealing to the company. 

'I don't want no chin from you!' said the Old Dear with a ferociousscowl. 'If you want to make that row you can go somewheres else, andthe sooner you goes the better. You've been 'ere long enough. '

This was true. The man had been there long enough to spend every pennyhe had been possessed of when he first came: he had no money left now, a fact that the observant and experienced landlord had divined sometime ago. He therefore wished to get rid of the fellow before thedrink affected him further and made him helplessly drunk. TheSemi-drunk listened with indignation and wrath to the landlord'sinsulting words. 

'I shall go when the bloody 'ell I like!' he shouted. 'I shan't askyou nor nobody else! Who the bloody 'ell are you? You're nobody! See?Nobody! It's orf the likes of me that you gets your bloody livin'! Ishall stop 'ere as long as I bloody well like, and if you don't like ityou can go to 'ell!'

'Oh! Yer will, will yer?' said the Old Dear. 'We'll soon see aboutthat. ' And, opening the door at the back of the bar, he roared out:

'Alf!'

'Yes, sir, ' replied a voice, evidently from the basement. 

'Just come up 'ere. '

'All right, ' replied the voice, and footsteps were heard ascending somestairs. 

'You'll see some fun in a minute, ' gleefully remarked Crass to Easton. 

The polyphone continued to play 'The Boys of the Bulldog Breed. '

Philpot crossed over to the Semi-drunk. 'Look 'ere, old man, ' hewhispered, 'take my tip and go 'ome quietly. You'll only git the worseof it, you know. '

'Not me, mate, ' replied the other, shaking his head doggedly. ''Ere Iam, and 'ere I'm goin' to bloody well stop. '

'No, you ain't, ' replied Philpot coaxingly. ''Look 'ere. I'll tell youwot we'll do. You 'ave just one more 'arf-pint along of me, and thenwe'll both go 'ome together. I'll see you safe 'ome. '

'See me safe 'ome! Wotcher mean?' indignantly demanded the other. 'Doyou think I'm drunk or wot?'

'No. Certainly not, ' replied Philpot, hastily. 'You're all right, asright as I am myself. But you know wot I mean. Let's go 'ome. Youdon't want to stop 'ere all night, do you?'

By this time Alf had arrived at the door of the back of the bar. Hewas a burly young man about twenty-two or twenty-three years of age. 

'Put it outside, ' growled the landlord, indicating the culprit. 

The barman instantly vaulted over the counter, and, having opened widethe door leading into the street, he turned to the half-drunken manand, jerking his thumb in the direction of the door, said:

'Are yer goin'?'

'I'm goin' to 'ave 'arf a pint along of this genelman first--'

'Yes. It's all right, ' said Philpot to the landlord. 'Let's 'ave two'arf-pints, and say no more about it. '

'You mind your own business, ' shouted the landlord, turning savagely onhim. ''E'll get no more 'ere! I don't want no drunken men in my'ouse. Who asked you to interfere?'

'Now then!' exclaimed the barman to the cause of the trouble, 'Outside!'

'Not me!' said the Semi-drunk firmly. 'Not before I've 'ad my 'arf--'

But before he could conclude, the barman had clutched him by thecollar, dragged him violently to the door and shot him into the middleof the road, where he fell in a heap almost under the wheels of abrewer's dray that happened to be passing. This accomplished, Alf shutthe door and retired behind the counter again. 

'Serve 'im bloody well right, ' said Crass. 

'I couldn't 'elp laughin' when I seen 'im go flyin' through the bloodydoor, ' said Bundy. 

'You oughter 'ave more sense than to go interferin' like that, ' saidCrass to Philpot. 'It was nothing to do with you. '

Philpot made no reply. He was standing with his back to the others, peeping out into the street over the top of the window casing. Then heopened the door and went out into the street. Crass and theothers--through the window--watched him assist the Semi-drunk to hisfeet and rub some of the dirt off his clothes, and presently after someargument they saw the two go away together arm in arm. 

Crass and the others laughed, and returned to their half-finisheddrinks. 

'Why, old Joe ain't drunk 'ardly 'arf of 'is!' cried Easton, seeingPhilpot's porter on the counter. 'Fancy going away like that!'

'More fool 'im, ' growled Crass. 'There was no need for it: the man'sall right. '

The Besotted Wretch gulped his beer down as quickly as he could, withhis eyes fixed greedily on Philpot's glass. He had just finished hisown and was about to suggest that it was a pity to waste the porterwhen Philpot unexpectedly reappeared. 

'Hullo! What 'ave you done with 'im?' inquired Crass. 

'I think 'e'll be all right, ' replied Philpot. 'He wouldn't let me gono further with 'im: said if I didn't go away, 'e'd go for me! But Ibelieve 'e'll be all right. I think the fall sobered 'im a bit. '

'Oh, 'e's all right, ' said Crass offhandedly. 'There's nothing thematter with 'im. '

Philpot now drank his porter, and bidding 'good night' to the Old Dear, the landlady and the Besotted Wretch, they all set out for home. Asthey went along the dark and lonely thoroughfare that led over the hillto Windley, they heard from time to time the weird roaring of the wildanimals in the menagerie that was encamped in the adjacent field. Justas they reached a very gloomy and deserted part, they suddenly observeda dark object in the middle of the road some distance in front of them. It seemed to be a large animal of some kind and was coming slowly andstealthily towards them. 

They stopped, peering in a half-frightened way through the darkness. The animal continued to approach. Bundy stooped down to the ground, groping about in search of a stone, and--with the exception of Crass, who was too frightened to move--the others followed his example. Theyfound several large stones and stood waiting for the creature--whateverit was--to come a little nearer so as to get a fair shot at it. Theywere about to let fly when the creature fell over on its side andmoaned as if in pain. Observing this, the four men advanced cautiouslytowards it. Bundy struck a match and held it over the prostratefigure. It was the Semi-drunk. 

After parting from Philpot, the poor wretch had managed to walk allright for some distance. As Philpot had remarked, the fall had to someextent sobered him; but he had not gone very far before the drink hehad taken began to affect him again and he had fallen down. Finding itimpossible to get up, he began crawling along on his hands and knees, unconscious of the fact that he was travelling in the wrong direction. Even this mode of progression failed him at last, and he would probablyhave been run over if they had not found him. They raised him up, andPhilpot, exhorting him to 'pull himself together' inquired where helived. The man had sense enough left to be able to tell them hisaddress, which was fortunately at Windley, where they all resided. 

Bundy and Philpot took him home, separating from Crass and Easton atthe corner of the street where both the latter lived. 

Crass felt very full and satisfied with himself. He had had six and ahalf pints of beer, and had listened to two selections on the polyphoneat a total cost of one penny. 

Easton had but a few yards to go before reaching his own house afterparting from Crass, but he paused directly he heard the latter's doorclose, and leaning against a street lamp yielded to the feeling ofgiddiness and nausea that he had been fighting against all the wayhome. All the inanimate objects around him seemed to be in motion. Thelights of the distant street lamps appeared to be floating about thepavement and the roadway rose and fell like the surface of a troubledsea. He searched his pockets for his handkerchief and having found itwiped his mouth, inwardly congratulating himself that Crass was notthere to see him. Resuming his walk, after a few minutes he reachedhis own home. As he passed through, the gate closed of itself afterhim, clanging loudly. He went rather unsteadily up the narrow paththat led to his front door and entered. 

The baby was asleep in the cradle. Slyme had gone up to his own room, and Ruth was sitting sewing by the fireside. The table was still setfor two persons, for she had not yet taken her tea. 

Easton lurched in noisily. ''Ello, old girl!' he cried, throwing hisdinner basket carelessly on the floor with an affectation of jovialityand resting his hands on the table to support himself. 'I've come atlast, you see. '

Ruth left off sewing, and, letting her hands fall into her lap, satlooking at him. She had never seen him like this before. His face wasghastly pale, the eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed, the lips tremulous andmoist, and the ends of the hair of his fair moustache, stuck togetherwith saliva and stained with beer, hung untidily round his mouth indamp clusters. 

Perceiving that she did not speak or smile, Easton concluded that shewas angry and became grave himself. 

'I've come at last, you see, my dear; better late than never. '

He found it very difficult to speak plainly, for his lips trembled andrefused to form the words. 

'I don't know so much about that, ' said Ruth, inclined to cry andtrying not to let him see the pity she could not help feeling for him. 'A nice state you're in. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. '

Easton shook his head and laughed foolishly. 'Don't be angry, Ruth. It's no good, you know. '

He walked clumsily towards her, still leaning on the table to steadyhimself. 

'Don't be angry, ' he mumbled as he stooped over her, putting his armround her neck and his face close to hers. 'It's no good being angry, you know, dear. '

She shrank away, shuddering with involuntary disgust as he pressed hiswet lips and filthy moustache upon her mouth. His fetid breath, foulwith the smell of tobacco and beer, and the odour of the stale tobaccosmoke that exuded from his clothes filled her with loathing. He kissedher repeatedly and when at last he released her she hastily wiped herface with her handkerchief and shivered. 

Easton said he did not want any tea, and went upstairs to bed almostimmediately. Ruth did not want any tea either now, although she hadbeen very hungry before he came home. She sat up very late, sewing, and when at length she did go upstairs she found him lying on his back, partly undressed on the outside of the bedclothes, with his mouth wideopen, breathing stertorously. 

Chapter 20

The Forty Thieves. The Battle: Brigands versus Bandits

This is an even more unusually dull and uninteresting chapter, andintroduces several matters that may appear to have nothing to do withthe case. The reader is nevertheless entreated to peruse it, becauseit contains certain information necessary to an understanding of thishistory. 

The town of Mugsborough was governed by a set of individuals called theMunicipal Council. Most of these 'representatives of the people' werewell-to-do or retired tradesmen. In the opinion of the inhabitants ofMugsborough, the fact that a man had succeeded in accumulating money inbusiness was a clear demonstration of his fitness to be entrusted withthe business of the town. 

Consequently, when that very able and successful man of business MrGeorge Rushton was put up for election to the Council he was returnedby a large majority of the votes of the working men who thought him anideal personage. .. 

These Brigands did just as they pleased. No one ever interfered withthem. They never consulted the ratepayers in any way. Even atelection time they did not trouble to hold meetings: each one of themjust issued a kind of manifesto setting forth his many noble qualitiesand calling upon the people for their votes: and the latter neverfailed to respond. They elected the same old crew time after time. .. 

The Brigands committed their depredations almost unhindered, for thevoters were engaged in the Battle of Life. Take the public park forinstance. Like so many swine around a trough--they were so busilyengaged in this battle that most of them had no time to go to the park, or they might have noticed that there were not so many costly plantsthere as there should have been. And if they had inquired further theywould have discovered that nearly all the members of the Town Councilhad very fine gardens. There was reason for these gardens being sogrand, for the public park was systematically robbed of its best tomake them so. 

There was a lake in the park where large numbers of ducks and geesewere kept at the ratepayers' expense. In addition to the food providedfor these fowl with public money, visitors to the park used to bringthem bags of biscuits and bread crusts. When the ducks and geese werenicely fattened the Brigands used to carry them off and devour them athome. When they became tired of eating duck or goose, some of theCouncillors made arrangements with certain butchers and traded away thebirds for meat. 

One of the most energetic members of the Band was Mr Jeremiah Didlum, the house-furnisher, who did a large hire system trade. He had anextensive stock of second-hand furniture that he had resumed possessionof when the unfortunate would-be purchasers failed to pay theinstalments regularly. Other of the second-hand things had beenpurchased for a fraction of their real value at Sheriff's sales or frompeople whom misfortune or want of employment had reduced to thenecessity of selling their household possessions. 

Another notable member of the Band was Mr Amos Grinder, who hadpractically monopolized the greengrocery trade and now owned nearly allthe fruiterers' shops in the town. As for the other shops, if they didnot buy their stocks from him--or, rather, the company of which he wasmanaging director and principal shareholder--if these other fruiterersand greengrocers did not buy their stuff from his company, he tried tosmash them by opening branches in their immediate neighbourhood andselling below cost. He was a self-made man: an example of what may beaccomplished by cunning and selfishness. 

Then there was the Chief of the Band--Mr Adam Sweater, the Mayor. Hewas always the Chief, although he was not always Mayor, it being therule that the latter 'honour' should be enjoyed by all the members ofthe Band in turn. A bright 'honour', forsooth! to be the first citizenin a community composed for the most part of ignorant semi-imbeciles, slaves, slave-drivers and psalm-singing hypocrites. Mr Sweater was themanaging director and principal shareholder of a large drapery businessin which he had amassed a considerable fortune. This was not verysurprising, considering that he paid none of his workpeople fair wagesand many of them no wages at all. He employed a great number of girlsand young women who were supposed to be learning dressmaking, mantle-making or millinery. These were all indentured apprentices, some of whom had paid premiums of from five to ten pounds. They were'bound' for three years. For the first two years they received nowages: the third year they got a shilling or eightpence a week. At theend of the third year they usually got the sack, unless they werewilling to stay on as improvers at from three shillings to four andsixpence per week. 

They worked from half past eight in the morning till eight at night, with an interval of an hour for dinner, and at half past four theyceased work for fifteen minutes for tea. This was provided by thefirm--half a pint for each girl, but they had to bring their own milkand sugar and bread and butter. 

Few of the girls ever learned their trades thoroughly. Some weretaught to make sleeves; others cuffs or button-holes, and so on. Theresult was that in a short time each one became very expert and quickat one thing; and although their proficiency in this one thing wouldnever enable them to earn a decent living, it enabled Mr Sweater tomake money during the period of their apprenticeship, and that was allhe cared about. 

Occasionally a girl of intelligence and spirit would insist on thefulfilment of the terms of her indentures, and sometimes the parentswould protest. If this were persisted in those girls got on better:but even these were turned to good account by the wily Sweater, whoinduced the best of them to remain after their time was up by payingthem what appeared--by contrast with the others girls' money--goodwages, sometimes even seven or eight shillings a week! and liberalpromises of future advancement. These girls then became a sort ofreserve who could be called up to crush any manifestation of discontenton the part of the leading hands. 

The greater number of the girls, however, submitted tamely to theconditions imposed upon them. They were too young to realize the wrongthat was being done them. As for their parents, it never occurred tothem to doubt the sincerity of so good a man as Mr Sweater, who wasalways prominent in every good and charitable work. 

At the expiration of the girl's apprenticeship, if the parentscomplained of her want of proficiency, the pious Sweater wouldattribute it to idleness or incapacity, and as the people weregenerally poor he seldom or never had any trouble with them. This washow he fulfilled the unctuous promise made to the confiding parents atthe time the girl was handed over to his tender mercy--that he would'make a woman of her'. 

This method of obtaining labour by false pretences and without payment, which enabled him to produce costly articles for a mere fraction of theprice for which they were eventually sold, was adopted in otherdepartments of his business. He procured shop assistants of both sexeson the same terms. A youth was indentured, usually for five years, tobe 'Made a Man of and 'Turned out fit to take a Position in any House'. If possible, a premium, five, ten, or twenty pounds--according to theircircumstances--would be extracted from the parents. For the firstthree years, no wages: after that, perhaps two or three shillings aweek. 

At the end of the five years the work of 'Making a Man of him' would becompleted. Mr Sweater would then congratulate him and assure him thathe was qualified to assume a 'position' in any House but regret thatthere was no longer any room for him in his. Business was so bad. Still, if the Man wished he might stay on until he secured a better'position' and, as a matter of generosity, although he did not reallyneed the Man's services, he would pay him ten shillings per week!

Provided he was not addicted to drinking, smoking, gambling or theStock Exchange, or going to theatres, the young man's future was thusassured. Even if he were unsuccessful in his efforts to obtain anotherposition he could save a portion of his salary and eventually commencebusiness on his own account. 

However, the branch of Mr Sweater's business to which it is desired toespecially direct the reader's attention was the HomeworkersDepartment. He employed a large number of women making ladies'blouses, fancy aprons and children's pinafores. Most of these articleswere disposed of wholesale in London and elsewhere, but some wereretailed at 'Sweaters' Emporium' in Mugsborough and at the firm's otherretail establishments throughout the county. Many of the women workerswere widows with children, who were glad to obtain any employment thatdid not take hem away from their homes and families. 

The blouses were paid for at tie rate of from two shillings to fiveshillings a dozen, the women having to provide their own machine andcotton, besides calling for and delivering the work. These poor womenwere able to clear from six to eight shillings a week: and to earn eventhat they had to work almost incessantly for fourteen or sixteen hoursa day. There was no time for cooling and very little to cook, for theylived principally on bread and margarine and tea. Their homes weresqualid, their children half-starved and raggedly clothed in grotesquegarments hastily fashioned out of the cast-off clothes of charitableneighbours. 

But it was not in vain that these women toiled every weary day untilexhaustion compelled them to case. It was not in vain that they passedtheir cheerless lives bending with aching shoulders over the thanklesswork that barely brought them bread. It was not in vain that they andtheir children went famished and in rags, for after all, the principalobject of their labour was accomplished: the Good Cause was advanced. Mr Sweater waxed rich and increased in goods and respectability. 

Of course, none of those women were COMPELLED to engage in thatglorious cause. No one is compelled to accept any particular set ofconditions in a free country like this. Mr Trafaim--the manager ofSweater's Homework Department--always put the matter before them in theplainest, fairest possible way. There was the work: that was thefigure! And those who didn't like it could leave it. There was nocompulsion. 

Sometimes some perverse creature belonging to that numerous class whoare too lazy to work DID leave it! But as the manager said, there wereplenty of others who were only too glad to take it. In fact, such wasthe enthusiasm amongst these women--especially such of them as hadlittle children to provide for--and such was their zeal for the Cause, that some of them have been known to positively beg to be allowed towork!

By these and similar means Adam Sweater had contrived to lay up forhimself a large amount of treasure upon earth, besides attainingundoubted respectability; for that he was respectable no onequestioned. He went to chapel twice every Sunday, his obese figurearrayed in costly apparel, consisting--with other things--of greytrousers, a long garment called a frock-coat, a tall silk hat, aquantity of jewellery and a morocco-bound gilt-edged Bible. He was anofficial of some sort of the Shining Light Chapel. His name appearedin nearly every published list of charitable subscriptions. Nostarving wretch had ever appealed to him in vain for a penny soupticket. 

Small wonder that when this good and public-spirited man offered hisservices to the town--free of charge--the intelligent working men ofMugsborough accepted his offer with enthusiastic applause. The factthat he had made money in business was a proof of his intellectualcapacity. His much-advertised benevolence was a guarantee that hisabilities would be used to further not his own private interests, butthe interests of every section of the community, especially those ofthe working classes, of whom the majority of his constituents wascomposed. 

As for the shopkeepers, they were all so absorbed in their ownbusiness--so busily engaged chasing their employees, adding up theiraccounts, and dressing themselves up in feeble imitation of the'Haristocracy'--that they were incapable of taking a really intelligentinterest in anything else. They thought of the Town Council as a kindof Paradise reserved exclusively for jerry-builders and successfultradesmen. Possibly, some day, if they succeeded in making money, theymight become town councillors themselves! but in the meantime publicaffairs were no particular concern of theirs. So some of them votedfor Adam Sweater because he was a Liberal and some of them votedagainst him for the same 'reason'. 

Now and then, when details of some unusually scandalous proceeding ofthe Council's leaked out, the townspeople--roused for a brief spacefrom their customary indifference--would discuss the matter in acasual, half-indignant, half-amused, helpless sort of way; but alwaysas if it were something that did not directly concern them. It wasduring some such nine days' wonder that the title of 'The FortyThieves' was bestowed on the members of the Council by theirsemi-imbecile constituents, who, not possessing sufficient intelligenceto devise means of punishing the culprits, affected to regard themanoeuvres of the Brigands as a huge joke. 

There was only one member of the Council who did not belong to theBand--Councillor Weakling, a retired physician; but unfortunately healso was a respectable man. When he saw something going forwards thathe did not think was right, he protested and voted against it andthen--he collapsed! There was nothing of the low agitator about HIM. As for the Brigands, they laughed at his protests and his vote did notmatter. 

With this one exception, the other members of the band were verysimilar in character to Sweater, Rushton, Didlum and Grinder. They hadall joined the Band with the same objects, self-glorification and theadvancement of their private interests. These were the real reasonswhy they besought the ratepayers to elect them to the Council, but ofcourse none of them ever admitted that such was the case. No! Whenthese noble-minded altruists offered their services to the town theyasked the people to believe that they were actuated by a desire to givetheir time and abilities for the purpose of furthering the interests ofOthers, which was much the same as asking them to believe that it ispossible for the leopard to change his spots. 

Owing to the extraordinary apathy of the other inhabitants, theBrigands were able to carry out their depredations undisturbed. Daylight robberies were of frequent occurrence. 

For many years these Brigands had looked with greedy eyes upon the hugeprofits of the Gas Company. They thought it was a beastly shame thatthose other bandits should be always raiding the town and getting clearaway with such rich spoils. 

At length--about two years ago--after much study and many privateconsultations, a plan of campaign was evolved; a secret council of warwas held, presided over by Mr Sweater, and the Brigands formedthemselves into an association called 'The Mugsborough Electric LightSupply and Installation Coy. Ltd. ', and bound themselves by a solemnoath to do their best to drive the Gas Works Bandits out of the townand to capture the spoils at present enjoyed by the latter forthemselves. 

There was a large piece of ground, the property of the town, that was asuitable site for the works; so in their character of directors of theElectric Light Coy. They offered to buy this land from theMunicipality--or, in other words, from themselves--for about half itsvalue. 

At the meeting of the Town Council when this offer was considered, allthe members present, with the solitary exception of Dr Weakling, beingshareholders in the newly formed company, Councillor Rushton moved aresolution in favour of accepting it. He said that every encouragementshould be given to the promoters of the Electric Light Coy. , thosepublic-spirited citizens who had come forward and were willing to risktheir capital in an undertaking that would be a benefit to every classof residents in the town that they all loved so well. (Applause. )There could be no doubt that the introduction of the electric lightwould be a great addition to the attractions of Mugsborough, but therewas another and more urgent reason that disposed him to do whatever hecould to encourage the Company to proceed with this work. Unfortunately, as was usual at that time of the year (Mr Rushton'svoice trembled with emotion) the town was full of unemployed. (TheMayor, Alderman Sweater, and all the other Councillors shook theirheads sadly; they were visibly affected. ) There was no doubt that thestarting of that work at that time would be an inestimable boon to theworking-classes. As the representative of a working-class ward he wasin favour of accepting the offer of the Company. (Hear. Hear. )

Councillor Didlum seconded. In his opinion, it would be nothing shortof a crime to oppose anything that would provide work for theunemployed. 

Councillor Weakling moved that the offer be refused. (Shame. ) Headmitted that the electric light would be an improvement to the town, and in view of the existing distress he would be glad to see the workstarted, but the price mentioned was altogether too low. It was notmore than half the value of the land. (Derisive laughter. )

Councillor Grinder said he was astonished at the attitude taken up byCouncillor Weakling. In his (Grinder's) opinion it was disgracefulthat a member of the council should deliberately try to wreck a projectwhich would do so much towards relieving the unemployed. 

The Mayor, Alderman Sweater, said that he could not allow the amendmentto be discussed until it was seconded: if there were no seconder hewould put the original motion. 

There was no seconder, because everyone except Weakling was in favourof the resolution, which was carried amid loud cheers, and therepresentatives of the ratepayers proceeded to the consideration of thenext business. 

Councillor Didlum proposed that the duty on all coal brought into theborough be raised from two shillings to three shillings per ton. 

Councillor Rushton seconded. The largest consumer of coal was the GasCoy. , and, considering the great profits made by that company, theywere quite justified in increasing the duty to the highest figure theAct permitted. 

After a feeble protest from Weakling, who said it would only increasethe price of gas and coal without interfering with the profits of theGas Coy. , this was also carried, and after some other business had beentransacted, the Band dispersed. 

That meeting was held two years ago, and since that time the ElectricLight Works had been built and the war against the gasworks carried onvigorously. After several encounters, in which they lost a fewcustomers and a portion of the public lighting, the Gasworks Banditsretreated out of the town and entrenched themselves in a strongposition beyond the borough boundary, where they erected a number ofgasometers. They were thus enabled to pour gas into the town at longrange without having to pay the coal dues. 

This masterly stratagem created something like a panic in the ranks ofthe Forty Thieves. At the end of two years they found themselvesexhausted with the protracted campaign, their movements hampered by alot of worn-out plant and antiquated machinery, and harassed on everyside by the lower charges of the Gas Coy. They were reluctantlyconstrained to admit that the attempt to undermine the Gasworks was amelancholy failure, and that the Mugsborough Electric Light andInstallation Coy. Was a veritable white elephant. They began to askthemselves what they should do with it; and some of them even urgedunconditional surrender, or an appeal to the arbitration of theBankruptcy Court. 

In the midst of all the confusion and demoralization there was, however, one man who did not lose his presence of mind, who in thisdark hour of disaster remained calm and immovable, and like a vastmountain of flesh reared his head above the storm, whose mightyintellect perceived a way to turn this apparently hopeless defeat intoa glorious victory. That man was Adam Sweater, the Chief of the Band. 

Chapter 21

The Reign of Terror. The Great Money Trick

During the next four weeks the usual reign of terror continued at 'TheCave'. The men slaved like so many convicts under the vigilantsurveillance of Crass, Misery and Rushton. No one felt free fromobservation for a single moment. It happened frequently that a man whowas working alone--as he thought--on turning round would find Hunter orRushton standing behind him: or one would look up from his work tocatch sight of a face watching him through a door or a window or overthe banisters. If they happened to be working in a room on the groundfloor, or at a window on any floor, they knew that both Rushton andHunter were in the habit of hiding among the trees that surrounded thehouse, and spying upon them thus. 

There was a plumber working outside repairing the guttering that ranround the bottom edge of the roof. This poor wretch's life was aperfect misery: he fancied he saw Hunter or Rushton in every bush. Hehad two ladders to work from, and since these ladders had been in useMisery had thought of a new way of spying on the men. Finding that henever succeeded in catching anyone doing anything wrong when he enteredthe house by one of the doors, Misery adopted the plan of crawling upone of the ladders, getting in through one of the upper windows andcreeping softly downstairs and in and out of the rooms. Even then henever caught anyone, but that did not matter, for he accomplished hisprincipal purpose--every man seemed afraid to cease working for even aninstant. 

The result of all this was, of course, that the work progressed rapidlytowards completion. The hands grumbled and cursed, but all the sameevery man tore into it for all he was worth. Although he did next tonothing himself, Crass watched and urged on the others. He was 'incharge of the job': he knew that unless he succeeded in making thiswork pay he would not be put in charge of another job. On the otherhand, if he did make it pay he would be given the preference overothers and be kept on as long as the firm had any work. The firm wouldgive him the preference only as long as it paid them to do so. 

As for the hands, each man knew that there was no chance of obtainingwork anywhere else at present; there were dozens of men out ofemployment already. Besides, even if there had been a chance of gettinganother job somewhere else, they knew that the conditions were more orless the same on every firm. Some were even worse than this one. Eachman knew that unless he did as much as ever he could, Crass wouldreport him for being slow. They knew also that when the job began todraw to a close the number of men employed upon it would be reduced, and when that time came the hands who did the most work would be kepton and the slower ones discharged. It was therefore in the hope ofbeing one of the favoured few that while inwardly cursing the rest for'tearing into it', everyone as a matter of self-preservation went and'tore into it' themselves. 

They all cursed Crass, but most of them would have been very to changeplaces with him: and if any one of them had been in his place theywould have been compelled to act in the same way--or lose the job. 

They all reviled Hunter, but most of them would have been glad tochange places with him also: and if any one of them had been in hisplace they would have been compelled to do the same things, or lose thejob. 

They all hated and blamed Rushton. Yet if they had been in Rushton'splace they would have been compelled to adopt the same methods, orbecome bankrupt: for it is obvious that the only way to competesuccessfully against other employers who are sweaters is to be asweater yourself. Therefore no one who is an upholder of the presentsystem can consistently blame any of these men. Blame the system. 

If you, reader, had been one of the hands, would you have slogged? Orwould you have preferred to starve and see your family starve? If youhad been in Crass's place, would you have resigned rather than do suchdirty work? If you had had Hunter's berth, would you have given it upand voluntarily reduced yourself to the level of the hands? If you hadbeen Rushton, would you rather have become bankrupt than treat your'hands' and your customers in the same way as your competitors treatedtheirs? It may be that, so placed, you--being the noble-minded paragonthat you are--would have behaved unselfishly. But no one has any rightto expect you to sacrifice yourself for the benefit of other people whowould only call you a fool for your pains. It may be true that if anyone of the hands--Owen, for instance--had been an employer of labour, he would have done the same as other employers. Some people seem tothink that proves that the present system is all right! But really itonly proves that the present system compels selfishness. One musteither trample upon others or be trampled upon oneself. Happinessmight be possible if everyone were unselfish; if everyone thought ofthe welfare of his neighbour before thinking of his own. But as thereis only a very small percentage of such unselfish people in the world, the present system has made the earth into a sort of hell. Under thepresent system there is not sufficient of anything for everyone to haveenough. Consequently there is a fight--called by Christians the'Battle of Life'. In this fight some get more than they need, somebarely enough, some very little, and some none at all. The moreaggressive, cunning, unfeeling and selfish you are the better it willbe for you. As long as this 'Battle of Life' System endures, we haveno right to blame other people for doing the same things that we areourselves compelled to do. Blame the system. 

But that IS just what the hands did not do. They blamed each other;they blamed Crass, and Hunter, and Rushton, but with the Great Systemof which they were all more or less the victims they were quitecontent, being persuaded that it was the only one possible and the bestthat human wisdom could devise. The reason why they all believed thiswas because not one of them had ever troubled to inquire whether itwould not be possible to order things differently. They were contentwith the present system. If they had not been content they would havebeen anxious to find some way to alter it. But they had never takenthe trouble to seriously inquire whether it was possible to find somebetter way, and although they all knew in a hazy fashion that othermethods of managing the affairs of the world had already been proposed, they neglected to inquire whether these other methods were possible orpracticable, and they were ready and willing to oppose with ignorantridicule or brutal force any man who was foolish or quixotic enough totry to explain to them the details of what he thought was a better way. They accepted the present system in the same way as they accepted thealternating seasons. They knew that there was spring and summer andautumn and winter. As to how these different seasons came to be, orwhat caused them, they hadn't the remotest notion, and it is extremelydoubtful whether the question had ever occurred to any of them: butthere is no doubt whatever about the fact that none of them knew. Fromtheir infancy they had been trained to distrust their own intelligence, and to leave the management of the affairs of the world--and for thatmatter of the next world too--to their betters; and now most of themwere absolutely incapable of thinking of any abstract subject whatever. Nearly all their betters--that is, the people who do nothing--wereunanimous in agreeing that he present system is a very good one andthat it is impossible to alter or improve it. Therefore Crass and hismates, although they knew nothing whatever about it themselves, accepted it as an established, incontrovertible fact that the existingstate of things is immutable. They believed it because someone elsetold them so. They would have believed anything: on onecondition--namely, that they were told to believe it by their betters. They said it was surely not for the Like of Them to think that theyknew better than those who were more educated and had plenty of time tostudy. 

As the work in the drawing-room proceeded, Crass abandoned the hopethat Owen was going to make a mess of it. Some of the rooms upstairsbeing now ready for papering, Slyme was started on that work, Bertbeing taken away from Owen to assist Slyme as paste boy, and it wasarranged that Crass should help Owen whenever he needed someone to lendhim a hand. 

Sweater came frequently during these four weeks, being interested inthe progress of the work. On these occasions Crass always managed tobe present in the drawing-room and did most of the talking. Owen wasvery satisfied with this arrangement, for he was always ill at easewhen conversing with a man like Sweater, who spoke in an offensivelypatronizing way and expected common people to kowtow to and 'Sir' himat every second word. Crass however, seemed to enjoy doing that kindof thing. He did not exactly grovel on the floor, when Sweater spoketo him, but he contrived to convey the impression that he was willingto do so if desired. 

Outside the house Bundy and his mates had dug deep trenches in the dampground in which they were laying new drains. This work, like that ofthe painting of the inside of the house, was nearly completed. It was amiserable job. Owing to the fact that there had been a spell of badweather the ground was sodden with rain and there was mud everywhere, the men's clothing and boots being caked with it. But the worst thingabout the job was the smell. For years the old drain-pipes had beendefective and leaky. The ground a few feet below the surface wassaturated with fetid moisture and a stench as of a thousand putrefyingcorpse emanated from the opened earth. The clothing of the men whowere working in the hendeca became saturated with this fearful odour, and for that matter, so did the men themselves. 

They said they could smell and taste it all the time, even when theywere away from the work at home, and when they were at meals. Althoughthey smoked their pipes all the time they were at work, Misery havingungraciously given them permission, several times Bundy and one orother of his mates were attacked with fits of vomiting. 

But, as they began to realize that the finish of the job was in sight, a kind of panic seized upon the hands, especially those who had beentaken on last and who would therefore be the first to be 'stood still'. Easton, however, felt pretty confident that Crass would do his best toget him kept on till the end of the job, for they had become quitechummy lately, usually spending a few evenings together at theCricketers every week. 

'There'll be a bloody slaughter 'ere soon, ' remarked Harlow to Philpotone day as they were painting the banisters of the staircase. 'Ireckon next week will about finish the inside. '

'And the outside ain't goin' to take very long, you know, ' repliedPhilpot. 

'They ain't got no other work in, have they?'

'Not that I knows of, ' replied Philpot gloomily; 'and I don't thinkanyone else has either. '

'You know that little place they call the "Kiosk" down the GrandParade, near the bandstand, ' asked Harlow after a pause. 

'Where they used to sell refreshments?'

'Yes; it belongs to the Corporation, you know. '

'It's been closed up lately, ain't it?'

'Yes; the people who 'ad it couldn't make it pay; but I 'eard lastnight that Grinder the fruit-merchant is goin' to open it again. Ifit's true, there'll be a bit of a job there for someone, because it'll'ave to be done up. '

'Well, I hope it does come orf replied Philpot. 'It'll be a job forsome poor b--rs. '

'I wonder if they've started anyone yet on the venetian blinds for this'ouse?' remarked Easton after a pause. 

'I don't know, ' replied Philpot. 

They relapsed into silence for a while. 

'I wonder what time it is?' said Philpot at length. 'I don't know 'owyou feel, but I begin to want my dinner. '

'That's just what I was thinking; it can't be very far off it now. It'snearly 'arf an hour since Bert went down to make the tea. It seems a'ell of a long morning to me. '

'So it does to me, ' said Philpot; 'slip upstairs and ask Slyme whattime it is. '

Harlow laid his brush across the top of his paint-pot and wentupstairs. He was wearing a pair of cloth slippers, and walked softly, not wishing that Crass should hear him leaving his work, so it happenedthat without any intention of spying on Slyme, Harlow reached the doorof the room in which the former was working without being heard and, entering suddenly, surprised Slyme--who was standing near thefireplace--in the act of breaking a whole roll of wallpaper across hisknee as one might break a stick. On the floor beside him was what hadbeen another roll, now broken into two pieces. When Harlow came in, Slyme started, and his face became crimson with confusion. He hastilygathered the broken rolls together and, stooping down, thrust thepieces up the flue of the grate and closed the register. 

'Wot's the bloody game?' inquired Harlow. 

Slyme laughed with an affectation of carelessness, but his handstrembled and his face was now very pale. 

'We must get our own back somehow, you know, Fred, ' he said. 

Harlow did not reply. He did not understand. After puzzling over itfor a few minutes, he gave it up. 

'What's the time?' he asked. 

'Fifteen minutes to twelve, ' said Slyme and added, as Harlow was goingaway: 'Don't mention anything about that paper to Crass or any of theothers. '

'I shan't say nothing, ' replied Harlow. 

Gradually, as he pondered over it, Harlow began to comprehend themeaning of the destruction of the two rolls of paper. Slyme was doingthe paperhanging piecework--so much for each roll hung. Four of therooms upstairs had been done with the same pattern, and Hunter--who wasnot over-skilful in such matters--had evidently sent more paper thanwas necessary. By getting rid of these two rolls, Slyme would be ableto make it appear that he had hung two rolls more than was really thecase. He had broken the rolls so as to be able to take them away fromthe house without being detected, and he had hidden them up the chimneyuntil he got an opportunity of so doing. Harlow had just arrived atthis solution of the problem when, hearing the lower flight of stairscreaking, he peeped over and observed Misery crawling up. He had cometo see if anyone had stopped work before the proper time. Passing thetwo workmen without speaking, he ascended to the next floor, andentered the room where Slyme was. 

'You'd better not do this room yet, ' said Hunter. 'There's to be a newgrate and mantelpiece put in. '

He crossed over to the fireplace and stood looking at it thoughtfullyfor a few minutes. 

'It's not a bad little grate, you know, is it?' he remarked. 'We'll beable to use it somewhere or other. '

'Yes; it's all right, ' said Slyme, whose heart was beating like asteam-hammer. 

'Do for a front room in a cottage, ' continued Misery, stooping down toexamine it more closely. 'There's nothing broke that I can see. '

He put his hand against the register and vainly tried to push it open. 'H'm, there's something wrong 'ere, ' he remarked, pushing harder. 

'Most likely a brick or some plaster fallen down, ' gasped Slyme, comingto Misery's assistance. 'Shall I try to open it?'

'Don't trouble, ' replied Nimrod, rising to his feet. 'It's most likelywhat you say. I'll see that the new grate is sent up after dinner. Bundy can fix it this afternoon and then you can go on papering as soonas you like. '

With this, Misery went out of the room, downstairs and away from thehouse, and Slyme wiped the sweat from his forehead with hishandkerchief. Then he knelt down and, opening the register, he tookout the broken rolls of paper and hid them up the chimney of the nextroom. While he was doing this the sound of Crass's whistle shrilledthrough the house. 

'Thank Gord!' exclaimed Philpot fervently as he laid his brushes on thetop of his pot and joined in the general rush to the kitchen. Thescene here is already familiar to the reader. For seats, the two pairsof steps laid on their sides parallel to each other, about eight feetapart and at right angles to the fireplace, with the long plank placedacross; and the upturned pails and the drawers of the dresser. Thefloor unswept and littered with dirt, scraps of paper, bits of plaster, pieces of lead pipe and dried mud; and in the midst, the steamingbucket of stewed tea and the collection of cracked cups, jam-jam andcondensed milk tins. And on the seats the men in their shabby and insome cases ragged clothing sitting and eating their coarse food andcracking jokes. 

It was a pathetic and wonderful and at the same time a despicablespectacle. Pathetic that human beings should be condemned to spend thegreater part of their lives amid such surroundings, because it must beremembered that most of their time was spent on some job or other. When 'The Cave' was finished they would go to some similar 'job', ifthey were lucky enough to find one. Wonderful, because although theyknew that they did more than their fair share of the great work ofproducing the necessaries and comforts of life, they did not think theywere entitled to a fair share of the good things they helped to create!And despicable, because although they saw their children condemned tothe same life of degradation, hard labour and privation, yet theyrefused to help to bring about a better state of affairs. Most of themthought that what had been good enough for themselves was good enoughfor their children. 

It seemed as if they regarded their own children with a kind ofcontempt, as being only fit to grow up to be the servants of thechildren of such people as Rushton and Sweater. But it must beremembered that they had been taught self-contempt when they werechildren. In the so-called 'Christian' schools, they attended thenthey were taught to 'order themselves lowly and reverently towardstheir betters', and they were now actually sending their own childrento learn the same degrading lessons in their turn! They had a vastamount of consideration for their betters, and for the children oftheir betters, but very little for their own children, for each other, or for themselves. 

That was why they sat there in their rags and ate their coarse food, and cracked their coarser jokes, and drank the dreadful tea, and werecontent! So long as they had Plenty of Work and plentyof--Something--to eat, and somebody else's cast-off clothes to wear, they were content! And they were proud of it. They gloried in it. They agreed and assured each other that the good things of life werenot intended for the 'Likes of them', or their children. 

'Wot's become of the Professor?' asked the gentleman who sat on theupturned pail in the corner, referring to Owen, who had not yet comedown from his work. 

'P'raps 'e's preparing 'is sermon, ' remarked Harlow with a laugh. 

'We ain't 'ad no lectures from 'im lately, since 'e's been on thatroom, ' observed Easton. ''Ave we?'

'Dam good job too!' exclaimed Sawkins. 'It gives me the pip to 'ear'im, the same old thing over and over again. '

'Poor ole Frank, ' remarked Harlow. ''E does upset 'isself aboutthings, don't 'e?'

'More fool 'im!' said Bundy. 'I'll take bloody good care I don't goworryin' myself to death like 'e's doin', about such dam rot as that. '

'I do believe that's wot makes 'im look so bad as 'e does, ' observedHarlow. 'Several times this morning I couldn't help noticing the way'e kept on coughing. '

'I thought 'e seemed to be a bit better lately, ' Philpot observed;'more cheerful and happier like, and more inclined for a bit of fun. '

'He's a funny sort of chap, ain't he?' said Bundy. 'One day quitejolly, singing and cracking jokes and tellin' yarns, and the next youcan't hardly get a word out of 'im. '

'Bloody rot, I call it, ' chimed in the man on the pail. 'Wot the'ell's the use of the likes of us troublin' our 'eads about politics?'

'Oh, I don't see that. ' replied Harlow. 'We've got votes and we'rereally the people what control the affairs of the country, so I reckonwe ought to take SOME interest in it, but at the same time I can't seeno sense in this 'ere Socialist wangle that Owen's always talkin'about. '

'Nor nobody else neither, ' said Crass with a jeering laugh. 

'Even if all the bloody money in the world WAS divided out equal, ' saidthe man on the pail, profoundly, 'it wouldn't do no good! In sixmonths' time it would be all back in the same 'ands again. '

'Of course, ' said everybody. 

'But 'e 'ad a cuff the other day about money bein' no good at all!'observed Easton. 'Don't you remember 'e said as money was theprincipal cause of poverty?'

'So it is the principal cause of poverty, ' said Owen, who entered atthat moment. 

'Hooray!' shouted Philpot, leading off a cheer which the others tookup. 'The Professor 'as arrived and will now proceed to say a fewremarks. '

A roar of merriment greeted this sally. 

'Let's 'ave our bloody dinner first, for Christ's sake, ' appealedHarlow, with mock despair. 

As Owen, having filled his cup with tea, sat down in his usual place, Philpot rose solemnly to his feet, and, looking round the company, said:

'Genelmen, with your kind permission, as soon as the Professor 'asfinished 'is dinner 'e will deliver 'is well-known lecture, entitled, "Money the Principal Cause of being 'ard up", proving as money ain't nogood to nobody. At the hend of the lecture a collection will be tookup to provide the lecturer with a little encouragement. ' Philpotresumed his seat amid cheers. 

As soon as they had finished eating, some of the men began to makeremarks about the lecture, but Owen only laughed and went on readingthe piece of newspaper that his dinner had been wrapped in. Usuallymost of the men went out for a walk after dinner, but as it happened tobe raining that day they were determined, if possible, to make Owenfulfill the engagement made in his name by Philpot. 

'Let's 'oot 'im, ' said Harlow, and the suggestion was at once actedupon; howls, groans and catcalls filled the air, mingled with cries of'Fraud!' 'Imposter!' 'Give us our money back!' 'Let's wreck the 'all!'and so on. 

'Come on 'ere, ' cried Philpot, putting his hand on Owen's shoulder. 'Prove that money is the cause of poverty. '

'It's one thing to say it and another to prove it, ' sneered Crass, whowas anxious for an opportunity to produce the long-deferred Obscurercutting. 

'Money IS the real cause of poverty, ' said Owen. 

'Prove it, ' repeated Crass. 

'Money is the cause of poverty because it is the device by which thosewho are too lazy to work are enabled to rob the workers of the fruitsof their labours. '

'Prove it, ' said Crass. 

Owen slowly folded up the piece of newspaper he had been reading andput it into his pocket. 

'All right, ' he replied. 'I'll show you how the Great Money Trick isworked. '

Owen opened his dinner basket and took from it two slices of bread butas these were not sufficient, he requested that anyone who had somebread left would give it to him. They gave him several pieces, whichhe placed in a heap on a clean piece of paper, and, having borrowed thepocket knives they used to cut and eat their dinners with from Easton, Harlow and Philpot, he addressed them as follows:

'These pieces of bread represent the raw materials which existnaturally in and on the earth for the use of mankind; they were notmade by any human being, but were created by the Great Spirit for thebenefit and sustenance of all, the same as were the air and the lightof the sun. '

'You're about as fair-speakin' a man as I've met for some time, ' saidHarlow, winking at the others. 

'Yes, mate, ' said Philpot. 'Anyone would agree to that much! It's asclear as mud. '

'Now, ' continued Owen, 'I am a capitalist; or, rather, I represent thelandlord and capitalist class. That is to say, all these raw materialsbelong to me. It does not matter for our present argument how Iobtained possession of them, or whether I have any real right to them;the only thing that matters now is the admitted fact that all the rawmaterials which are necessary for the production of the necessaries oflife are now the property of the Landlord and Capitalist class. I amthat class: all these raw materials belong to me. '

'Good enough!' agreed Philpot. 

'Now you three represent the Working class: you have nothing--and formy part, although I have all these raw materials, they are of no use tome--what need is--the things that can be made out of these rawmaterials by Work: but as I am too lazy to work myself, I have inventedthe Money Trick to make you work FOR me. But first I must explain thatI possess something else beside the raw materials. These three knivesrepresent--all the machinery of production; the factories, tools, railways, and so forth, without which the necessaries of life cannot beproduced in abundance. And these three coins'--taking threehalfpennies from his pocket--'represent my Money Capital. '

'But before we go any further, ' said Owen, interrupting himself, 'it ismost important that you remember that I am not supposed to be merely"a" capitalist. I represent the whole Capitalist Class. You are notsupposed to be just three workers--you represent the whole WorkingClass. '

'All right, all right, ' said Crass, impatiently, 'we all understandthat. Git on with it. '

Owen proceeded to cut up one of the slices of bread into a number oflittle square blocks. 

'These represent the things which are produced by labour, aided bymachinery, from the raw materials. We will suppose that three of theseblocks represent--a week's work. We will suppose that a week's work isworth--one pound: and we will suppose that each of these ha'pennies isa sovereign. We'd be able to do the trick better if we had realsovereigns, but I forgot to bring any with me. '

'I'd lend you some, ' said Philpot, regretfully, 'but I left me purse onour grand pianner. '

As by a strange coincidence nobody happened to have any gold with them, it was decided to make shift with the halfpence. 

'Now this is the way the trick works--'

'Before you goes on with it, ' interrupted Philpot, apprehensively, 'don't you think we'd better 'ave someone to keep watch at the gate incase a Slop comes along? We don't want to get runned in, you know. '

'I don' think there's any need for that, ' replied Owen, 'there's onlyone slop who'd interfere with us for playing this game, and that'sPolice Constable Socialism. '

'Never mind about Socialism, ' said Crass, irritably. 'Get along withthe bloody trick. '

Owen now addressed himself to the working classes as represented byPhilpot, Harlow and Easton. 

'You say that you are all in need of employment, and as I am thekind-hearted capitalist class I am going to invest all my money invarious industries, so as to give you Plenty of Work. I shall pay eachof you one pound per week, and a week's work is--you must each producethree of these square blocks. For doing this work you will eachreceive your wages; the money will be your own, to do as you like with, and the things you produce will of course be mine, to do as I likewith. You will each take one of these machines and as soon as you havedone a week's work, you shall have your money. '

The Working Classes accordingly set to work, and the Capitalist classsat down and watched them. As soon as they had finished, they passedthe nine little blocks to Owen, who placed them on a piece of paper byhis side and paid the workers their wages. 

'These blocks represent the necessaries of life. You can't livewithout some of these things, but as they belong to me, you will haveto buy them from me: my price for these blocks is--one pound each. '

As the working classes were in need of the necessaries of life and asthey could not eat, drink or wear the useless money, they werecompelled to agree to the kind Capitalist's terms. They each boughtback and at once consumed one-third of the produce of their labour. Thecapitalist class also devoured two of the square blocks, and so the netresult of the week's work was that the kind capitalist had consumed twopounds worth of the things produced by the labour of the others, andreckoning the squares at their market value of one pound each, he hadmore than doubled his capital, for he still possessed the three poundsin money and in addition four pounds worth of goods. As for theworking classes, Philpot, Harlow and Easton, having each consumed thepound's worth of necessaries they had bought with their wages, theywere again in precisely the same condition as when they startedwork--they had nothing. 

This process was repeated several times: for each week's work theproducers were paid their wages. They kept on working and spending alltheir earnings. The kind-hearted capitalist consumed twice as much asany one of them and his pile of wealth continually increased. In alittle while--reckoning the little squares at their market value of onepound each--he was worth about one hundred pounds, and the workingclasses were still in the same condition as when they began, and werestill tearing into their work as if their lives depended upon it. 

After a while the rest of the crowd began to laugh, and their merrimentincreased when the kind-hearted capitalist, just after having sold apound's worth of necessaries to each of his workers, suddenly tooktheir tools--the Machinery of Production--the knives away from them, and informed them that as owing to Over Production all his store-houseswere glutted with the necessaries of life, he had decided to close downthe works. 

'Well, and wot the bloody 'ell are we to do now?' demanded Philpot. 

'That's not my business, ' replied the kind-hearted capitalist. 'I'vepaid you your wages, and provided you with Plenty of Work for a longtime past. I have no more work for you to do at present. Come roundagain in a few months' time and I'll see what I can do for you. '

'But what about the necessaries of life?' demanded Harlow. 'We musthave something to eat. '

'Of course you must, ' replied the capitalist, affably; 'and I shall bevery pleased to sell you some. '

'But we ain't got no bloody money!'

'Well, you can't expect me to give you my goods for nothing! Youdidn't work for me for nothing, you know. I paid you for your work andyou should have saved something: you should have been thrifty like me. Look how I have got on by being thrifty!'

The unemployed looked blankly at each other, but the rest of the crowdonly laughed; and then the three unemployed began to abuse thekind-hearted Capitalist, demanding that he should give them some of thenecessaries of life that he had piled up in his warehouses, or to beallowed to work and produce some more for their own needs; and eventhreatened to take some of the things by force if he did not complywith their demands. But the kind-hearted Capitalist told them not tobe insolent, and spoke to them about honesty, and said if they were notcareful he would have their faces battered in for them by the police, or if necessary he would call out the military and have them shot downlike dogs, the same as he had done before at Featherstone and Belfast. 

'Of course, ' continued the kind-hearted capitalist, 'if it were not forforeign competition I should be able to sell these things that you havemade, and then I should be able to give you Plenty of Work again: butuntil I have sold them to somebody or other, or until I have used themmyself, you will have to remain idle. '

'Well, this takes the bloody biskit, don't it?' said Harlow. 

'The only thing as I can see for it, ' said Philpot mournfully, 'is to'ave a unemployed procession. '

'That's the idear, ' said Harlow, and the three began to march about theroom in Indian file, singing:

 'We've got no work to do-oo-oo' We've got no work to do-oo-oo! Just because we've been workin' a dam sight too hard, Now we've got no work to do. '

As they marched round, the crowd jeered at them and made offensiveremarks. Crass said that anyone could see that they were a lot oflazy, drunken loafers who had never done a fair day's work in theirlives and never intended to. 

'We shan't never get nothing like this, you know, ' said Philpot. 'Let'stry the religious dodge. '

'All right, ' agreed Harlow. 'What shall we give 'em?'

'I know!' cried Philpot after a moment's deliberation. '"Let my lowerlights be burning. " That always makes 'em part up. '

The three unemployed accordingly resumed their march round the room, singing mournfully and imitating the usual whine of street-singers:

 'Trim your fee-bil lamp me brither-in, Some poor sail-er tempest torst, Strugglin' 'ard to save the 'arb-er, Hin the dark-niss may be lorst, So let try lower lights be burning, Send 'er gleam acrost the wave, Some poor shipwrecked, struggling seaman, You may rescue, you may save. '

'Kind frens, ' said Philpot, removing his cap and addressing the crowd, 'we're hall honest British workin' men, but we've been hout of work forthe last twenty years on account of foreign competition andover-production. We don't come hout 'ere because we're too lazy towork; it's because we can't get a job. If it wasn't for foreigncompetition, the kind'earted Hinglish capitalists would be able to selltheir goods and give us Plenty of Work, and if they could, I assure youthat we should hall be perfectly willing and contented to go on workin'our bloody guts out for the benefit of our masters for the rest of ourlives. We're quite willin' to work: that's hall we arst for--Plenty ofWork--but as we can't get it we're forced to come out 'ere and arst youto spare a few coppers towards a crust of bread and a night's lodgin'. '

As Philpot held out his cap for subscriptions, some of them attemptedto expectorate into it, but the more charitable put in pieces of cinderor dirt from the floor, and the kind-hearted capitalist was so affectedby the sight of their misery that he gave them one of the sovereigns hehad in us pocket: but as this was of no use to them they immediatelyreturned it to him in exchange for one of the small squares of thenecessaries of life, which they divided and greedily devoured. Andwhen they had finished eating they gathered round the philanthropistand sang, 'For he's a jolly good fellow, ' and afterwards Harlowsuggested that they should ask him if he would allow them to elect himto Parliament. 

Chapter 22

The Phrenologist

The following morning--Saturday--the men went about their work ingloomy silence; there were but few attempts at conversation and nojests or singing. The tenor of the impending slaughter pervaded thehouse. Even those who were confident of being spared and kept on tillthe job was finished shared the general depression, not only out ofsympathy for the doomed, but because they knew that a similar fateawaited themselves a little later on. 

They all waited anxiously for Nimrod to come, but hour after hourdragged slowly by and he did not arrive. At half past eleven some ofthose who had made up their minds that they were to be 'stood still'began to hope that the slaughter was to be deferred for a few days:after all, there was plenty of work still to be done: even if all handswere kept on, the job could scarcely be finished in another week. Anyhow, it would not be very long now before they would know one way orthe other. If he did not come before twelve, it was all right: all thehands were paid by the hour and were therefore entitled to an hour'snotice. 

Easton and Harlow were working together on the staircase, finishing thedoors and other woodwork with white enamel. The men had not beenallowed to spend the time necessary to prepare this work in a propermanner, it had not been rubbed down smooth or properly filled up, andit had not had a sufficient number of coats of paint to make it solidwhite. Now that the glossy enamel was put on, the work looked ratherrough and shady. 

'It ain't 'arf all right, ain't it?' remarked Harlow, sarcastically, indicating the door he had just finished. 

Easton laughed: 'I can't understand how people pass such work, ' he said. 

'Old Sweater did make some remark about it the other day, ' repliedHarlow, 'and I heard Misery tell 'im it was impossible to make aperfect job of such old doors. '

'I believe that man's the biggest liar Gord ever made, ' said Easton, anopinion in which Harlow entirely concurred. 

'I wonder what the time is?' said the latter after a pause. 

'I don't know exactly, ' replied Easton, 'but it can't be far offtwelve. '

''E don't seem to be comin', does 'e?' Harlow continued. 

'No: and I shouldn't be surprised if 'e didn't turn up at all, now. P'raps 'e don't mean to stop nobody today after all. '

They spoke in hushed tones and glanced cautiously about them fearful ofbeing heard or observed. 

'This is a bloody life, ain't it?' Harlow said, bitterly. 'Workin' ourguts out like a lot of slaves for the benefit of other people, and thenas soon as they've done with you, you're chucked aside like a dirtyrag. '

'Yes: and I begin to think that a great deal of what Owen says is true. But for my part I can't see 'Ow it's ever goin' to be altered, can you?'

Blowed if I know, mate. But whether it can be altered or not, there'sone thing very certain; it won't be done in our time. '

Neither of them seemed to think that if the 'alteration' they spoke ofwere to be accomplished at all they themselves would have to help tobring it about. 

'I wonder what they're doin' about the venetian blinds?' said Easton. 'Is there anyone doin' em yet?'

'I don't know; ain't 'eard nothing about 'em since the boy took 'em tothe shop. '

There was quite a mystery about these blinds. About a month ago theywere taken to the paint-shop down at the yard to be repainted andre-harnessed, and since then nothing had been heard of them by the menworking at the 'Cave'. 

'P'hap's a couple of us will be sent there to do 'em next week, 'remarked Harlow. 

'P'hap's so. Most likely they'll 'ave to be done in a bloody 'urry atthe last minute. '

Presently Harlow--who was very anxious to know what time it was--wentdownstairs to ask Slyme. It was twenty minutes to twelve. 

From the window of the room where Slyme was papering, one could seeinto the front garden. Harlow paused a moment to watch Bundy and thelabourers, who were still working in the trenches at the drains, and ashe looked out he saw Hunter approaching the house. Harlow drew backhastily and returned to his work, and as he went he passed the word tothe other men, warning them of the approach of Misery. 

Hunter entered ii his usual manner and, after crawling quietly aboutthe house for about ten minutes, he went into the drawing room. 

'I see you're putting the finishing touches on at last, ' he said. 

'Yes, ' replied Owen. 'I've only got this bit of outlining to do now. '

'Ah, well, it looks very nice, of course, ' said Misery in a voice ofmourning, 'but we've lost money over it. It's taken you a week longerto do than we allowed for; you said three weeks and it's taken you amonth; and we only allowed for fifteen books of gold, but you've beenand used twenty-three. '

'You can hardly blame me for that, you know, ' answered Owen. 'I couldhave got it done in the three weeks, but Mr Rushton told me not tohurry for the sake of a day or two, because he wanted a good job. Hesaid he would rather lose a little over it than spoil it; and as forthe extra gold, that was also his order. '

'Well, I suppose it can't be helped, ' whined Misery. 'Anyhow, I'm veryglad it's done, because this kind of work don't pay. We'll 'ave youback on the brush on Monday morning; we want to get outside done nextweek if it keeps fine. '

The 'brush' alluded to by Nimrod was the large 'pound' brush used inordinary painting. 

Misery now began wandering about the house, in and out of the rooms, sometimes standing for several minutes silently watching the hands asthey worked. As he watched them the men became nervous and awkward, each one dreading that he might be one of those who were to be paid offat one o'clock. 

At about five minutes to twelve Hunter went down to the paint-shop--thescullery--where Crass was mixing some colour, and getting ready some'empties' to be taken to the yard. 

'I suppose the b--r's gone to ask Crass which of us is the least use, 'whispered Harlow to Easton. 

'I wouldn't be surprised if it was you and me, for two, ' replied thelatter in the same tone. 'You can't trust Crass you know, for all 'eseems so friendly to our faces. You never know what 'e ses behind ourbacks. '

'You may be sure it won't be Sawkins or any of the other light-weights, because Nimrod won't want to pay us sixpence ha'penny for paintingguttering and rainpipes when THEY can do it near enough for fourpenceha'penny and fivepence. They won't be able to do the sashes, though, will they?'

'I don't know so much about that, ' replied Easton. 'Anything seems tobe good enough for Hunter. '

'Look out! Ere 'e comes!' said Harlow, and they both relapsed intosilence and busied themselves with their work. Misery stood watchingthem for some time without speaking, and then went out of the house. They crept cautiously to the window of a room that overlooked thegarden and, peeping furtively out, they saw him standing on the brinkof one of the trenches, moodily watching Bundy and his mates as theytoiled at the drains. Then, to their surprise and relief, he turnedand went out of the gate! They just caught sight of one of the wheelsof his bicycle as he rode away. 

The slaughter was evidently to be put off until next week! It seemedtoo good to be true. 

'P'hap's 'e's left a message for some of us with Crass?' suggestedEaston. 'I don't think it's likely, but it's just possible. '

'Well, I'm goin' down to ask 'im, ' said Harlow, desperately. 'We mayas well know the worst at once. '

He returned in a few minutes with the information that Hunter haddecided not to stop anyone that day because he wanted to get theoutside finished during the next week, if possible. 

The hands received this intelligence with mixed feelings, becausealthough it left them safe for the present, it meant that nearlyeverybody would certainly be stopped next Saturday, if not before;whereas if a few had been sacked today it would have made it all thebetter for the rest. Still, this aspect of the business did notgreatly interfere with the relief that they all felt at knowing thatthe immediate danger was over; and the fact that it wasSaturday--pay-day--also served to revive their drooping spirits. Theyall felt pretty certain that Misery would return no more that day, andpresently Harlow began to sing the old favourite. 'Work! for the nightis coming!' the refrain of which was soon taken up by nearly everyonein the house:

 'Work! for the night is coming, Work in the morning hours. Work! for the night is coming, Work 'mid springing flowers. 

 'Work while the dew is sparkling, Work in the noonday sun! Work! for the night is coming When man's work is done!'

When this hymn was finished, someone else, imitating the whine of astreet-singer, started, 'Oh, where is my wandering boy tonight?' andthen Harlow--who by some strange chance had a penny--took it out of hispocket and dropped it on the floor, the ringing of the coin beinggreeted with shouts of 'Thank you, kind lady, ' from several of thesingers. This little action of Harlow's was the means of bringing amost extraordinary circumstance to light. Although it was Saturdaymorning, several of the others had pennies or half-pence! and at theconclusion of each verse they all followed Harlow's example and thehouse resounded with the ringing of falling coins, cries of 'Thank you, kind lady, ' 'Thank you, sir, ' and 'Gord bless you, ' mingled with shoutsof laughter. 

'My wandering boy' was followed by a choice selection of choruses ofwell-known music-hall songs, including 'Goodbye, my Bluebell', 'TheHoneysuckle and the Bee', 'I've got 'em!' and 'The Church Parade', thewhole being tastefully varied and interspersed with howls, shrieks, curses, catcalls, and downward explosions of flatulence. 

In the midst of the uproar Crass came upstairs. 

''Ere!' he shouted. 'For Christ's sake make less row! Suppose Nimrodwas to come back!'

'Oh, he ain't comin' any more today, ' said Harlow, recklessly. 

'Besides, what if 'e does come?' cried Easton. 'Oo cares for 'im?'

'Well, we never know; and for that matter Rushton or Sweater might comeat any minit. '

With this, Crass went muttering back to the scullery, and the menrelapsed into their usual silence. 

At ten minutes to one they all ceased work, put away their colours andlocked up the house. There were a number of 'empties' to be taken awayand left at the yard on their way to the office; these Crass dividedamongst the others--carrying nothing himself--and then they all set outfor the office to get their money, cracking jokes as they went along. Harlow and Easton enlivened the journey by coughing significantlywhenever they met a young woman, and audibly making some complimentaryremark about her personal appearance. If the girl smiled, each of themeagerly claimed to have 'seen her first', but if she appeared offendedor 'stuck up', they suggested that she was cross-cut or that she hadbeen eating vinegar with a fork. Now and then they kissed their handsaffectionately to servant-girls whom they saw looking out of windows. Some of these girls laughed, others looked indignant, but whichever waythey took it was equally amusing to Crass and the rest, who were like acrowd of boys just let out of school. 

It will be remembered that there was a back door to Rushton's office;in this door was a small sliding panel or trap-door with a little shelfat the bottom. The men stood in the road on the pavement outside theclosed door, their money being passed out to them through the slidingpanel. As there was no shelter, when it rained they occasionally gotwet through while waiting to be paid. With some firms it is customaryto call out the names of the men and pay them in order of seniority orability, but there was no such system here; the man who got to theaperture first was paid first, and so on. The result was that therewas always a sort of miniature 'Battle of Life', the men pushing andstruggling against each other as if their lives depended upon theirbeing paid by a certain time. 

On the ledge of the little window through which their money was passedthere was always a Hospital collection-box. Every man put either apenny or twopence into this box. Of course, it was not compulsory todo so, but they all did, because they felt that any man who omitted tocontribute might be 'marked'. They did not all agree with contributingto the Hospital, for several reasons. They knew that the doctors atthe Hospital made a practice of using the free patients to makeexperiments upon, and they also knew that the so-called 'free' patientswho contribute so very largely directly to the maintenance of suchinstitutions, get scant consideration when they apply for the 'free'treatment, and are plainly given to understand that they are receiving'charity'. Some of the men thought that, considering the extent towhich they contributed, they should be entitled to attention as a right. 

After receiving their wages, Crass, Easton, Bundy, Philpot, Harlow anda few others adjourned to the Cricketers for a drink. Owen went awayalone, and Slyme also went on by himself. There was no use waiting forEaston to come out of the public house, because there was no knowinghow long he would be; he might stay half an hour or two hours. 

On his way home, in accordance with his usual custom, Slyme called atthe Post Office to put some of his wages in the bank. Like most other'Christians', he believed in taking thought for the morrow, what heshould eat and drink and wherewithal he was to be clothed. He thoughtit wise to layup for himself as much treasure upon earth as possible. The fact that Jesus said that His disciples were not to do these thingsmade no more difference to Slyme's conduct than it does to the conductof any other 'Christian'. They are all agreed that when Jesus saidthis He meant something else: and all the other inconvenient thingsthat Jesus said are disposed of in the same way. For instance, these'disciples' assure us that when Jesus said, 'Resist not evil', 'If aman smite thee upon he right cheek turn unto him also the left', Hereally meant 'Turn on to him a Maxim gun; disembowel him with a bayonetor batter in his skull with the butt end of a rifle!' When He said, 'If one take thy coat, give him thy cloak also, ' the 'Christians' saythat what He really meant was: 'If one take thy coat, give him sixmonths' hard labour. A few of the followers of Jesus admit that Hereally did mean just what He said, but they say that the world wouldnever be able to go on if they followed out His teachings! That istrue. It is probably the effect that Jesus intended His teachings toproduce. It is altogether improbable that He wished the world tocontinue along its present lines. But, if these pretended followersreally think--as they say that they do--that the teachings of Jesus areridiculous and impracticable, why continue the hypocritical farce ofcalling themselves 'Christians' when they don't really believe in orfollow Him at all?

As Jesus himself pointed out, there's no sense in calling Him 'Lord, Lord' when they do not the things that He said. 

This banking transaction finished, Slyme resumed his homeward way, stopping only to purchase some sweets at a confectioner's. He spent awhole sixpence at once in this shop on a glass jar of sweets for thebaby. 

Ruth was not surprised when she saw him come in alone; it was the usualthing since Easton had become so friendly with Crass. 

She made no reference to his absence, but Slyme noticed with secretchagrin that she was annoyed and disappointed. She was just finishingscrubbing the kitchen floor and little Freddie was sitting up in ababy's high chair that had a little shelf or table fixed in front ofit. To keep him amused while she did her work, Ruth had given him apiece of bread and raspberry jam, which the child had rubbed all overhis face and into his scalp, evidently being under the impression thatit was something for the improvement of the complexion, or a cure forbaldness. He now looked as if he had been in a fight or a railwayaccident. The child hailed the arrival of Slyme with enthusiasm, beingso overcome with emotion that he began to shed tears, and was onlypacified when the man gave him the jar of sweets and took him out ofthe chair. 

Slyme's presence in the house had not proved so irksome as Easton andRuth had dreaded it would be. Indeed, at first, he made a point ofretiring to his own room after tea every evening, until they invitedhim to stay downstairs in the kitchen. Nearly every Wednesday andSaturday he went to a meeting, or an open-air preaching, when theweather permitted, for he was one of a little zealous band of peopleconnected with the Shining Light Chapel who carried on the 'open-air'work all the year round. After a while, the Eastons not only becamereconciled to his presence in the house, but were even glad of it. Ruthespecially would often have been very lonely if he had not been there, for it had lately become Easton's custom to spend a few evenings everyweek with Crass at the Cricketers. 

When at home Slyme passed his time playing a mandolin or makingfretwork photo frames. Ruth had the baby's photograph taken a fewweeks after Slyme came, and the frame he made for it was now one of theornaments of the sitting-room. The instinctive, unreasoning aversionshe had at first felt for him had passed away. In a quiet, unobtrusivemanner he did her so many little services that she found it impossibleto dislike him. At first, she used to address him as 'Mr' but after atime she fell naturally into Easton's practice of calling him by hisfirst name. 

As for the baby, he made no secret of his affection for the lodger, whonursed and played with him for hours at a stretch. 

'I'll serve your dinner now, Alf, ' said Ruth when she had finishedscrubbing the floor, 'but I'll wait for mine for a little while. Willmay come. '

'I'm in no hurry, ' replied Slyme. 'I'll go and have a wash; he may behere then. '

As he spoke, Slyme--who had been sitting by the fire nursing thebaby--who was trying to swallow the jar of sweets--put the child backinto the high chair, giving him one of the sticks of sweet out of thejar to keep him quiet; and went upstairs to his own room. He came downagain in about a quarter of an hour, and Ruth proceeded to serve hisdinner, for Easton was still absent. 

'If I was you, I wouldn't wait for Will, ' said Slyme, 'he may not comefor another hour or two. It's after two o'clock now, and I'm sure youmust be hungry. '

'I suppose I may as well, ' replied Ruth, hesitatingly. 'He'll mostlikely get some bread and cheese at the "Cricketers", same as he didlast Saturday. '

'Almost sure to, ' responded Slyme. 

The baby had had his face washed while Slyme was upstairs. Directly hesaw his mother eating he threw away the sugar-stick and began to cry, holding out his arms to her. She had to take him on her lap whilst sheate her dinner, and feed him with pieces from her plate. 

Slyme talked all the time, principally about the child. He was veryfond of children, he said, and always got on well with them, but he hadreally never known such an intelligent child--for his age--as Freddie. His fellow-workmen would have been astonished had they been present tohear him talking about the shape of the baby's head. They would havebeen astonished at the amount of knowledge he appeared to possess ofthe science of Phrenology. Ruth, at any rate, thought he was veryclever. 

After a time the child began to grow fretful and refused to eat; whenhis mother gave him a fresh piece of sugar-stick out of the jar hethrew it peevishly on the floor and began to whimper, rubbing his faceagainst his mother's bosom and pulling at her dress with his hands. When Slyme first came Ruth had made a practice of withdrawing from theroom if he happened to be present when she wanted to nurse the child, but lately she had been less sensitive. She was sitting with her backto the window and she partly covered the baby's face with a light shawlthat she wore. By the time they finished dinner the child had dozedoff to sleep. Slyme got up from his chair and stood with his back tothe fire, looking down at them; presently he spoke, referring, ofcourse, to the baby:

'He's very like you, isn't he?'

'Yes, ' replied Ruth. 'Everyone says he takes after me. '

Slyme moved a little closer, bending down to look at the slumberinginfant. 

'You know, at first I thought he was a girl, ' he continued after apause. 'He seems almost too pretty for a boy, doesn't he?'

Ruth smiled. 'People always take him for a girl at first, ' she said. 'Yesterday I took him with me to the Monopole Stores to buy somethings, and the manager would hardly believe it wasn't a girl. '

The man reached out his hand and stroked the baby's face. 

Although Slyme's behaviour had hitherto always been very correct, yetthere was occasionally an indefinable something in his manner when theywere alone that made Ruth feel conscious and embarrassed. Now, as sheglanced up at him and saw the expression on his face she crimsoned withconfusion and hastily lowered her eyes without replying to his lastremark. He did not speak again either, and they remained for severalminutes in silence, as if spellbound, Ruth oppressed with instinctivedread, and Slyme scarcely less agitated, his face flushed and his heartbeating wildly. He trembled as he stood over her, hesitating and afraid. 

And then the silence was suddenly broken by the creaking and clangingof the front gate, heralding the tardy coming of Easton. Slyme wentout into the scullery and, taking down the blacking brushes from theshelf, began cleaning his boots. 

It was plain from Easton's appearance and manner that he had beendrinking, but Ruth did not reproach him in any way; on the contrary, she seemed almost feverishly anxious to attend to his comfort. 

When Slyme finished cleaning his boots he went upstairs to his room, receiving a careless greeting from Easton as he passed through thekitchen. He felt nervous and apprehensive that Ruth might saysomething to Easton, and was not quite able to reassure himself withthe reflection that, after all, there was nothing to tell. As forRuth, she had to postpone the execution of her hastily formedresolution to tell her husband of Slyme's strange behaviour, for Eastonfell asleep in his chair before he had finished his dinner, and she hadsome difficulty in waking him sufficiently to persuade him to goupstairs to bed, where he remained until tea-time. Probably he wouldnot have come down even then if it had not been for the fact that hehad made an appointment to meet Crass at the Cricketers. 

Whilst Easton was asleep, Slyme had been downstairs in the kitchen, making a fretwork frame. He played with Freddie while Ruth preparedthe tea, and he appeared to her to be so unconscious of having doneanything unusual that she began to think that she must have beenmistaken in imagining that he had intended anything wrong. 

After tea, Slyme put on his best clothes to go to his usual 'open-air'meeting. As a rule Easton and Ruth went out marketing together everySaturday night, but this evening he could not wait for her because hehad promised to meet Crass at seven o'clock; so he arranged to see herdown town at eight. 

Chapter 23

The 'Open-air'

During the last few weeks ever since he had been engaged on thedecoration of the drawing-room, Owen had been so absorbed in his workthat he had no time for other things. Of course, all he was paid forwas the time he actually worked, but really every waking moment of histime was given to the task. Now that it was finished he felt somethinglike one aroused from a dream to the stern realities and terrors oflife. By the end of next week, the inside of the house and part of theoutside would be finished, and as far as he knew the firm had nothingelse to do at present. Most of the other employers in the town were inthe same plight, and it would be of no use to apply even to such ofthem as had something to do, for they were not likely to take on afresh man while some of their regular hands were idle. 

For the last month he had forgotten that he was ill; he had forgottenthat when the work at 'The Cave' was finished he would have to standoff with the rest of the hands. In brief, he had forgotten for thetime being that, like the majority of his fellow workmen, he was on thebrink of destitution, and that a few weeks of unemployment or idlenessmeant starvation. As far as illness was concerned, he was even worseoff than most others, for the greater number of them were members ofsome sick benefit club, but Owen's ill-health rendered him ineligiblefor membership of such societies. 

As he walked homewards after being paid, feeling unutterably depressedand weary, he began once more to think of the future; and the more hethought of it the more dreadful it appeared. Even looking at it in thebest possible light--supposing he did not fall too ill to work, or losehis employment from some other cause--what was there to live for? Hehad been working all this week. These few coins that he held in hishand were the result, and he laughed bitterly as he thought of all theyhad to try to do with this money, and of all that would have to be leftundone. 

As he turned the corner of Kerk Street he saw Frankie coming to meethim, and the boy catching sight of him at the same moment began runningand leapt into his arms with a joyous whoop. 

'Mother told me to tell you to buy something for dinner before you comehome, because there's nothing in the house. '

'Did she tell you what I was to get?'

She did tell me something, but I forget what it was. But I know shesaid to get anything you like if you couldn't get what she told me totell you. '

'Well, we'll go and see what we can find, ' said Owen. 

'If I were you, I'd get a tin of salmon or some eggs and bacon, 'suggested Frankie as he skipped along holding his father's hand. 'Wedon't want anything that's a lot of trouble to cook, you know, becauseMum's not very well today. '

'Is she up?'

She's been up all the morning, but she's lying down now. We've doneall the work, though. While she was making the beds I started washingup the cups and saucers without telling her, but when she came in andsaw what a mess I'd made on the floor, she had to stop me doing it, andshe had to change nearly all my clothes as well, because I was almostwet through; but I managed the wiping up all right when she did thewashing, and I swept the passage and put all my things tidy and madethe cat's bed. And that just reminds me: will you please give me mypenny now? I promised the cat that I'd bring him back some meat. '

Owen complied with the boy's request, and while the latter went to thebutcher's for the meat, Owen went into the grocer's to get somethingfor dinner, it being arranged that they were to meet again at thecorner of the street. Owen was at the appointed place first and afterwaiting some time and seeing no sign of the boy he decided to gotowards the butcher's to meet him. When he came in sight of the shophe saw the boy standing outside in earnest conversation with thebutcher, a jolly-looking stoutly built man, with a very red face. Owenperceived at once that the child was trying to explain something, because Frankie had a habit of holding his head sideways andsupplementing his speech by spreading out his fingers and making quaintgestures with his hands whenever he found it difficult to make himselfunderstood. The boy was doing this now, waving one hand about with thefingers and thumb extended wide, and with the other flourishing a paperparcel which evidently contained the pieces of meat. Presently the manlaughed heartily and after shaking hands with Frankie went into theshop to attend to a customer, and Frankie rejoined his father. 

'That butcher's a very decent sort of chap, you know, Dad, ' he said. 'He wouldn't take a penny for the meat. '

'Is that what you were talking to him about?'

No; we were talking about Socialism. You see, this is the second timehe wouldn't take the money, and the first time he did it I thought hemust be a Socialist, but I didn't ask him then. But when he did itagain this time I asked him if he was. So he said, No. He said hewasn't quite mad yet. So I said, "If you think that Socialists are allmad, you're very much mistaken, because I'm a Socialist myself, and I'mquite sure I'M not mad. " So he said he knew I was all right, but hedidn't understand anything about Socialism himself--only that it meantsharing out all the money so that everyone could have the same. Sothen I told him that's not Socialism at all! And when I explained itto him properly and advised him to be one, he said he'd think about it. So I said if he'd only do that he'd be sure to change over to our side;and then he laughed and promised to let me know next time he sees me, and I promised to lend him some literature. You won't mind, will you, Dad?'

'Of course not; when we get home we'll have a look through what we'vegot and you can take him some of them. '

'I know!' cried Frankie eagerly. 'The two very best of all. HappyBritain and England for the English. '

He knew that these were 'two of the best' because he had often heardhis father and mother say so, and he had noticed that whenever aSocialist friend came to visit them, he was also of the same opinion. 

As a rule on Saturday evenings they all three went out together to dothe marketing, but on this occasion, in consequence of Nora beingunwell, Owen and Frankie went by themselves. The frequent recurrenceof his wife's illness served to increase Owen's pessimism with regardto the future, and the fact that he was unable to procure for her thecomforts she needed was not calculated to dispel the depression thatfilled his mind as he reflected that there was no hope of better times. 

In the majority of cases, for a workman there is no hope ofadvancement. After he has learnt his trade and become a 'journeyman'all progress ceases. He is at the goal. After he has been working tenor twenty years he commands no more than he did at first--a bare livingwage--sufficient money to purchase fuel to keep the human machineworking. As he grows older he will have to be content with even less;and all the time he holds his employment at the caprice and by thefavour of his masters, who regard him merely as a piece of mechanismthat enables them to accumulate money--a thing which they are justifiedin casting aside as soon as it becomes unprofitable. And the workmanmust not only be an efficient money-producing machine, but he must alsobe the servile subject of his masters. If he is not abjectly civil andhumble, if he will not submit tamely to insult, indignity, and everyform of contemptuous treatment that occasion makes possible, he can bedismissed, and replaced in a moment by one of the crowd of unemployedwho are always waiting for his job. This is the status of the majorityof the 'Heirs of all the ages' under the present system. 

As he walked through the crowded streets holding Frankie by the hand, Owen thought that to voluntarily continue to live such a life as thisbetokened a degraded mind. To allow one's child to grow up to sufferit in turn was an act of callous, criminal cruelty. 

In this matter he held different opinions from most of his fellowworkmen. The greater number of them were quite willing and contentthat their children should be made into beasts of burden for thebenefit of other people. As he looked down upon the little, frailfigure trotting along by his side, Owen thought for the thousandth timethat it would be far better for the child to die now: he would never befit to be a soldier in the ferocious Christian Battle of Life. 

Then he remembered Nora. Although she was always brave, and nevercomplained, he knew that her life was one of almost incessant physicalsuffering; and as for himself he was tired and sick of it all. He hadbeen working like a slave all his life and there was nothing to showfor it--there never would be anything to show for it. He thought ofthe man who had killed his wife and children. The jury had returnedthe usual verdict, 'Temporary Insanity'. It never seemed to occur tothese people that the truth was that to continue to suffer hopelesslylike this was evidence of permanent insanity. 

But supposing that bodily death was not the end. Suppose there wassome kind of a God? If there were, it wasn't unreasonable to thinkthat the Being who was capable of creating such a world as this and whoseemed so callously indifferent to the unhappiness of His creatures, would also be capable of devising and creating the other Hell that mostpeople believed in. 

Although it was December the evening was mild and clear. The full moondeluged the town with silvery light, and the cloudless sky was jewelledwith myriads of glittering stars. 

Looking out into the unfathomable infinity of space, Owen wondered whatmanner of Being or Power it was that had originated and sustained allthis? Considered as an explanation of the existence of the universe, the orthodox Christian religion was too absurd to merit a secondthought. But then, every other conceivable hypothesis wasalso--ultimately--unsatisfactory and even ridiculous. To believe thatthe universe as it is now has existed from all eternity without anyCause is surely ridiculous. But to say that it was created by a Beingwho existed without a Cause from all eternity is equally ridiculous. In fact, it was only postponing the difficulty one stage. Evolutionwas not more satisfactory, because although it was undoubtedly true asfar as it went, it only went part of the way, leaving the greatquestion still unanswered by assuming the existence--in thebeginning--of the elements of matter, without a cause! The questionremained unanswered because it was unanswerable. Regarding thisproblem man was but--

 'An infant crying in the night, An infant crying for the light And with no language but a cry. '

All the same, it did not follow, because one could not explain themystery oneself, that it was right to try to believe an unreasonableexplanation offered by someone else. 

But although he reasoned like this, Owen could not help longing forsomething to believe, for some hope for the future; something tocompensate for the unhappiness of the present. In one sense, hethought, how good it would be if Christianity were true, and after allthe sorrow there was to be an eternity of happiness such as it hadnever entered into the heart of man to conceive? If only that weretrue, nothing else would matter. How contemptible and insignificant thevery worst that could happen here would be if one knew that this lifewas only a short journey that was to terminate at the beginning of aneternity of joy? But no one really believed this; and as for those whopretended to do so--their lives showed that they did not believe it atall. Their greed and inhumanity--their ferocious determination tosecure for themselves the good things of THIS world--were conclusiveproofs of their hypocrisy and infidelity. 

'Dad, ' said Frankie, suddenly, 'let's go over and hear what that man'ssaying. ' He pointed across the way to where--a little distance backfrom the main road, just round the corner of a side street--a group ofpeople were standing encircling a large lantern fixed on the top of apole about seven feet high, which was being held by one of the men. Abright light was burning inside this lantern and on the pane of white, obscured glass which formed the sides, visible from where Owen andFrankie were standing, was written in bold plain letters that werereadable 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 averse 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 whoseclothes hung loosely on the angles of his round-shouldered, bony form. His long, thin legs--about which the baggy trousers hung in ungracefulfolds--were slightly knock-kneed, and terminated in large, fiat feet. His arms were very long even for such a tall man, and the huge, bonyhands were gnarled and knotted. Regardless of the season, he hadremoved his bowler hat, revealing his forehead, which was high, flatand narrow. His nose was a large, fleshy, hawklike beak, and from theside of each nostril a deep indentation extended downwards until itdisappeared in the drooping moustache that concealed his mouth when hewas not speaking, but the vast extent of which was perceptible now ashe opened it to call out the words of the hymn. His chin was large andextraordinarily long: the eyes were pale blue, very small and closetogether, surmounted by spare, light-coloured, almost invisibleeyebrows with a deep vertical cleft between them over the nose. Hishead--covered with thick, coarse brown hair--was very large, especiallyat the back; the ears were small and laid close to the head. If onewere to make a full-face drawing of his cadaverous visage, it would befound 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 andwhispered: 'Dad! that's the teacher at the Sunday School where I wentthat 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 companyof evangelists began to sing, accompanied by the strains of a small butpeculiarly sweet-toned organ. A few persons in the crowd joined in, the words being familiar to them. During the singing their faces werea study, they all looked so profoundly solemn and miserable, as if theywere a gang of condemned criminals waiting to be led forth toexecution. The great number of the people standing around appeared tobe listening more out of idle curiosity than anything else, and twowell-dressed young men--evidently strangers and visitors to thetown--amused themselves by making audible remarks about the texts onthe lantern. There was also a shabbily dressed, semi-drunken man in abattered bowler hat who stood on the inner edge of the crowd, almost inthe ring itself, with folded arms and an expression of scorn. He had avery thin, pale face with a large, high-bridged nose, and bore astriking resemblance to the First Duke of Wellington. 

As the singing proceeded, the scornful expression faded from the visageof the Semi-drunk, and he not only joined in, but unfolded his arms andbegan waving them about as if he were conducting the music. 

By the time the singing was over a considerable crowd had gathered, andthen 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 bythe unseemly conduct of the two well-dressed young men, for after apreliminary glance round upon the crowd, he fixed his gaze upon thepair, and immediately launched out upon a long tirade against what hecalled 'Infidelity'. Then, having heartily denounced all those who--ashe put it--'refused' to believe, he proceeded to ridicule thosehalf-and-half believers, who, while professing to believe the Bible, rejected the doctrine of Hell. That the existence of a place ofeternal torture is taught in the Bible, he tried to prove by a longsuccession of texts. As he proceeded he became very excited, and thecontemptuous laughter of the two unbelievers seemed to make him worse. He shouted and raved, literally foaming at the mouth and glaring in afrenzied manner around upon the faces of the crowd. 

'There is a Hell!' he shouted. 'And understand this clearly--"Thewicked shall be turned into hell"--"He that believeth not shall bedamned. "'

'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 fromhis 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 theyoung man. 

'Ah, my dear brother, ' said Misery. 'That's your delusion. I thankGod 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, ' saidthe disturber of the meeting. The crowd began to close in on thecentre, the better to hear the dispute. Misery, standing close to thelantern, found the verse mentioned and read aloud as follows:

'And these signs shall follow them that believe. In my name shall theycast out devils: they shall speak with new tongues. They shall take upserpents; 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 orcast out devils: but perhaps you can drink deadly things withoutsuffering harm. ' The speaker here suddenly drew from his waistcoatpocket a small glass bottle and held it out towards Misery, who shrankfrom it with horror as he continued: 'I have here a most deadly poison. There is in this bottle sufficient strychnine to kill a dozenunbelievers. Drink it! And if it doesn't harm you, we'll know thatyou really are a believer and that what you believe is the truth!'

''Ear, 'ear!' said the Semi-drunk, who had listened to the progress ofthe 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 heardfrom several quarters calling upon Misery to drink the strychnine. 

'Now, if you'll allow me, I'll explain to you what that there versemeans, ' said Hunter. 'If you read it carefully--WITH the context--'

'I don't want you to tell me what it means, ' interrupted the other. 'Iam able to read for myself. Whatever you may say, or pretend to thinkit means, I know what it says. '

'Hear, Hear, ' shouted several voices, and angry cries of 'Why don't youdrink 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 shoutof laughter broke from the crowd. '

'P'haps some of the other "believers" would like to, ' said the youngman sneeringly, looking round upon the disciples. As no one seemeddesirous of availing himself of this offer, the man returned the bottleregretfully to his pocket. 

'I suppose, ' said Misery, regarding the owner of the strychnine with asneer, '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 Semi-drunk, suddenlyadvancing 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 thedisciples. This was rather an unnecessary piece of advice, becauseMisery did not know the answer. 

An individual in a long black garment--the 'minister'--now whisperedsomething to Miss Didlum, who was seated at the organ, whereupon shebegan to play, and the 'believers' began to sing, as loud as they couldso as to drown the voices of the disturbers of the meeting, a songcalled 'Oh, that will be Glory for me!'

After this hymn the 'minister' invited a shabbily dressed 'brother'--aworking-man member of the PSA, to say a 'few words', and the latteraccordingly stepped into the centre of the ring and held forth asfollows:

'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 hallwot's been done for ME. Ho my dear frens hi ham so glad tonight as Ican stand 'ere tonight and say as hall my sins is hunder the bloodtonight and wot 'E's done for me 'E can do for you tonight. If you'llhonly 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'llsee wot 'E's done for me 'E can do for you. Ho my dear frens, don't goputtin' it orf from day to day like a door turnin' on its 'inges, don'tput orf to some more convenient time because you may never 'ave anotherchance. 'Im that bein' orfen reproved 'ardeneth 'is neck shall besuddenly 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 dressedin the long garment entreated all those who were not yet truebelievers--and doers--of the word to join earnestly and MEANINGLY inthe singing of the closing hymn, which he was about to read out to them. 

The Semi-drunk obligingly conducted as before, and the crowd faded awaywith the last notes of the music. 

Chapter 24

Ruth

As has already been stated, hitherto Slyme had passed the greaternumber of his evenings at home, but during the following three weeks achange took place in his habits in this respect. He now went outnearly every night and did not return until after ten o'clock. Onmeeting nights he always changed his attire, dressing himself as onSundays, but on the other occasions he went out in his week-dayclothes. Ruth often wondered where he went on those nights, but henever volunteered the information and she never asked him. 

Easton had chummed up with a lot of the regular customers at the'Cricketers', where he now spent most of his spare time, drinking beer, telling yarns or playing shove-ha'penny or hooks and rings. When he hadno cash the Old Dear gave him credit until Saturday. At first, theplace had not had much attraction for him, and he really went thereonly for the purpose of 'keeping in' with Crass: but after a time hefound it a very congenial way of passing his evenings. .. 

One evening, Ruth saw Slyme meet Crass as if by appointment and as thetwo men went away together she returned to her housework wondering whatit meant. 

Meantime, Crass and Slyme proceeded on their way down town. It wasabout half past six o'clock: the shops and streets were brilliantlylighted, and as they went along they saw numerous groups of men talkingtogether in a listless way. Most of them were artisans and labourersout of employment and evidently in no great hurry to go home. Some ofthem had neither tea nor fire to go to, and stayed away from home aslong as possible so as not to be compelled to look upon the misery ofthose who were waiting for them there. Others hung about hopingagainst all probability that they might even yet--although it was solate--hear of some job to be started somewhere or other. 

As they passed one of these groups they recognized and nodded to Newmanand old Jack Linden, and the former left the others and came up toCrass and Slyme, who did not pause, so Newman walked along with them. 

'Anything fresh in, Bob?' he asked. 

'No; we ain't got 'ardly anything, ' replied Crass. 'I reckon we shallfinish up at "The Cave" next week, and then I suppose we shall all bestood orf. We've got several plumbers on, and I believe there's alittle gas-fitting work in, but next to nothing in our line. '

'I suppose you don't know of any other firm what's got anything?'

'No, I don't, mate. Between you and me, I don't think any of 'em has;they're all in about the same fix. '

'I've not done anything since I left, you know, ' said Newman, 'andwe've just about got as far as we can get, at home. '

Slyme and Crass said nothing in reply to this. They wished that Newmanwould take himself off, because they did not want him to know wherethey were going. 

However, Newman continued to accompany them and an awkward silencesucceeded. He seemed to wish to say something more, and they bothguessed what it was. So they walked along as rapidly as possible inorder not to give him any encouragement. At last Newman blurted out:

'I suppose--you don't happen--either of you--to have a tanner you couldlend me? I'll let you have it back--when I get a job. '

'I ain't mate, ' replied Crass. 'I'm sorry; if I 'ad one on me, youshould 'ave it, with pleasure. '

Slyme also expressed his regret that he had no money with him, and atthe corner of the next street Newman--ashamed of having asked--wishedthem 'good night' and went away. 

Slyme and Crass hurried along and presently arrived at Rushton & Co. 'sshop. The windows were lit up with electric light, displaying anassortment of wallpapers, gas and electric light fittings, glassshades, globes, tins of enamel, paint and varnish. Several framedshow-cards--'Estimates Free', 'First class work only, at moderatecharges', 'Only First Class Workmen Employed' and several others of thesame type. On one side wall of the window was a large shield-shapedboard covered with black velvet on which a number of brass fittings forcoffins were arranged. The shield was on an oak mount with theinscription: 'Funerals conducted on modern principles'. 

Slyme waited outside while Crass went in. Mr Budd, the shopman, wasdown at the far end near the glazed partition which separated MrRushton's office from the front shop. As Crass entered, Budd--who wasa pale-faced, unhealthy-looking, undersized youth about twenty years ofage--looked round and, with a grimace, motioned him to walk softly. Crass paused, wondering what the other meant; but the shopman beckonedhim to advance, grinning and winking and jerking his thumb over hisshoulder in the direction of the office. Crass hesitated, fearing thatpossibly the miserable Budd had gone--or been driven--out of his mind;but as the latter continued to beckon and grin and point towards theoffice Crass screwed up his courage and followed him behind one of theshowcases, and applying his eye to a crack in the woodwork of thepartition indicated by Budd, he could see Mr Rushton in the act ofkissing and embracing Miss Wade, the young lady clerk. Crass watchedthem for some time and then whispered to Budd to call Slyme, and whenthe latter came they all three took turns at peeping through the crackin the partition. 

When they had looked their fill they came out from behind the showcase, almost bursting with suppressed merriment. Budd reached down a keyfrom where it was hanging on a hook on the wall and gave it to Crassand the two resumed their interrupted journey. But before they hadproceeded a dozen yards from the shop, they were accosted by a short, elderly man with grey hair and a beard. This man looked aboutsixty-five years of age, and was very shabbily dressed. The ends ofthe sleeves of his coat were frayed and ragged, and the elbows wereworn threadbare. His boots were patched, broken, and down at heel, andthe knees and bottoms of the legs of his trousers were in the samecondition as the sleeves of his coat. This man's name was Latham; hewas a venetian blind maker and repairer. With his son, he was supposedto be 'in business' on his own account, but as most of their work wasdone for 'the trade', that is, for such firms as Rushton & Co. , theywould be more correctly described as men who did piecework at home. 

He had been 'in business'--as he called it--for about forty yearsworking, working, always working; and ever since his son became oldenough to labour he had helped his father in the philanthropic task ofmanufacturing profits for the sweaters who employed them. They hadbeen so busy running after work, and working for the benefit of others, that they had overlooked the fact that they were only earning a bareliving for themselves and now, after forty years' hard labour, the oldman was clothed in rags and on the verge of destitution. 

'Is Rushton there?' he asked. 

'Yes, I think so, ' replied Crass, attempting to pass on; but the oldman detained him. 

'He promised to let us know about them blinds for "The Cave". We gave'im a price for 'em about a month ago. In fact, we gave 'im twoprices, because he said the first was too high. Five and six a set Iasked 'im! take 'em right through the 'ole 'ouse! one withanother--big and little. Two coats of paint, and new tapes and cords. That wasn't too much, was it?'

'No, ' said Crass, walking on; 'that was cheap enough!'

HE said it was too much, ' continued Latham. 'Said as 'e could get 'emdone cheaper! But I say as no one can't do it and make a living. '

As he walked along, talking, between Crass and Slyme, the old manbecame very excited. 

'But we 'adn't nothing to do to speak of, so my son told 'im we'd do'em for five bob a set, and 'e said 'e'd let us know, but we ain't'eard nothing from 'im yet, so I thought I'd try and see 'im tonight. '

Well, you'll find 'im in there now, ' said Slyme with a peculiar look, and walking faster. 'Good night. '

'I won't take 'em on for no less!' cried the old man as he turned back. I've got my livin' to get, and my son's got 'is wife and little 'uns tokeep. We can't work for nothing!'

'Certainly not, ' said Crass, glad to get away at last. 'Good night, and good luck to you. '

As soon as they were out of hearing, they both burst out laughing atthe old man's vehemence. 

'Seemed quite upset about it, ' said Slyme; and they laughed again. 

They now left the main road and pursued their way through a number ofbadly lighted, mean-looking streets, and finally turning down a kind ofalley, arrived at their destination. On one side of this street was arow of small houses; facing these were a number of buildings of amiscellaneous description--sheds and stables; and beyond these a plotof waste ground on which could be seen, looming weirdly through thedusk, a number of empty carts and waggons with their shafts resting onthe ground or reared up into the air. Threading their way carefullythrough these and avoiding as much as possible the mud, pools of water, and rubbish which covered the ground, they arrived at a large gatefastened with a padlock. Applying the key, Crass swung back the gateand they found themselves in a large yard filled with buildingmaterials and plant, ladders, huge tressels, planks and beams of wood, hand-carts, and wheelbarrows, heaps of sand and mortar and innumerableother things that assumed strange fantastic shapes in thesemi-darkness. Crates and packing cases, lengths of iron guttering andrain-pipes, old door-frames and other woodwork that had been taken frombuildings where alterations had been made. And over all these things, a gloomy, indistinct and shapeless mass, rose the buildings and shedsthat comprised Rushton & Co. 's workshop. 

Crass struck a match, and Slyme, stooping down, drew a key from acrevice in the wall near one of the doors, which he unlocked, and theyentered. Crass struck another match and lit the gas at the jointedbracket fixed to the wall. This was the paint-shop. At one end was afireplace without a grate but with an iron bar fixed across theblackened chimney for the purpose of suspending pails or pots over thefire, which was usually made of wood on the hearthstone. All round thewalls of the shop--which had once been whitewashed, but were nowcovered with smears of paint of every colour where the men had 'rubbedout' their brushes--were rows of shelves with kegs of paint upon them. In front of the window was a long bench covered with an untidy litterof dirty paint-pots, including several earthenware mixing vessels ormortars, the sides of these being thickly coated with dried paint. Scattered about the stone floor were a number of dirty pails, eitherempty or containing stale whitewash; and standing on a sort of lowplatform or shelf at one end of the shop were four large round tanksfitted with taps and labelled 'Boiled Oil', 'Turps', 'Linseed Oil', 'Turps Substitute'. The lower parts of the walls were discoloured withmoisture. The atmosphere was cold and damp and foul with the sickeningodours of the poisonous materials. 

It was in this place that Bert--the apprentice--spent most of his time, cleaning out pots and pails, during slack periods when there were nojobs going on outside. 

In the middle of the shop, under a two-armed gas pendant, was anothertable or bench, also thickly coated with old, dried paint, and by theside of this were two large stands on which were hanging up to dry someof the lathes of the venetian blinds belonging to 'The Cave', whichCrass and Slyme were painting--piecework--in their spare time. Theremainder of the lathes were leaning against the walls or piled instacks on the table. 

Crass shivered with cold as he lit the two gas-jets. 'Make a bit of afire, Alf, he said, 'while I gets the colour ready. '

Slyme went outside and presently returned with his arms full of oldwood, which he smashed up and threw into the fireplace; then he took anempty paint-pot and filled it with turpentine from the big tank andemptied it over the wood. Amongst the pots on the mixing bench hefound one full of old paint, and he threw this over the wood also, andin a few minutes he had made a roaring fire. 

Meantime, Crass had prepared the paint and brushes and taken down thelathes from the drying frames. The two men now proceeded with thepainting of the blinds, working rapidly, each lathe being hung on thewires of the drying frame after being painted. They talked freely asthey worked, having no fear of being overheard by Rushton or Nimrod. This job was piecework, so it didn't matter whether they talked or not. They waxed hilarious over Old Latham's discomfiture and wondered whathe would say if he could see them now. Then the conversation driftedto the subject of the private characters of the other men who wereemployed by Rushton & Co. , and an impartial listener--had there beenone there--would have been forced to come to the same conclusion asCrass and Slyme did: namely, that they themselves were the only twodecent fellows on the firm. There was something wrong or shady abouteverybody else. That bloke Barrington, for instance--it was a veryfunny business, you know, for a chap like 'im to be workin' as alabourer, it looked very suspicious. Nobody knowed exactly who 'e wasor where 'e come from, but anyone could tell 'e'd been a toff. It wasvery certain 'e'd never bin brought up to work for 'is livin'. Themost probable explanation was that 'e'd committed some crime and bindisowned by 'is family--pinched some money, or forged a cheque orsomething like that. Then there was that Sawkins. He was no classwhatever. It was a well-known fact that he used to go round toMisery's house nearly every night to tell him every little thing thathad happened on the job during the day! As for Payne, the foremancarpenter, the man was a perfect fool: he'd find out the difference ifever he got the sack from Rushton's and went to work for some otherfirm! He didn't understand his trade, and he couldn't make a coffinproperly to save 'is life! Then there was that rotter Owen; there wasa bright specimen for yer! An Atheist! didn't believe in no God orDevil or nothing else. A pretty state of things there would be ifthese Socialists could have their own way: for one thing, nobody wouldbe allowed to work overtime!

Crass and Slyme worked and talked in this manner till ten o'clock, andthen they extinguished the fire by throwing some water on it--put outthe gas and locked up the shop and the yard, dropping the key of thelatter into the letter-box at Rushton's office on their way home. 

In this way they worked at the blinds nearly every night for threeweeks. 

When Saturday arrived the men working at 'The Cave' were againsurprised that nobody was sacked, and they were divided in opinion asto the reason, some thinking that Nimrod was determined to keep themall on till the job was finished, so as to get it done as quickly aspossible; and others boldly asserting the truth of a rumour that hadbeen going about for several days that the firm had another big job in. Mr Sweater had bought another house; Rushton had to do it up, and theywere all to be kept on to start this other work as soon as 'The Cave'was finished. Crass knew no more than anyone else and he maintained adiscreet silence, but the fact that he did not contradict the rumourserved to strengthen it. The only foundation that existed for thisreport was that Rushton and Misery had been seen looking over thegarden gate of a large empty house near 'The Cave'. But although ithad such an insignificant beginning, the rumour had grown and increasedin detail and importance day by day. That very morning atbreakfast-time, the man on the pail had announced that he had heard onthe very best authority that Mr Sweater had sold all his interest inthe great business that bore his name and was about to retire intoprivate life, and that he intended to buy up all the house property inthe neighbourhood of 'The Cave'. Another individual--one of the newhands--said that he had heard someone else--in a public house--say thatRushton was about to marry one of Sweater's daughters, and that Sweaterintended to give the couple a house to live in, as a wedding present:but the fact that Rushton was already married and the father of fourchildren, rather knocked the bottom out of this story, so it wasregretfully dismissed. Whatever the reason, the fact remained thatnobody had been discharged, and when pay-time arrived they set out forthe office in high spirits. 

That evening, the weather being fine, Slyme went out as usual to hisopen-air meeting, but Easton departed from HIS usual custom of rushingoff to the 'Cricketers' directly he had had his tea, having on thisoccasion promised to wait for Ruth and to go with her to do themarketing. The baby was left at home alone, asleep in the cradle. 

By the time they had made all their purchases they had a fairly heavyload. Easton carried the string-bag containing the potatoes and othervegetables, and the meat, and Ruth, the groceries. On their way home, they had to pass the 'Cricketers' and just before they reached thatpart of their journey they met Mr and Mrs Crass, who were also outmarketing. They both insisted on Easton and Ruth going in to have adrink with them. Ruth did not want to go, but she allowed herself tobe persuaded for she could see that Easton was beginning to get angrywith her for refusing. Crass had on a new overcoat and a new hat, withdark grey trousers and yellow boots, and a 'stand-up' collar with abright blue tie. His wife--a fat, vulgar-looking, well-preserved womanabout forty--was arrayed in a dark red 'motor' costume, with hat tomatch. Both Easton and Ruth--whose best clothes had all been pawned toraise the money to pay the poor rate--felt very mean and shabby beforethem. 

When they got inside, Crass paid for the first round of drinks, a pintof Old Six for himself; the same for Easton, half a pint for Mrs Eastonand threepenny-worth of gin for Mrs Crass. 

The Besotted Wretch was there, just finishing a game of hooks and ringswith the Semi-drunk--who had called round on the day after he wasthrown out, to apologize for his conduct to the Old Dear, and had sincethen become one of the regular customers. Philpot was absent. He hadbeen there that afternoon, so the Old Dear said, but he had gone homeabout five o'clock, and had not been back since. He was almost sure tolook in again in the course of the evening. 

Although the house was not nearly so full as it would have been iftimes had been better, there was a large number of people there, forthe 'Cricketers' was one of the most popular houses in the town. Another thing that helped to make them busy was the fact that two otherpublic houses in the vicinity had recently been closed up. There werepeople in all the compartments. Some of the seats in the public barwere occupied by women, some young and accompanied by their husbands, some old and evidently sodden with drink. In one corner of the publicbar, drinking beer or gin with a number of young fellows, were threeyoung girls who worked at a steam laundry in the neighbourhood. Twolarge, fat, gipsy-looking women: evidently hawkers, for on the floorbeside them were two baskets containing bundles offlowers--chrysanthemums and Michaelmas daisies. There were also twovery plainly and shabbily dressed women about thirty-five years of age, who were always to be found there on Saturday nights, drinking with anyman who was willing to pay for them. The behaviour of these two womenwas very quiet and their manners unobtrusive. They seemed to realizethat they were there only on sufferance, and their demeanour wasshamefaced and humble. 

The majority of the guests were standing. The floor was sprinkled withsawdust which served to soak up the beer that slopped out of theglasses of those whose hands were too unsteady to hold them upright. The air was foul with the smell of beer, spirits and tobacco smoke, andthe uproar was deafening, for nearly everyone was talking at the sametime, their voices clashing discordantly with the strains of thePolyphone, which was playing 'The Garden of Your Heart'. In one cornera group of men convulsed with laughter at the details of a dirty storyrelated by one of their number. Several impatient customers werebanging the bottoms of their empty glasses or pewters on the counterand shouting their orders for more beer. Oaths, curses and obsceneexpressions resounded on every hand, coming almost as frequently fromthe women as the men. And over all the rattle of money, the ringing ofthe cash register. The clinking and rattling of the glasses and pewterpots as they were being washed, and the gurgling noise made by the beeras it poured into the drinking vessels from the taps of the beerengine, whose handles were almost incessantly manipulated by thebarman, the Old Dear and the glittering landlady, whose silken blouse, bejewelled hair, ears, neck and fingers scintillated gloriously in theblaze of the gaslight. 

The scene was so novel and strange to Ruth that she felt dazed andbewildered. Previous to her marriage she had been a total abstainer, but since then she had occasionally taken a glass of beer with Eastonfor company's sake with their Sunday dinner at home; but it wasgenerally Easton who went out and bought the beer in a jug. Once ortwice she had bought it herself at an Off Licence beer-shop near wherethey lived, but she had never before been in a public house to drink. She was so confused and ill at ease that she scarcely heard orunderstood Mrs Crass, who talked incessantly, principally about theirother residents in North Street where they both resided; and about MrCrass. She also promised Ruth to introduce her presently--if he camein, as he was almost certain to do--to Mr Partaker, one of her twolodgers a most superior young man, who had been with them now for overthree years and would not leave on any account. In fact, he had beentheir lodger in their old house, and when they moved he came with themto North Street, although it was farther away from his place ofbusiness than their former residence. Mrs Crass talked a lot more ofthe same sort of stuff, to which Ruth listened like one in a dream, andanswered with an occasional yes or no. 

Meantime, Crass and Easton--the latter had deposited the string-bag onthe seat at Ruth's side--and the Semi-drunk and the Besotted Wretch, arranged to play a match of Hooks and Rings, the losers to pay fordrinks for all the party, including the two women. Crass and theSemi-drunk tossed up for sides. Crass won and picked the BesottedWretch, and the game began. It was a one-sided affair from the first, for Easton and the Semi-drunk were no match for the other two. The endof it was that Easton and his partner had to pay for the drinks. Thefour men had a pint each of four ale, and Mrs Crass had anotherthreepennyworth of gin. Ruth protested that she did not want any moreto drink, but the others ridiculed this, and both the Besotted Wretchand the Semi-drunk seemed to regard her unwillingness as a personalinsult, so she allowed them to get her another half-pint of beer, whichshe was compelled to drink, because she was conscious that the otherswere watching her to see that she did so. 

The Semi-drunk now suggested a return match. He wished to have hisrevenge. He was a little out of practice, he said, and was only justgetting his hand in as they were finishing the other game. Crass andhis partner readily assented, and in spite of Ruth's whispered entreatythat they should return home without further delay, Easton insisted onjoining the game. 

Although they played more carefully than before, and notwithstandingthe fact that the Besotted Wretch was very drunk, Easton and hispartner were again beaten and once more had to pay for the drinks. Themen had a pint each as before. Mrs Crass--upon whom the liquor so farseemed to have no effect--had another threepennyworth of gin; and Ruthconsented to take another glass of beer on condition that Easton wouldcome away directly their drinks were finished. Easton agreed to do so, but instead of keeping his word he began to play a four-handed game ofshove-ha'penny with the other three, the sides and stakes beingarranged as before. 

The liquor was by this time beginning to have some effect upon Ruth:she felt dizzy and confused. Whenever it was necessary to reply to MrsCrass's talk she found some difficulty in articulating the words andshe knew she was not answering very intelligently. Even when Mrs Crassintroduced her to the interesting Mr Partaker, who arrived about thistime, she was scarcely able to collect herself sufficiently to declinethat fascinating gentleman's invitation to have another drink withhimself and Mrs Crass. 

After a time a kind of terror took possession of her, and she resolvedthat if Easton would not come when he had finished the game he wasplaying, she would go home without him. 

Meantime the game of shove-ha'penny proceeded merrily, the majority ofthe male guests crowding round the board, applauding or censuring theplayers as occasion demanded. The Semi-drunk was in high glee, forCrass was not much of a hand at this game, and the Besotted Wretch, although playing well, was not able to make up for his partner's wantof skill. As the game drew near its end and it became more and morecertain that his opponents would be defeated, the joy of the Semi-drunkwas unbounded, and he challenged them to make it double or quits--agenerous offer which they wisely declined, and shortly afterwards, seeing that their position was hopeless, they capitulated and preparedto pay the penalty of the vanquished. 

Crass ordered the drinks and the Besotted Wretch--half the damage--apint of four ale for each of the men and the same as before for theladies. The Old Dear executed the order, but by mistake, being verybusy, he served two 'threes' of gin instead of one. Ruth did not wantany more at all, but she was afraid to say so, and she did not like tomake any fuss about it being the wrong drink, especially as they allassured her that the spirits would do her more good than beer. She didnot want either; she wanted to get away, and would have liked to emptythe stuff out of the glass on the floor, but she was afraid that MrsCrass or one of the others might see her doing so, and there might besome trouble about it. Anyway, it seemed easier to drink this smallquantity of spirits and water than a big glass of beer, the verythought of which now made her feel ill. She drank the stuff whichEaston handed to her at a single draught and, handing back the emptyglass with a shudder, stood up resolutely. 

'Are you coming home now? You promised you would, ' she said. 

'All right: presently, ' replied Easton. 'There's plenty of time; it'snot nine yet. '

'That doesn't matter; it's quite late enough. You know we've left thechild at home alone in the house. You promised you'd come as soon asyou'd finished that other game. '

'All right, all right, ' answered Easton impatiently. 'Just wait aminute, I want to see this, and then I'll come. '

'This' was a most interesting problem propounded by Crass, who hadarranged eleven matches side by side on the shove-ha'penny board. Theproblem was to take none away and yet leave only nine. Nearly all themen in the bar were crowding round the shove-ha'penny board, some withknitted brows and drunken gravity trying to solve the puzzle and otherswaiting curiously for the result. Easton crossed over to see how itwas done, and as none of the crowd were able to do the trick, Crassshowed that it could be accomplished by simply arranging the elevenmatches so as to form the word NINE. Everybody said it was very goodindeed, very clever and interesting. But the Semi-drunk and theBesotted Wretch were reminded by this trick of several others equallygood, and they proceeded to do them; and then the men had another pinteach all round as a reviver after the mental strain of the last fewminutes. 

Easton did not know any tricks himself, but he was an interestedspectator of those done by several others until Ruth came over andtouched his arm. 

'Aren't you coming?'

'Wait a minute, can't you?' cried Easton roughly. 'What's your hurry?'

'I don't want to stay here any longer, ' said Ruth, hysterically. 'Yousaid you'd come as soon as you saw that trick. If you don't come, Ishall go home by myself. I don't want to stay in this place anylonger. '

'Well, go by yourself if you want to!' shouted Easton fiercely, pushingher away from him. 'I shall stop 'ere as long as I please, and if youdon't like it you can do the other thing. '

Ruth staggered and nearly fell from the force of the push he gave her, and the man turned again to the table to watch the Semi-drunk, who wasarranging six matches so as to form the numeral XII, and who said hecould prove that this was equal to a thousand. 

Ruth waited a few minutes longer, and then as Easton took no furthernotice of her, she took up the string-bag and the other parcels, andwithout staying to say good night to Mrs Crass--who was earnestlyconversing with the interesting Partaker--she with some difficultyopened the door and went out into the street. The cold night air feltrefreshing and sweet after the foul atmosphere of the public house, butafter a little while she began to feel faint and dizzy, and wasconscious also that she was walking unsteadily, and she fancied thatpeople stared at her strangely as they passed. The parcels felt veryheavy and awkward to carry, and the string-bag seemed as if it werefilled with lead. 

Although under ordinary circumstances it was only about ten minutes'walk home from here, she resolved to go by one of the trams whichpassed by the end of North Street. With this intention, she put downher bag on the pavement at the stopping-place, and waited, resting herhand on the iron pillar at the corner of the street, where a littlecrowd of people were standing evidently with the same object asherself. Two trains passed without stopping, for they were alreadyfull of passengers, a common circumstance on Saturday nights. The nextone stopped, and several persons alighted, and then ensued a fiercestruggle amongst the waiting crowd for the vacant seats. Men and womenpushed, pulled and almost fought, shoving their fists and elbows intoeach other's sides and breasts and faces. Ruth was quickly thrustaside and nearly knocked down, and the tram, having taken aboard asmany passengers as it had accommodation for, passed on. She waited forthe next one, and the same scene was enacted with the same result forher, and then, reflecting that if she had not stayed for these trainsshe might have been home by now, she determined to resume her walk. The parcels felt heavier than ever, and she had not proceeded very farbefore she was compelled to put the bag down again upon the pavement, outside an empty house. 

Leaning against the railings, she felt very tired and ill. Everythingaround her--the street, the houses, the traffic--seemed vague andshadowy and unreal. Several people looked curiously at her as theypassed, but by this time she was scarcely conscious of their scrutiny. 

Slyme had gone that evening to the usual 'open-air' conducted by theShining Light Mission. The weather being fine, they had a mostsuccessful meeting, the disciples, including Hunter, Rushton, Sweater, Didlum, and Mrs Starvem--Ruth's former mistress--assembled in greatforce so as to be able to deal more effectively with any infidels orhired critics or drunken scoffers who might try to disturb theproceedings; and--possibly as an evidence of how much real faith therewas in them--they had also arranged to have a police officer inattendance, to protect them from what they called the 'Powers ofDarkness'. One might be excused for thinking that--if they reallybelieved--they would have relied rather upon those powers of Lightwhich they professed to represent on this planet to protect themwithout troubling to call in the aid of such a 'worldly' force as thepolice. However, it came to pass that on this occasion the onlyinfidels present were those who were conducting the meeting, but asthese consisted for the most part of members of the chapel, it will beseen that the infidel fraternity was strongly represented. 

On his way home after the meeting Slyme had to pass by the 'Cricketers'and as he drew near the place he wondered if Easton was there, but hedid not like to go and look in, because he was afraid someone might seehim coming away and perhaps think he had been in to drink. Just as hearrived opposite the house another man opened the door of the publicbar and entered, enabling Slyme to catch a momentary glimpse of theinterior, where he saw Easton and Crass with a number of others whowere strangers to him, laughing and drinking together. 

Slyme hurried away; it had turned very cold, and he was anxious to gethome. As he approached the place where the trams stopped to take uppassengers and saw that there was a tram in sight he resolved to waitfor it and ride home: but when the tram arrived and there were only oneor two seats vacant, and although he did his best to secure one ofthese he was unsuccessful, and after a moment's hesitation he decidedthat it would be quicker to walk than to wait for the next one. Heaccordingly resumed his journey, but he had not gone very far when hesaw a small crowd of people on the pavement on the other side of theroad outside an unoccupied house, and although he was in a hurry to gethome he crossed over to see what was the matter. There were abouttwenty people standing there, and in the centre close to the railingthere were three or four women whom Slyme could not see although hecould 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'seither ill, come over faint, or something--or else she's had a drop toomuch. '

'Quite a respectable-looking young party, too, ' said another man. 

Several young fellows in the crowd were amusing themselves by makingsuggestive jokes about the young woman and causing some laughter by theexpressions of mock sympathy. 

'Doesn't anyone know who she is?' said the second man who had spoken inreply to Slyme's inquiry. 

'No, ' said a woman who was standing a little nearer the middle of thecrowd. 'And she won't say where she lives. '

'She'll be all right now she's had that glass of soda, ' said anotherman, elbowing his way out of the crowd. As this individual came out, Slyme managed to work himself a little further into the group ofpeople, and he uttered an involuntary cry of astonishment as he caughtsight of Ruth, very pale, and looking very ill, as she stood claspingone of the railings with her left hand and holding the packages ofgroceries in the other. She had by this time recovered sufficiently tofeel overwhelmed with shame and confusion before the crowd of strangerswho hemmed her in on every side, and some of whom she could hearlaughing and joking about her. It was therefore with a sensation ofintense relief and gratitude that she saw Slyme's familiar face andheard 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 anxiousquestioning. 'If you wouldn't mind carrying some of these things forme. '

He insisted on taking all the parcels, and the crowd, having jumped tothe conclusion that he was the young woman's husband began to dwindleaway, one of the jokers remarking 'It's all over!' in a loud voice ashe took himself off. 

It was only about seven minutes' walk home from there, and as thestreets 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 theyarrived home, after she had removed her hat, he made her sit down inthe armchair by the fire, which was burning brightly, and the kettlewas singing on the hob, for she had banked up the fire with cinders andsmall coal before she went out. 

The baby was still asleep in the cradle, but his slumbers had evidentlynot been of the most restful kind, for he had kicked all the bedclothesoff him and was lying all uncovered. Ruth obeyed passively when Slymetold her to sit down, and, lying back languidly in the armchair, shewatched him through half-closed eyes and with a slight flush on herface as he deftly covered the sleeping child with the bedclothes andsettled him more comfortably in the cot. 

Slyme now turned his attention to the fire, and as he placed the kettleupon it he remarked: 'As soon as the water boils I'll make you somestrong tea. '

During their walk home she had acquainted Slyme with the cause of herbeing in the condition in which he found her in the street, and as shereclined in the armchair, drowsily watching him, she wondered whatwould 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 alot of trouble. '

'No, you haven't. Nothing I can do for you is a trouble to me. Butdon't you think you'd better take your jacket off? Here, let me helpyou. '

It took a very long time to get this jacket off, because whilst he washelping her, Slyme kissed her repeatedly and passionately as she laylimp and unresisting in his arms. 

Chapter 25

The Oblong

During the following week the work at 'The Cave' progressed rapidlytowards completion, although, the hours of daylight being so few, themen worked only from 8 A. M. Till 4 P. M. And they had their breakfastsbefore they came. This made 40 hours a week, so that those who werepaid sevenpence an hour earned �1. 3. 4. Those who gotsixpence-halfpenny drew �1. 1. 8. Those whose wages were fivepence anhour 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 isthe cause of poverty. 

And many of the persons who say this, spend more money than that ondrink themselves--every day of their useless lives. 

By Tuesday night all the inside was finished with the exception of thekitchen and scullery. The painting of the kitchen had been delayedowing to the non-arrival of the new cooking range, and the scullery wasstill used as the paint shop. The outside work was also nearlyfinished: all the first coating was done and the second coating wasbeing proceeded with. According to the specification, all the outsidewoodwork was supposed to have three coats, and the guttering, rain-pipes and other ironwork two coats, but Crass and Hunter hadarranged to make two coats do for most of the windows and woodwork, andall the ironwork was to be made to do with one coat only. The windowswere painted in two colours: the sashes dark green and the frameswhite. All the rest--gables, doors, railings, guttering, etc. --wasdark green; and all the dark green paint was made with boiled linseedoil and varnish; no turpentine being allowed to be used on this part ofthe work. 

'This is some bloody fine stuff to 'ave to use, ain't it?' remarkedHarlow to Philpot on Wednesday morning. 'It's more like a lot oftreacle than anything else. '

'Yes: and it won't arf blister next summer when it gets a bit of sun onit, ' replied Philpot with a grin. 

'I suppose they're afraid that if they was to put a little turps in, itwouldn'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 thesame 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 yousee that corfin plate what Owen was writing in the drorin'-room lastSaturday 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 allthese funerals, ' said Harlow. 'This makes the fourth in the lastfortnight. What is it they gets for 'em?'

'A shillin' for taking' 'ome the corfin and liftin' in the corpse, andfour bob for the funeral--five bob altogether. '

'That's a bit of all right, ain't it?' said Harlow. 'A couple of themin a week besides your week's wages, eh? Five bob for two or threehours work!'

'Yes, the money's all right, mate, but they're welcome to it for mypart. I don't want to go messin' about with no corpses, ' repliedPhilpot 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'dbeen abroad for 'is 'ollerdays--to Monte Carlo. It seems 'e was illbefore 'e went away, but the change did 'im a lot of good; in fact, 'ewas quite recovered, and 'e was coming back again. But while 'e wasstandin' on the platform at Monte Carlo Station waitin' for the train, a porter runned into 'im with a barrer load o' luggage, and 'e blowedup. '

'Blowed up?'

'Yes, ' repeated Philpot. 'Blowed up! Busted! Exploded! All intopieces. But they swep' 'em all up and put it in a corfin and it's tobe 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 servethis parson with meat, and we was talkin' about what a strange sort ofdeath it was, but 'e said 'e wasn't at all surprised to 'ear of it; theonly 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 sesthe quantities of stuff as 'e's took there and seen other tradesmentake 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 thecorfin plate. Frank called me in to see the wordin' when 'e'd finishedit. It had on: "Jonydab Belcher. Born January 1st, 1849. Ascended, December 8th, 19--"'

'Oh, I know the bloke now!' cried Harlow. 'I remember my youngstersbringin' 'ome a subscription list what they'd got up at the SundaySchool 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 tofeel 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 anothersubscription list on now. I met one of Newman's children yesterday andshe showed it to me. It's for an entertainment and a Christmas Treefor all the children what goes to the Sunday School, so I didn't mindgiving 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 ashe descended from a ladder close by and, placing his pot of paint onthe pound, began to try to warm his hands by rubbing and beating themtogether. 

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 stampedhis feet on the pound. 

'That's just what I was thinkin', ' said Philpot, wistfully, 'and what'smore, 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 bottle?' asked Easton. 

'Yes, certainly, ' said Philpot. 

Harlow said nothing. He also would have liked a pint of beer, but, aswas usual with him, he had not the necessary cash. Having restored thecirculation to a certain extent, they now resumed their work, and onlyjust in time, for a few minutes afterwards they observed Misery peepinground the corner of the house at them and they wondered how long he hadbeen there, and whether he had overheard their conversation. 

At twelve o'clock Crass and Slyme cleared off in a great hurry, and alittle while afterwards, Philpot took off his apron and put on his coatto go to the 'Cricketers'. When the others found out where he wasgoing, several of them asked him to bring back a drink for them, andthen someone suggested that all those who wanted some beer should givetwopence each. This was done: one shilling and fourpence was collectedand given to Philpot, who was to bring back a gallon of beer in a jar. He promised to get back as soon as ever he could, and some of theshareholders decided not to drink any tea with their dinners, but towait for the beer, although they knew that it would be nearly time toresume work before he could get back. It would be a quarter to one atthe very earliest. 

The minutes dragged slowly by, and after a while the only man on thejob who had a watch began to lose his temper and refused to answer anymore inquiries concerning the time. So presently Bert was sent up tothe top of the house to look at a church clock which was visibletherefrom, and when he came down he reported that it was ten minutes toone. 

Symptoms of anxiety now began to manifest themselves amongst theshareholders, several of whom went down to the main road to see ifPhilpot was yet in sight, but each returned with the same report--theycould see nothing of him. 

No one was formally 'in charge' of the job during Crass's absence, butthey all returned to their work promptly at one because they fearedthat Sawkins or some other sneak might report any irregularity to Crassor Misery. 

At a quarter-past one, Philpot was still missing and the uneasiness ofthe shareholders began to develop into a panic. Some of them plainlyexpressed the opinion that he had gone on the razzle with the money. Asthe time wore on, this became the general opinion. At two o'clock, allhope of his return having been abandoned, two or three of theshareholders went and drank some of the cold tea. 

Their fears were only too well founded, for they saw no more of Philpottill the next morning, when he arrived looking very sheepish andrepentant and promised to refund all the money on Saturday. He alsomade a long, rambling statement from which it appeared that on his wayto the 'Cricketers' he met a couple of chaps whom he knew who were outof work, and he invited them to come and have a drink. When they gotto the pub, they found there the Semi-drunk and the Besotted Wretch. One drink led to another, and then they started arguing, and he hadforgotten all about the gallon of beer until he woke up this morning. 

Whilst Philpot was making this explanation they were putting on theiraprons and blouses, and Crass was serving out the lots of colour. Slymetook no part in the conversation, but got ready as quickly as possibleand went outside to make a start. The reason for this haste soonbecame apparent to some of the others, for they noticed that he hadselected and commenced painting a large window that was so situated asto be sheltered from the keen wind that was blowing. 

The basement of the house was slightly below the level of the groundand there was a sort of a trench or area about three feet deep in frontof the basement windows. The banks of this trench were covered withrose trees and evergreens, and the bottom was a mass of slimy, evil-smelling, rain-sodden earth, foul with the excrement of nocturnalanimals. To second-coat these basement windows, Philpot and Harlow hadto get down into and stand in all this filth, which soaked through theworn and broken soles of their boots. As they worked, the thorns ofthe rose trees caught and tore their clothing and lacerated the fleshof their half-frozen hands. 

Owen and Easton were working on ladders doing the windows immediatelyabove Philpot and Harlow, Sawkins, on another ladder, was painting oneof the gables, and the other men were working at different parts of theoutside of the house. The boy Bert was painting the iron railings ofthe front fence. The weather was bitterly cold, the sun was concealedby the dreary expanse of grey cloud that covered the wintry sky. 

As they stood there working most of the time they were almost perfectlymotionless, the only part of their bodies that were exercised beingtheir right arms. The work they were now doing required to be donevery carefully and deliberately, otherwise the glass would be 'messedup' or the white paint of the frames would 'run into' the dark green ofthe sashes, both colours being wet at the same time, each man havingtwo pots of paint and two sets of brushes. The wind was not blowing insudden gusts, but swept by in a strong, persistent current thatpenetrated their clothing and left them trembling and numb with cold. It blew from the right; and it was all the worse on that account, because the right arm, being in use, left that side of the body fullyexposed. They were able to keep their left hands in their trouserspockets and the left arm close to the side most of the time. This madea lot of difference. 

Another reason why it is worse when the wind strikes upon one from theright side is that the buttons on a man's coat are always on the rightside, and consequently the wind gets underneath. Philpot realized thisall the more because some of the buttons on his coat and waistcoat weremissing. 

As they worked on, trembling with cold, and with their teethchattering, their faces and hands became of that pale violet colourgenerally seen on the lips of a corpse. Their eyes became full ofwater and the lids were red and inflamed. Philpot's and Harlow's bootswere soon wet through, with the water they absorbed from the dampground, and their feet were sore and intensely painful with cold. 

Their hands, of course, suffered the most, becoming so numbed that theywere unable to feel the brushes they held; in fact, presently, asPhilpot was taking a dip of colour, the brush fell from his hand intothe pot; and then, finding that he was unable to move his fingers, heput his hand into his trousers pocket to thaw, and began to walk about, stamping his feet upon the ground. His example was quickly followed byOwen, Easton and Harlow, and they all went round the corner to thesheltered side of the house where Slyme was working, and began walkingup and down, rubbing their hands, stamping their feet and swingingtheir arms to warm themselves. 

'If I thought Nimrod wasn't comin', I'd put my overcoat on and work init, ' remarked Philpot, 'but you never knows when to expect the b--r, and if 'e saw me in it, it would mean the bloody push. '

'It wouldn't interfere with our workin' if we did wear 'em, ' saidEaston; 'in fact, we'd be able to work all the quicker if we wasn't socold. '

'Even if Misery didn't come, I suppose Crass would 'ave something tosay if we did put 'em on, ' continued Philpot. 

'Well, yer couldn't blame 'im if 'e did say something, could yer?' saidSlyme, offensively. 'Crass would get into a row 'imself if 'Unter cameand saw us workin' in overcoats. It would look ridiclus. '

Slyme suffered less from the cold than any of them, not only because hehad secured the most sheltered window, but also because he was betterclothed than most of the rest. 

'What's Crass supposed to be doin' inside?' asked Easton as he trampedup and down, with his shoulders hunched up and his hands thrust deepinto the pockets of his trousers. 

'Blowed if I know, ' replied Philpot. 'Messin' about touchin' up ormakin' colour. He never does 'is share of a job like this; 'e knows'ow to work things all right for 'isself. '

'What if 'e does? We'd be the same if we was in 'is place, and sowould anybody else, ' said Slyme, and added sarcastically: 'Or p'hapsyou'd give all the soft jobs to other people and do all the roughyerself!'

Slyme knew that, although they were speaking of Crass, they were alsoalluding to himself, and as he replied to Philpot he looked slyly atOwen, who had so far taken no part in the conversation. 

'It's not a question of what we would do, ' chimed in Harlow. 'It's aquestion of what's fair. If it's not fair for Crass to pick all thesoft jobs for 'imself and leave all the rough for others, the fact thatwe might do the same if we 'ad the chance don't make it right. '

'No one can be blamed for doing the best he can for himself underexisting circumstances, ' said Owen in reply to Slyme's questioninglook. That is the principle of the present system--every man forhimself and the devil take the rest. For my own part I don't pretendto practise unselfishness. I don't pretend to guide my actions by therules laid down in the Sermon on the Mount. But it's certainlysurprising to hear you who profess to be a follower ofChrist--advocating selfishness. Or, rather, it would be surprising ifit were not that the name of "Christian" has ceased to signify one whofollows Christ, and has come to mean only liar and hypocrite. '

Slyme made no answer. Possibly the fact that he was a true believerenabled him to bear this insult with meekness and humility. 

'I wonder what time it is?' interposed Philpot. 

Slyme looked at his watch. It was nearly ten o'clock. 

'Jesus Christ! Is that all?' growled Easton as they returned to work. 'Two hours more before dinner!'

Only two more hours, but to these miserable, half-starved, ill-cladwretches, standing here in the bitter wind that pierced their clothingand seemed to be tearing at their very hearts and lungs with icyfingers, it appeared like an eternity. To judge by the eagerness withwhich they longed for dinner-time, one might have thought they had someglorious banquet to look forward to instead of bread and cheese andonions, or bloaters--and stewed tea. 

Two more hours of torture before dinner; and three more hours afterthat. And then, thank God, it would be too dark to see to work anylonger. 

It would have been much better for them if, instead of being 'Freemen', they had been slaves, and the property, instead of the hirelings, of MrRushton. As it was, HE would not have cared if one or all of them hadbecome ill or died from the effects of exposure. It would have made nodifference to him. There were plenty of others out of work and on theverge of starvation who would be very glad to take their places. Butif they had been Rushton's property, such work as this would have beendeferred until it could be done without danger to the health and livesof the slaves; or at any rate, even if it were proceeded with duringsuch weather, their owner would have seen to it that they were properlyclothed and fed; he would have taken as much care of them as he wouldof his horse. 

People always take great care of their horses. If they were tooverwork a horse and make it ill, it would cost something for medicineand the veterinary surgeon, to say nothing of the animal's board andlodging. If they were to work their horses to death, they would haveto buy others. But none of these considerations applies to workmen. Ifthey work a man to death they can get another for nothing at the cornerof the next street. They don't have to buy him; all they have to do isto give him enough money to provide him with food and clothing--of akind--while he is working for them. If they only make him ill, theywill not have to feed him or provide him with medical care while he islaid up. He will either go without these things or pay for themhimself. At the same time it must be admitted that the workman scoresover both the horse and the slave, inasmuch as he enjoys the pricelessblessing of Freedom. If he does not like the hirer's conditions heneed not accept them. He can refuse to work, and he can go and starve. There are no ropes on him. He is a Free man. He is the Heir of allthe Ages. He enjoys perfect Liberty. He has the right to choosefreely which he will do--Submit or Starve. Eat dirt or eat nothing. 

The wind blew colder and colder. The sky, which at first had shownsmall patches of blue through rifts in the masses of clouds, had nowbecome uniformly grey. There was every indication of an impending fallof snow. 

The men perceived this with conflicting feelings. If it did commenceto snow, they would not be able to continue this work, and thereforethey found themselves involuntarily wishing that it would snow, orrain, or hail, or anything that would stop the work. But on the otherhand, if the weather prevented them getting on with the outside, someof them would have to 'stand off', because the inside was practicallyfinished. None of them wished to lose any time if they could possiblyhelp it, because there were only ten days more before Christmas. 

The morning slowly wore away and the snow did not fall. The handsworked on in silence, for they were in no mood for talking, and notonly that, but they were afraid that Hunter or Rushton or Crass mightbe watching them from behind some bush or tree, or through some of thewindows. This dread possessed them to such an extent that most of themwere almost afraid even to look round, and kept steadily on at work. None of them wished to spoil his chance of being kept on to help to dothe other house that it was reported Rushton & Co. Were going to 'doup' for Mr Sweater. 

Twelve o'clock came at last, and Crass's whistle had scarcely ceased tosound before they all assembled in the kitchen before the roaring fire. Sweater had sent in two tons of coal and had given orders that fireswere to be lit every day in nearly every room to make the househabitable by Christmas. 

'I wonder if it's true as the firm's got another job to do for oldSweater?' remarked Harlow as he was toasting a bloater on the end ofthe pointed stick. 

'True? No!' said the man on the pail scornfully. 'It's all bogy. Youknow that empty 'ouse as they said Sweater 'ad bought--the one thatRushton and Nimrod was seen lookin' at?'

'Yes, ' replied Harlow. The other men listened with evident interest. 'Well, they wasn't pricing it up after all! T he landlord of that 'ouseis abroad, and there was some plants in the garden as Rushton thought'e'd like, and 'e was tellin' Misery which ones 'e wanted. Andafterwards old Pontius Pilate came up with Ned Dawson and a truck. Theymade two or three journeys and took bloody near everything in thegarden as was worth takin'. What didn't go to Rushton's place went to'Unter's. '

The disappointment of their hopes for another job was almost forgottenin their interest in this story. 

'Who told you about it?' said Harlow. 

'Ned Dawson 'imself. It's right enough what I say. Ask 'im. '

Ned Dawson, usually called 'Bundy's mate', had been away from the housefor a few days down at the yard doing odd jobs, and had only come backto the 'Cave' that morning. On being appealed to, he corroborated DickWantley's statement. 

'They'll be gettin' theirselves into trouble if they ain't careful, 'remarked Easton. 

'Oh, no they won't, Rushton's too artful for that. It seems the agentis a pal of 'is, and they worked it between 'em. '

'Wot a bloody cheek, though!' exclaimed Harlow. 

'Oh, that's nothing to some of the things I've known 'em do beforenow, ' said the man on the pail. 'Why, don't you remember, back in thesummer, that carved hoak hall table as Rushton pinched out of that'ouse on Grand Parade?'

'Yes; that was a bit of all right too, wasn't it?' cried Philpot, andseveral of the others laughed. 

'You know, that big 'ouse we did up last summer--No. 596, ' Wantleycontinued, for the benefit of those not 'in the know'. 'Well, it 'adbin empty for a long time and we found this 'ere table in a cupboardunder the stairs. A bloody fine table it was too. One of them brackettables what you fix to the wall, without no legs. It 'ad a 'arf-roundmarble top to it, and underneath was a carved hoak figger, a mermaid, with 'er arms up over 'er 'ead 'oldin' up the table top--somethingsplendid!' The man on the pail waxed enthusiastic as he thought of it. 'Must 'ave been worth at least five quid. Well, just as we pulled this'ere table out, who should come in but Rushton, and when 'e seen it, 'etells Crass to cover it over with a sack and not to let nobody see it. And then 'e clears orf to the shop and sends the boy down with thetruck and 'as it took up to 'is own 'ouse, and it's there now, fixed inthe front 'all. I was sent up there a couple of months ago to paintand varnish the lobby doors and I seen it meself. There's a pitchercalled "The Day of Judgement" 'angin' on the wall just over it--thunderand lightning and earthquakes and corpses gettin' up out o' theirgraves--something bloody 'orrible! And underneath the picture is a cardwith a tex out of the Bible--"Christ is the 'ead of this 'ouse: theunknown guest at every meal. The silent listener to everyconversation. " I was workin' there for three or four days and I got toknow it orf by 'eart. '

'Well, that takes the biskit, don't it?' said Philpot. 

'Yes: but the best of it was, ' the man on the pail proceeded, 'the bestof it was, when ole Misery 'eard about the table, 'e was so bloody wildbecause 'e didn't get it 'imself that 'e went upstairs and pinched oneof the venetian blinds and 'ad it took up to 'is own 'ouse by the boy, and a few days arterwards one of the carpenters 'ad to go and fix it upin 'is bedroom. '

'And wasn't it never found out?' inquired Easton. 

'Well, there was a bit of talk about it. The agent wanted to knowwhere it was, but Pontius Pilate swore black and white as there 'adn'tbeen no blind in that room, and the end of it was that the firm got theorder to supply a new one. '

'What I can't understand is, who did the table belong to?' said Harlow. 

'It was a fixture belongin' to the 'ouse, ' replied Wantley. 'But Isuppose the former tenants had some piece of furniture of their ownthat they wanted to put in the 'all where this table was fixed, so theytook it down and stored it away in this 'ere cupboard, and when theyleft the 'ouse I suppose they didn't trouble to put it back again. Anyway, there was the mark on the wall where it used to be fixed, butwhen we did the staircase down, the place was papered over, and Isuppose the landlord or the agent never give the table a thought. Anyhow, Rushton got away with it all right. '

A number of similar stories were related by several others concerningthe doings of different employers they had worked for, but after a timethe conversation reverted to the subject that was uppermost in theirthoughts--the impending slaughter, and the improbability of being ableto obtain another job, considering the large number of men who werealready out of employment. 

'I can't make it out, myself, ' remarked Easton. 'Things seems to getworse every year. There don't seem to be 'arf the work about thatthere used to be, and even what there is is messed up anyhow, as if thepeople who 'as it done can't afford to pay for it. '

'Yes, ' said Harlow; 'that's true enough. Why, just look at the workthat's in one o' them 'ouses on the Grand Parade. People must 'ave 'admore money to spend in those days, you know; all those massive curtaincornishes over the drawing- and dining-room winders--gilded solid!Why, nowadays they'd want all the bloody 'ouse done down rightthrough--inside and out, for the money it cost to gild one of them. '

'It seems that nearly everybody is more or less 'ard up nowadays, ' saidPhilpot. 'I'm jiggered if I can understand it, but there it is. '

'You should ast Owen to explain it to yer, ' remarked Crass with ajeering laugh. ''E knows all about wot's the cause of poverty, but 'ewon't tell nobody. 'E's been GOIN' to tell us wot it is for a longtime past, but it don't seem to come orf. '

Crass had not yet had an opportunity of producing the Obscurer cutting, and he made this remark in the hope of turning the conversation into achannel that would enable him to do so. But Owen did not respond, andwent on reading his newspaper. 

'We ain't 'ad no lectures at all lately, 'ave we?' said Harlow in aninjured tone. 'I think it's about time Owen explained what the realcause of poverty is. I'm beginning to get anxious about it. '

The others laughed. 

When Philpot had finished eating his dinner he went out of the kitchenand presently returned with a small pair of steps, which he opened andplaced in a corner of the room, with the back of the steps facing theaudience. 

'There you are, me son!' he exclaimed to Owen. 'There's a pulpit foryer. '

'Yes! come on 'ere!' cried Crass, feeling in his waistcoat pocket forthe cutting. 'Tell us wot's the real cause of poverty. '

''Ear, 'ear, ' shouted the man on the pail. 'Git up into the bloodypulpit and give us a sermon. '

As Owen made no response to the invitations, the crowd began to hootand groan. 

'Come on, man, ' whispered Philpot, winking his goggle eye persuasivelyat Owen. 'Come on, just for a bit of turn, to pass the time away. '

Owen accordingly ascended the steps--much to the secret delight ofCrass--and was immediately greeted with a round of enthusiasticapplause. 

'There you are, you see, ' said Philpot, addressing the meeting. 'It'sno use booin' and threatenin', because 'e's one of them lecturers wotcan honly be managed with kindness. If it 'adn't a bin for me, 'ewouldn't 'ave agreed to speak at all. '

Philpot having been unanimously elected chairman, proposed by Harlowand seconded by the man on the pail, Owen commenced:

'Mr Chairman and gentlemen:

'Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking, it is with some degree ofhesitation that I venture to address myself to such a large, distinguished, fashionable, and intelligent looking audience as thatwhich I have the honour of seeing before me on the present occasion. '(Applause. )

'One of the finest speakers I've ever 'eard!' remarked the man on thepail in a loud whisper to the chairman, who motioned him to be silent. 

Owen continued:

'In some of my previous lectures I have endeavoured to convince youthat money is in itself of no value and of no real use whatever. Inthis I am afraid I have been rather unsuccessful. '

'Not a bit of it, mate, ' cried Crass, sarcastically. 'We all agreeswith it. '

''Ear, 'ear, ' shouted Easton. 'If a bloke was to come in 'ere now andorfer to give me a quid--I'd refuse it!'

'So would I, ' said Philpot. 

'Well, whether you agree or not, the fact remains. A man might possessso much money that, in England, he would be comparatively rich, and yetif he went to some country where the cost of living is very high hewould find himself in a condition of poverty. Or one might conceivablybe in a place where the necessaries of life could not be bought formoney at all. Therefore it is more conducive to an intelligentunderstanding of the subject if we say that to be rich consists notnecessarily in having much money, but in being able to enjoy anabundance of the things that are made by work; and that povertyconsists not merely in being without money, but in being short of thenecessaries and comforts of life--or in other words in being short ofthe Benefits of Civilization, the things that are all, withoutexception, produced by work. Whether you agree or not with anythingelse that I say, you will all admit that that is our condition at thepresent time. We do not enjoy a full share of the benefits ofcivilization--we are all in a state of more or less abject poverty. '

'Question!' cried Crass, and there were loud murmurs of indignantdissent from several quarters as Owen proceeded:

'How does it happen that we are so short of the things that are made bywork?'

'The reason why we're short of the things that's made by work, 'interrupted Crass, mimicking Owen's manner, 'is that we ain't got thebloody money to buy 'em. '

'Yes, ' said the man on the pail; 'and as I said before, if all themoney in the country was shared out equal today according to Owen'sideas--in six months' time it would be all back again in the same 'andsas it is now, and what are you goin' to do then?'

'Share again, of course. '

This answer came derisively from several places at the same instant, and then they all began speaking at once, vying with each other inridiculing the foolishness of 'them there Socialists', whom they called'The Sharers Out'. 

Barrington was almost the only one who took no part in theconversation. He was seated in his customary place and, as usual, silently smoking, apparently oblivious to his surroundings. 

'I never said anything about "sharing out all the money", ' said Owenduring a lull in the storm, 'and I don't know of any Socialist whoadvocates anything of the kind. Can any of you tell me the name ofsomeone who proposes to do so?'

No one answered, as Owen repeated his inquiry, this time addressinghimself directly to Crass, who had been one of the loudest indenouncing and ridiculing the 'Sharers Out'. Thus cornered, Crass--whoknew absolutely nothing about the subject--for a few moments lookedrather foolish. Then he began to talk in a very loud voice:

'Why, it's a well-known fact. Everybody knows that's what they wants. But they take bloody good care they don't act up to it theirselves, though. Look at them there Labour members of Parliament--a lot ofb--rs what's too bloody lazy to work for their livin'! What the bloody'ell was they before they got there? Only workin' men, the same as youand me! But they've got the gift o' the gab and--'

'Yes, we know all about that, ' said Owen, 'but what I'm asking you isto tell us who advocates taking all the money in the country andsharing it out equally?'

'And I say that everybody knows that's what they're after!' shoutedCrass. 'And you know it as well as I do. A fine thing!' he addedindignantly. 'Accordin' to that idear, a bloody scavenger or a farmlabourer ought to get as much wages as you or me!'

'We can talk about that some other time. What I want to know atpresent is--what authority have you for saying that Socialists believein sharing out all the money equally amongst all the people?'

'Well, that's what I've always understood they believed in doing, ' saidCrass rather lamely. 

'It's a well-known fact, ' said several others. 

'Come to think of it, ' continued Crass as he drew the Obscurer cuttingfrom his waistcoat pocket, 'I've got a little thing 'ere that I've beengoin' to read to yer. It's out of the Obscurer. I'd forgotten allabout it. '

Remarking that the print was too small for his own eyes, he passed theslip of paper to Harlow, who read aloud as follows:

 PROVE YOUR PRINCIPLES: OR, LOOK AT BOTH SIDES

 'I wish I could open your eyes to the true misery of our condition: injustice, tyranny and oppression!' said a discontented hack to a weary-looking cob as they stood side by side in unhired cabs. 

 'I'd rather have them opened to something pleasant, thank you, ' replied the cob. 

 'I am sorry for you. If you could enter into the noble aspirations--' the hack began. 

 'Talk plain. What would you have?' said the cob, interrupting him. 

 'What would I have? Why, equality, and share and share alike all over the world, ' said the hack. 

 'You MEAN that?' said the cob. 

 'Of course I do. What right have those sleek, pampered hunters and racers to their warm stables and high feed, their grooms and jockeys? It is really heart-sickening to think of it, ' replied the hack. 

 'I don't know but you may be right, ' said the cob, 'and to show I'm in earnest, as no doubt you are, let me have half the good beans you have in your bag, and you shall have half the musty oats and chaff I have in mine. There's nothing like proving one's principles. ' Original Parables. By Mrs Prosier. 

'There you are!' cried several voices. 

'What does that mean?' cried Crass, triumphantly. 'Why don't you goand share your wages with the chaps what's out of work?'

'What does it mean?' replied Owen contemptuously. 'It means that ifthe Editor of the Obscurer put that in his paper as an argument againstSocialism, either he is of feeble intellect himself or else he thinksthat the majority of his readers are. That isn't an argument againstSocialism--it's an argument against the hypocrites who pretend to beChristians--the people who profess to "Love their neighbours asthemselves"--who pretend to believe in Universal Brotherhood, and thatthey do not love the world or the things of the world and say that theyare merely "Pilgrims on their way to a better land". As for why Idon't do it--why should I? I don't pretend to be a Christian. Butyou're all "Christians"--why don't you do it?'

'We're not talkin' about religion, ' exclaimed Crass, impatiently. 

'Then what are you talking about? I never said anything about "SharingOut" or "Bearing one another's burdens". I don't profess to "Give toeveryone who asks of me" or to "Give my cloak to the man who take awaymy coat". I have read that Christ taught that His followers must doall these things, but as I do not pretend to be one of His followers Idon't do them. But you believe in Christianity: why don't you do thethings that He said?'

As nobody seemed to know the answer to this question, the lecturerproceeded:

'In this matter the difference between so-called "Christians" andSocialists is this: Christ taught the Fatherhood of God and theBrotherhood of Men. Those who today pretend to be Christ's followershypocritically profess to carry out those teachings now. But theydon't. They have arranged "The Battle of Life" system instead!

'The Socialist--very much against his will--finds himself in the midstof this horrible battle, and he appeals to the other combatants tocease from fighting and to establish a system of Brotherly Love andMutual Helpfulness, but he does not hypocritically pretend to practisebrotherly love towards those who will not agree to his appeal, and whocompel him to fight with them for his very life. He knows that in thisbattle he must either fight or go under. Therefore, in self-defiance, he fights; but all the time he continues his appeal for the cessationof the slaughter. He pleads for the changing system. He advocatesCo-operation instead of Competition: but how can he co-operate withpeople who insist on competing with him? No individual can practiseco-operation by himself! Socialism can only be practised by theCommunity--that is the meaning of the word. At present, the othermembers of the community--the "Christians"--deride and oppose theSocialist's appeal. 

'It is these pretended Christians who do not practise what they preach, because, all the time they are singing their songs of Brotherhood andLove, they are fighting with each other, and strangling each other andtrampling each other underfoot in their horrible "Battle of Life"!

'No Socialist suggests "Sharing out" money or anything else in themanner you say. And another thing: if you only had a little more senseyou might be able to perceive that this stock "argument" of yours isreally an argument against the present system, inasmuch as it provesthat Money is in itself of no use whatever. Supposing all the moneywas shared out equally; and suppose there was enough of it for everyoneto have ten thousand pounds; and suppose they then all thought theywere rich and none of them would work. What would they live on? Theirmoney? Could they eat it or drink it or wear it? It wouldn't takethem very long to find out that this wonderful money--which under thepresent system is the most powerful thing in existence--is really of nomore use than so much dirt. They would speedily perish, not from lackof money, but from lack of wealth--that is, from lack of things thatare made by work. And further, it is quite true that if all the moneywere distributed equally amongst all the people tomorrow, it would allbe up in heaps again in a very short time. But that only proves thatwhile the present Money System remains, it will be impossible to doaway with poverty, for heaps in some places mean little or nothing inother places. Therefore while the money system lasts we are bound tohave poverty and all the evils it brings in its train. '

'Oh, of course everybody's an idjit except you, ' sneered Crass, who wasbeginning to feel rather fogged. 

'I rise to a pint of order, ' said Easton. 

'And I rise to order a pint, ' cried Philpot. 

'Order what the bloody 'ell you like, ' remarked Harlow, 'so long as I'aven't got to pay for it. '

'Mine's a pint of porter, ' observed the man on the pail. 

'The pint is, ' proceeded Easton, 'when does the lecturer intend toexplain to us what is the real cause of poverty. '

''Ear, 'ear, ' cried Harlow. 'That's what I want to know, too. '

'And what I should like to know is, who is supposed to be givin' this'ere lecture?' inquired the man on the pail. 

'Why, Owen, of course, ' replied Harlow. 

'Well, why don't you try to keep quiet for a few minutes and let 'imget on with it?'

'The next B--r wot interrupts, ' cried Philpot, rolling up hisshirt-sleeves and glaring threateningly round upon the meeting. 'Thenext b--r wot interrupts goes out through the bloody winder!'

At this, everybody pretended to be very frightened, and edged away asfar as possible from Philpot. Easton, who was sitting next to him, gotup and crossed over to Owen's vacant seat. The man on the pail was theonly one who did not seem nervous; perhaps he felt safer because hewas, as usual, surrounded by a moat. 

'Poverty, ' resumed the lecturer, consists in a shortage of thenecessaries of life--or rather, of the benefits of civilization. '

'You've said that about a 'undred times before, ' snarled Crass. 

'I know I have; and I have no doubt I shall have to say it about fivehundred times more before you understand what it means. '

'Get on with the bloody lecture, ' shouted the man on the pail. 'Nevermind arguin' the point. '

'Well, keep horder, can't you?' cried Philpot, fiercely, 'and give theman a chance. '

'All these things are produced in the same way, ' proceeded Owen. 'Theyare made from the Raw materials by those who work--aided by machinery. When we inquire into the cause of the present shortage of these things, the first question we should ask is--Are there not sufficient of theraw materials in existence to enable us to produce enough to satisfythe needs of all?

'The answer to this question is--There are undoubtedly more thansufficient of all the raw materials. 

'Insufficiency of raw material is therefore not the cause. We mustlook in another direction. 

'The next question is--Are we short of labour? Is there not asufficient number of people able and willing to work? Or is there notenough machinery?

'The answers to these questions are--There are plenty of people ableand willing to work, and there is plenty of machinery!

'These things being so, how comes this extraordinary result? How is itthat the benefits of civilization are not produced in sufficientquantity to satisfy the needs of all? How is it that the majority ofthe people always have to go without most of the refinements, comforts, and pleasures of life, and very often without even the bare necessariesof existence?

'Plenty of materials--Plenty of Labour--Plenty of Machinery--and, nearly everybody going short of nearly everything!

'The cause of this extraordinary state of affairs is that although wepossess the means of producing more than abundance for all, we alsohave an imbecile system of managing our affairs. 

'The present Money System prevents us from doing the necessary work, and consequently causes the majority of the population to go short ofthe things that can be made by work. They suffer want in the midst ofthe means of producing abundance. They remain idle because they arebound and fettered with a chain of gold. 

'Let us examine the details of this insane, idiotic, imbecile system. '

Owen now asked Philpot to pass him a piece of charred wood from underthe grate, and having obtained what he wanted, he drew upon the wall aquadrangular figure about four feet in length and one foot deep. Thewalls of the kitchen had not yet been cleaned off, so it did not matterabout disfiguring them. 

 +------------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | | | | | | | | | This represents the whole of the adult population of the country | | | | | | | | | | | +------------------------------------------------------------------+

'To find out the cause of the shortage in this country of the thingsthat can be made by work it is first of all necessary to find out howpeople spend their time. Now this square represents the whole of theadult population of this country. There are many different classes ofpeople, engaged in a great number of different occupations. Some ofthem are helping to produce the benefits of civilization, and some arenot. All these people help to consume these things, but when weinquire into their occupations we shall find that although the majorityare workers, only a comparatively small number are engaged in actuallyproducing either the benefits of civilization or the necessaries oflife. '. .. 

Order being once more restored, the lecturer turned again to thedrawing on the wall and stretched out his hand, evidently with theintention of making some addition to it, but instead of doing so liepaused irresolutely, and faltering, let his arm drop down again by hisside. 

An absolute, disconcerting silence reigned. His embarrassment andnervousness increased. He knew that they were unwilling to hear ortalk or think about such subjects as the cause of poverty at all. Theypreferred to make fun of and ridicule them. He knew they would refuseto try to see the meaning of what he wished to say if it were at alldifficult or obscure. How was he to put it to them so that they wouldHAVE to understand it whether they wished to or not. It was almostimpossible. 

It would be easy enough to convince them if they would only take aLITTLE trouble and try to understand, but he knew that they certainlywould not 'worry' themselves about such a subject as this; it was notas if it were some really important matter, such as a smutty story, agame of hooks and rings or shove-ha'penny, something concerningfootball or cricket, horse-racing or the doings of some Royal personageor aristocrat. 

The problem of the cause of poverty was only something that concernedtheir own and their children's future welfare. Such an unimportantmatter, being undeserving of any earnest attention, must be put beforethem so clearly and plainly that they would be compelled to understandit at a glance; and it was almost impossible to do it. 

Observing his hesitation, some of the men began to snigger. ''E seemsto 'ave got 'isself into a bit of a fog, ' remarked Crass in a loudwhisper to Slyme, who laughed. 

The sound roused Owen, who resumed:

'All these people help to consume the things produced by labour. Wewill now divide them into separate classes. Those who help to produce;those who do nothing, those who do harm, and those who are engaged inunnecessary work. '

'And, ' sneered Crass, 'those who are engaged in unnecessary talk. '

'First we will separate those who not only do nothing, but do not evenpretend to be of any use; people who would consider themselvesdisgraced if they by any chance did any useful work. This classincludes tramps, beggars, the "Aristocracy", "Society" people, greatlandowners, and generally all those possessed of hereditary wealth. '

As he spoke he drew a vertical line across one end of the oblong. 

 +------------+-----------------------------------------------------+ | Tramps | | | Beggars | | | Society | | | People | | | Aristoc- | | | racy | | | Great | | | Landowners | | | All those | | | possessed | | | of | | | hereditary | | | wealth | | +------------+-----------------------------------------------------+

'These people do absolutely nothing except devour or enjoy the thingsproduced by the labours of others. 

'Our next division represents those who do work of a kind--"mental"work if you like to call it so--work that benefits themselves and harmsother people. Employers--or rather Exploiters of Labour; Thieves, Swindlers, Pickpockets; profit seeking share-holders; burglars;Bishops; Financiers; Capitalists, and those persons humorously called"Ministers" of religion. If you remember that the word "minister"means "servant" you will be able to see the joke. 

 1 2 +------------+-------------+---------------------------------------+ | Tramps | Exploiters | | | Beggars | of Labour | | | Society | Thieves | | | People | Swindlers | | | Aristoc- | Pickpockets | | | racy | Burglars | | | Great | Bishops | | | Landowners | Financiers | | | All those | Capitalists | | | possessed | Share- | | | of | holders | | | hereditary | Ministers | | | wealth | of religion | | +------------+-------------+---------------------------------------+

'None of these people produce anything themselves, but by means ofcunning and scheming they contrive between them to obtain possession ofa very large portion of the things produced by the labour of others. 

'Number three stands for those who work for wages or salaries, doingunnecessary work. That is, producing things or doing thingswhich--though useful and necessary to the Imbecile System--cannot bedescribed as the necessaries of life or the benefits of civilization. This is the largest section of all. It comprises CommercialTravellers, Canvassers, Insurance agents, commission agents, the greatnumber of Shop Assistants, the majority of clerks, workmen employed inthe construction and adornment of business premises, people occupiedwith what they call "Business", which means being very busy withoutproducing anything. Then there is a vast army of people engaged indesigning, composing, painting or printing advertisements, things whichare for the most part of no utility whatever, the object of mostadvertisements is merely to persuade people to buy from one firm ratherthan from another. If you want some butter it doesn't matter whetheryou buy it from Brown or Jones or Robinson. '

 1 2 3 +------------+-------------+-------------+-------------------------+ | Tramps | Exploiters | All those | | | Beggars | of Labour | engaged in | | | Society | Thieves | unnecessary | | | People | Swindlers | work | | | Aristoc- | Pickpockets | | | | racy | Burglars | | | | Great | Bishops | | | | Landowners | Financiers | | | | All those | Capitalists | | | | possessed | Share- | | | | of | holders | | | | hereditary | Ministers | | | | wealth | of religion | | | +------------+-------------+-------------+-------------------------+

During the delivery of this pert of the lecture, the audience began tomanifest symptoms of impatience and dissent. Perceiving this, Owen, speaking very rapidly, continued:

'If you go down town, you will see half a dozen drapers' shops within astone's-throw of each other--often even next door to each other--allselling the same things. You can't possibly think that all those shopsare really necessary? You know that one of them would serve thepurpose for which they are all intended--to store and serve as a centrefor the distribution of the things that are made by work. If you willadmit that five out of the six shops are not really necessary, you mustalso admit that the men who built them, and the salesmen and women orother assistants engaged in them, and the men who design and write andprint their advertisements are all doing unnecessary work; all reallywasting their time and labour, time and labour that might be employedin helping to produce these things that we are at present short of. You must admit that none of these people are engaged in producingeither the necessaries of life or the benefits of civilization. Theybuy them, and sell them, and handle them, and haggle over, them, anddisplay them, in the plate glass windows of "Stores" and "Emporiums"and make profit out of them, and use them, but these people themselvesproduce nothing that is necessary to life or happiness, and the thingsthat some of them do produce are only necessary to the present imbecilesystem. '

'What the 'ell sort of a bloody system do you think we ought to 'ave, then?' interrupted the man on the pail. 

'Yes: you're very good at finding fault, ' sneered Slyme, 'but why don'tyou tell us 'ow it's all going to be put right?'

'Well, that's not what we're talking about now, is it?' replied Owen. 'At present we're only trying to find out how it is that there is notsufficient produced for everyone to have enough of the things that aremade by work. Although most of the people in number three work veryhard, they produce Nothing. '

'This is a lot of bloody rot!' exclaimed Crass, impatiently. 

'Even if there is more shops than what's actually necessary, ' criedHarlow, 'it all helps people to get a livin'! If half of 'em was shutup, it would just mean that all them what works there would be out of ajob. Live and let live, I say: all these things makes work. '

''Ear, 'ear, ' shouted the man behind the moat. 

'Yes, I know it makes "work", ' replied Owen, 'but we can't live on mere"work", you know. To live in comfort we need a sufficiency of thethings that can be made by work. A man might work very hard and yet bewasting his time if he were not producing something necessary or useful. 

'Why are there so many shops and stores and emporiums? Do you imaginethey exist for the purpose of giving those who build them, or work inthem, a chance to earn a living? Nothing of the sort. They are carriedon, and exorbitant prices are charged for the articles they sell, toenable the proprietors to amass fortunes, and to pay extortionate rentsto the landlords. That is why the wages and salaries of nearly allthose who do the work created by these businesses are cut down to thelowest possible point. '

'We knows all about that, ' said Crass, 'but you can't get away from itthat all these things makes Work; and that's what we wants--Plenty ofWork. '

Cries of ''Ear, 'ear, ' and expressions of dissent from the viewsexpressed by the lecturer resounded through the room, nearly everyonespeaking at the same time. After a while, when the row had in somemeasure subsided, Owen resumed:

'Nature has not provided ready-made all the things necessary for thelife and happiness of mankind. In order to obtain these things we haveto Work. The only rational labour is that which is directed to thecreation of those things. Any kind of work which does not help us toattain this object is a ridiculous, idiotic, criminal, imbecile, wasteof time. 

'That is what the great army of people represented by division numberthree are doing at present: they are all very busy--working veryhard--but to all useful intents and purposes they are doing Nothing. '

'Well, all right, ' said Harlow. ''Ave it yer own way, but there's noneed to keep on repeating the same thing over an' over again. '

'The next division, ' resumed Owen, 'stands for those who are engaged inreally useful work--the production of the benefits of civilization--thenecessaries, refinements and comforts of life. '

 1 2 3 4 +------------+-------------+-------------+------------+------------+ | Tramps | Exploiters | All those | All those | | | Beggars | of Labour | engaged in | engaged in | | | Society | Thieves | unnecessary | necessary | U | | People | Swindlers | work | work--the | N | | Aristoc- | Pickpockets | | production | E | | racy | Burglars | | of the | M | | Great | Bishops | | benefits | P | | Landowners | Financiers | | of | L | | All those | Capitalists | | civiliz- | O | | possessed | Share- | | ation | Y | | of | holders | | | E | | hereditary | Ministers | | | D | | wealth | of religion | | | | +------------+-------------+-------------+------------+------------+

'Hooray!' shouted Philpot, leading off a cheer which was taken upenthusiastically by the crowd, 'Hooray! This is where WE comes in, ' headded, nodding his head and winking his goggle eyes at the meeting. 

'I wish to call the chairman to horder, ' said the man on the pail. 

When Owen had finished writing in the list of occupations severalmembers of the audience rose to point out that those engaged in theproduction of beer had been omitted. Owen rectified this seriousoversight and proceeded:

'As most of the people in number four are out of work at least onequarter of their time, we must reduce the size of this division by onefourth--so. The grey part represents the unemployed. '

'But some of those in number three are often unemployed as well, ' saidHarlow. 

Yes: but as THEY produce nothing even when they are at work we need nottrouble to classify them unemployed, because our present purpose isonly to discover the reason why there is not enough produced foreveryone to enjoy abundance; and this--the Present System of conductingour affairs--is the reason of the shortage--the cause of poverty. Whenyou reflect that all the other people are devouring the things producedby those in number four--can you wonder that there is not plenty forall?'

'"Devouring" is a good word, ' said Philpot, and the others laughed. 

The lecturer now drew a small square upon the wall below the otherdrawing. This square he filled in solid black. 

 1 2 3 4 +------------+-------------+-------------+------------+------------+ | Tramps | Exploiters | All those | All those | | | Beggars | of Labour | engaged in | engaged in | | | Society | Thieves | unnecessary | necessary | U | | People | Swindlers | work | work--the | N | | Aristoc- | Pickpockets | | production | E | | racy | Burglars | | of the | M | | Great | Bishops | | benefits | P | | Landowners | Financiers | | of | L | | All those | Capitalists | | civiliz- | O | | possessed | Share- | | ation | Y | | of | holders | | | E | | hereditary | Ministers | | | D | | wealth | of religion | | | | +------------+-------------+-------------+------------+------------+

 ############## ############## ############## This represents the total ############## of the things produced by ############## the people in division 4. ##############

'This represents the total amount of the benefits of civilization andnecessaries of life produced by the people in number four. We nowproceed to "Share Out" the things in the same way as they are actuallydivided amongst the different classes of the population under thepresent imbecile system. 

'As the people in divisions one and two are universally considered tobe the most worthy and deserving we give them--two-thirds of the whole. 

'The remainder we give to be "Shared Out" amongst the peoplerepresented by divisions three and four. 

 1 2 3 4 +------------+-------------+-------------+------------+------------+ | Tramps | Exploiters | All those | All those | | | Beggars | of Labour | engaged in | engaged in | | | Society | Thieves | unnecessary | necessary | U | | People | Swindlers | work | work--the | N | | Aristoc- | Pickpockets | | production | E | | racy | Burglars | | of the | M | | Great | Bishops | | benefits | P | | Landowners | Financiers | | of | L | | All those | Capitalists | | civiliz- | O | | possessed | Share- | | ation | Y | | of | holders | | | E | | hereditary | Ministers | | | D | | wealth | of religion | | | | +------------+-------------+-------------+------------+------------+ \___________ ____________/ \___________ ___________/ \/ \/ ######### ##### ######### ##### ######### ##### ######### ##### ######### ##### ######### ##### How the things produced by the people in division 4 are 'shared out' amongst the different classes of the population. 

'Now you mustn't run away with the idea that the people in three andfour take their share quietly and divide the things equally betweenthem. Not at all. Some get very little, some none, some more than afair share. It is in these two divisions that the ferocious "Battle ofLife" ranges most fiercely; and of course in this battle the weak andthe virtuous fare the worst. Even those whose exceptional abilities oropportunities enable them to succeed, are compelled to practiseselfishness, because a man of exceptional ability who was not selfishwould devote his abilities to relieving the manifest sufferings ofothers, and not to his own profit, and if he did the former he wouldnot be successful in the sense that the world understands the word. All those who really seek to "Love their neighbour as themselves", orto return good for evil, the gentle, the kind, and all those whorefrain from doing to others the things they would not like to sufferthemselves; all these are of necessity found amongst the vanquished;because only the worst--only those who are aggressive, cunning, selfishand mean are fitted to survive. And all these people in numbers threeand four are so fully occupied in this dreadful struggle to secure alittle, that but few of them pause to inquire why there are not more ofthe things they are fighting for, or why it is necessary to fight likethis at all!'

For a few minutes silence prevailed, each man's mind being busy tryingto think of some objection to the lecturer's arguments. 

'How could the small number of people in number one and two consume asmuch as you've given 'em in your drorin'?' demanded Crass. 

'They don't actually consume all of it, ' replied Owen. 'Much of it iswantonly wasted. They also make fortunes by selling some of it inforeign countries; but they consume a great part of it themselves, because the amount of labour expended on the things enjoyed by thesepeople is greater than that expended in the production of the thingsused by the workers. Most of the people who do nothing get the best ofeverything. More than three-quarters of the time of the workingclasses is spent in producing the things used by the wealthy. Comparethe quality and quantity of the clothing possessed by the wife ordaughter of a rich man with that of the wife or daughter of a worker. The time and labour spent on producing the one is twenty times greaterin one case than in the other; and it's the same with everything else. Their homes, their clothing, boots, hats, jewellery, and their food. Everything must be of the very best that art or long and painful labourcan produce. But for most of those whose labour produces all thesegood things--anything is considered good enough. For themselves, thephilanthropic workers manufacture shoddy cloth--that is, cheap clothmade of old rags and dirt; and shoddy, uncomfortable ironclad boots. If you see a workman wearing a really good suit of clothes you maysafely conclude that he is either leading an unnatural life--that is, he is not married--or that he has obtained it from a tallyman on thehire system and has not yet paid for it--or that it is someone else'scast-off suit that he has bought second-hand or had given to him bysome charitable person. It's the same with the food. All the ducks andgeese, pheasants, partridges, and all the very best parts of the verybest meat--all the soles and the finest plaice and salmon and trout--'

''Ere chuck it, ' cried Harlow, fiercely. 'We don't want to 'ear nomore of it, ' and several others protested against the lecturer wastingtime on such mere details. 

'--all the very best of everything is reserved exclusively for theenjoyment of the people in divisions one and two, while the workerssubsist on block ornaments, margarine, adulterated tea, mysteriousbeer, and are content--only grumbling when they are unable to obtaineven such fare as this. '

Owen paused and a gloomy silence followed, but suddenly Crassbrightened up. He detected a serious flaw in the lecturer's argument. 

'You say the people in one and two gets all the best of everything, butwhat about the tramps and beggars? You've got them in division one. '

'Yes, I know. You see, that's the proper place for them. They belongto a Loafer class. They are no better mentally or morally than any ofthe other loafers in that division; neither are they of any more use. Of course, when we consider them in relation to the amount they consumeof the things produced by others, they are not so harmful as the otherloafers, because they consume comparatively little. But all the samethey are in their right place in that division. All those people don'tget the same share. The section represents not individuals--but theloafer class. '

'But I thought you said you was goin' to prove that money was the causeof poverty, ' said Easton. 

'So it is, ' said Owen. 'Can't you see that it's money that's causedall these people to lose sight of the true purpose of labour--theproduction of the things we need? All these people are suffering fromthe delusion that it doesn't matter what kind of work they do--orwhether they merely do nothing--so long as they get MONEY for doing it. Under the present extraordinary system, that's the only object theyhave in view--to get money. Their ideas are so topsy-turvey that theyregard with contempt those who are engaged in useful work! With theexception of criminals and the poorer sort of loafers, the workingclasses are considered to be the lowest and least worthy in thecommunity. Those who manage to get money for doing something otherthan productive work are considered more worthy of respect on thataccount. Those who do nothing themselves, but get money out of thelabour of others, are regarded as being more worthy still! But theones who are esteemed most of all and honoured above all the rest, arethose who obtain money for doing absolutely nothing!'

'But I can't see as that proves that money is the cause of poverty, 'said Easton. 

'Look here, ' said Owen. 'The people in number four produce everything, don't they?'

'Yes; we knows all about that, ' interrupted Harlow. 'But they getspaid for it, don't they? They gets their wages. '

'Yes, and what does their wages consist of?' said Owen. 

'Why, money, of course, ' replied Harlow, impatiently. 

And what do they do with their money when they get it? Do they eat it, or drink it, or wear it?'

At this apparently absurd question several of those who had hithertobeen attentive listeners laughed derisively; it was really verydifficult to listen patiently to such nonsense. 

'Of course they don't, ' answered Harlow scornfully. 'They buy thethings they want with it. '

'Do you think that most of them manage to save a part of theirwages--put it away in the bank. '

'Well, I can speak for meself, ' replied Harlow amid laughter. 'Ittakes me all my bloody time to pay my rent and other expenses and tokeep my little lot in shoe leather, and it's dam little I spend onbeer; p'r'aps a tanner or a bob a week at the most. '

'A single man can save money if he likes, ' said Slyme. 

'I'm not speaking of single men, ' replied Owen. 'I'm referring tothose who live natural lives. '

'What about all the money what's in the Post Office Savings Bank, andBuilding and Friendly Societies?' said Crass. 

'A very large part of that belongs to people who are in business, orwho have some other source of income than their own wages. There aresome exceptionally fortunate workers who happen to have good situationsand higher wages than the ordinary run of workmen. Then there are somewho are so placed--by letting lodgings, for instance--that they areable to live rent free. Others whose wives go out to work; and othersagain who have exceptional jobs and work a lot of overtime--but theseare all exceptional cases. '

'I say as no married workin' man can save any money at all!' shoutedHarlow, 'not unless 'e goes without some of even the few things we areable to get--and makes 'is wife and kids go without as well. '

''Ear, 'ear, ' said everybody except Crass and Slyme, who were boththrifty working men, and each of them had some money saved in one orother of the institutions mentioned. 

'Then that means, ' said Owen, 'that means that the wages the people indivision four receive is not equivalent to the work they do. '

'Wotcher mean, equivalent?' cried Crass. 'Why the 'ell don't yer talkplain English without draggin' in a lot of long words wot nobody can'tunderstand?'

'I mean this, ' replied Owen, speaking very slowly. 'Everything isproduced by the people in number four. In return for their work theyare given--Money, and the things they have made become the property ofthe people who do nothing. Then, as the money is of no use, theworkers go to shops and give it away in exchange for some of the thingsthey themselves have made. They spend--or give back--ALL their wages;but as the money they got as wages is not equal in value to the thingsthey produced, they find that they are only able to buy back a VERYSMALL PART. So you see that these little discs of metal--thisMoney--is a device for enabling those who do not work to rob theworkers of the greater part of the fruits of their toil. '

The silence that ensued was broken by Crass. 

'It sounds very pretty, ' he sneered, 'but I can't make no 'ead or tailof it, meself. '

'Look here!' cried Owen. 'The producing class--these people in numberfour are supposed to be paid for their work. Their wages are supposedto be equal in value to their work. But it's not so. If it were, byspending all their wages, the producing class would be able to buy backAll they had produced. '

Owen ceased speaking and silence once more ensued. No one gave anysign of understanding, or of agreeing or of disagreeing with what hehad said. Their attitude was strictly neutral. Barrington's pipe hadgone out during the argument. He relit it from the fire with a pieceof twisted paper. 

'If their wages were really equal in value to the product of theirlabour, ' Owen repeated, 'they would be able to buy back not a smallpart--but the Whole. '. .. 

At this, a remark from Bundy caused a shout of laughter, and whenWantley added point to the joke by making a sound like the discharge ofa pistol the merriment increased tenfold. 

'Well, that's done it, ' remarked Easton, as he got up and opened thewindow. 

'It's about time you was buried, if the smell's anything to go by, 'said Harlow, addressing Wantley, who laughed and appeared to think hehad distinguished himself. 

'But even if we include the whole of the working classes, ' continuedOwen, 'that is, the people in number three as well as those in numberfour, we find that their combined wages are insufficient to buy thethings made by the producers. The total value of the wealth producedin this country during the last year was �1, 800, 000, 000, and the totalamount paid in wages during the same period was only �600, 000, 000. Inother words, by means of the Money Trick, the workers were robbed oftwo-thirds of the value of their labour. All the people in numbersthree and four are working and suffering and starving and fighting inorder that the rich people in numbers one and two may live in luxury, and do nothing. These are the wretches who cause poverty: they notonly devour or waste or hoard the things made by the worker, but assoon as their own wants are supplied--they compel the workers to ceaseworking and prevent them producing the things they need. Most of thesepeople!' cried Owen, his usually pale face flushing red and his eyesshining with sudden anger, 'most of these people do not deserve to becalled human beings at all! They're devils! They know that whilstthey are indulging in pleasures of every kind--all around them men andwomen and little children are existing in want or dying of hunger. '

The silence which followed was at length broken by Harlow:

'You say the workers is entitled to all they produce, but you forgetthere's the raw materials to pay for. They don't make them, you know. '

'Of course the workers don't create the raw materials, ' replied Owen. 'But I am not aware that the capitalists or the landlords do so either. The raw materials exist in abundance in and on the earth, but they areof no use until labour has been applied to them. '

'But then, you see, the earth belongs to the landlords!' cried Crass, unguardedly. 

'I know that; and of course you think it's right that the whole countryshould belong to a few people--'

'I must call the lecturer to horder, ' interrupted Philpot. 'The landquestion is not before the meeting at present. '

'You talk about the producers being robbed of most of the value of whatthey produce, ' said Harlow, 'but you must remember that it ain't allproduced by hand labour. What about the things what's made bymachinery?'

'The machines themselves were made by the workers, ' returned Owen, 'butof course they do not belong to the workers, who have been robbed ofthem by means of the Money Trick. '

'But who invented all the machinery?' cried Crass. 

'That's more than you or I or anyone else can say, ' returned Owen, 'butit certainly wasn't the wealthy loafer class, or the landlords, or theemployers. Most of the men who invented the machinery lived and diedunknown, in poverty and often in actual want. The inventors too wererobbed by the exploiter-of-labour class. There are no men living atpresent who can justly claim to have invented the machinery that existstoday. The most they can truthfully say is that they have added to orimproved upon the ideas of those who lived and worked before them. Even Watt and Stevenson merely improved upon steam engines andlocomotives already existing. Your question has really nothing to dowith the subject we are discussing: we are only trying to find out whythe majority of people have to go short of the benefits ofcivilization. One of the causes is--the majority of the population areengaged in work that does not produce those things; and most of what ISproduced is appropriated and wasted by those who have no right to it. 

'The workers produce Everything! If you walk through the streets of atown or a city, and look around, Everything that you cansee--Factories, Machinery, Houses, Railways, Tramways, Canals, Furniture, Clothing, Food and the very road or pavement you stand uponwere all made by the working class, who spend all their wages in buyingback only a very small part of the things they produce. Therefore whatremains in the possession of their masters represents the differencebetween the value of the work done and the wages paid for doing it. This systematic robbery has been going on for generations, the value ofthe accumulated loot is enormous, and all of it, all the wealth atpresent in the possession of the rich, is rightly the property of theworking class--it has been stolen from them by means of the MoneyTrick. '. .. 

For some moments an oppressive silence prevailed. The men stared withpuzzled, uncomfortable looks alternately at each other and at thedrawings on the wall. They were compelled to do a little thinking ontheir own account, and it was a process to which they wereunaccustomed. In their infancy they had been taught to distrust theirown intelligence and to leave 'thinking' to their 'pastors' and mastersand to their 'betters' generally. All their lives they had been trueto this teaching, they had always had blind, unreasoning faith in thewisdom and humanity of their pastors and masters. That was the reasonwhy they and their children had been all their lives on the verge ofstarvation and nakedness, whilst their 'betters'--who did nothing butthe thinking--went clothed in purple and fine linen and faredsumptuously every day. 

Several men had risen from their seats and were attentively studyingthe diagrams Owen had drawn on the wall; and nearly all the others weremaking the same mental efforts--they were trying to think of somethingto say in defence of those who robbed them of the fruits of their toil. 

'I don't see no bloody sense in always runnin' down the rich, ' saidHarlow at last. 'There's always been rich and poor in the world andthere always will be. '

'Of course, ' said Slyme. 'It says in the Bible that the poor shallalways be with us. '

'What the bloody 'ell kind of system do you think we ought to 'ave?'demanded Crass. 'If everything's wrong, 'ow's it goin' to be altered?'

At this, everybody brightened up again, and exchanged looks ofsatisfaction and relief. Of course! It wasn't necessary to thinkabout these things at all! Nothing could ever be altered: it hadalways been more or less the same, and it always would be. 

'It seems to me that you all HOPE it is impossible to alter it, ' saidOwen. 'Without trying to find out whether it could be done, youpersuade yourselves that it is impossible, and then, instead of beingsorry, you're glad!'

Some of them laughed in a silly, half-ashamed way. 

'How do YOU reckon it could be altered?' said Harlow. 

'The way to alter it is, first to enlighten the people as to the realcause of their sufferings, and then--'

'Well, ' interrupted Crass, with a self-satisfied chuckle, 'it'll take abetter bloody man than you to enlighten ME!'

'I don't want to be henlightened into Darkness!' said Slyme piously. 

'But what sort of System do you propose, then?' repeated Harlow. 

'After you've got 'em all enlightened--if you don't believe in sharingout all the money equal, how ARE you goin' to alter it?'

'I don't know 'ow 'e's goin' to alter it, ' sneered Crass, looking athis watch and standing up, 'but I do know what the time is--two minitspast one!'

'The next lecture, ' said Philpot, addressing the meeting as they allprepared to return to work, 'the next lecture will be postponded tilltomorrer at the usual time, when it will be my painful dooty to callupon Mr Owen to give 'is well-known and most hobnoxious addressentitled "Work and how to avoid it. " Hall them as wants to behenlightened kindly attend. '

'Or hall them as don't get the sack tonight, ' remarked Easton grimly. 

Chapter 26

The Slaughter

During the afternoon, Rushton and Sweater visited the house, the latterhaving an appointment to meet there a gardener to whom he wished togive instructions concerning the laying out of the grounds, which hadbeen torn up for the purpose of putting in the new drains. Sweater hadalready arranged with the head gardener of the public park to stealsome of the best plants from that place and have them sent up to 'TheCave'. These plants had been arriving in small lots for about a week. They must have been brought there either in the evening after the menleft off or very early in the morning before they came. The twogentlemen remained at the house for about half an hour and as they wentaway the mournful sound of the Town Hall bell--which was always tolledto summon meetings of the Council--was heard in the distance, and thehands remarked to each other that another robbery was about to beperpetrated. 

Hunter did not come to the job again that day: he had been sent byRushton to price some work for which the firm was going to tender anestimate. There was only one person who felt any regret at hisabsence, and that was Mrs White--Bert's mother, who had been working at'The Cave' for several days, scrubbing the floors. As a rule, Hunterpaid her wages every night, and on this occasion she happened to needthe money even more than usual. As leaving off time drew near, shementioned the matter to Crass, who advised her to call at the office onher way home and ask the young lady clerk for the money. As Hunter didnot appear, she followed the foreman's advice. 

When she reached the shop Rushton was just coming out. She explainedto him what she wanted and he instructed Mr Budd to tell Miss Wade topay her. The shopman accordingly escorted her to the office at theback of the shop, and the young lady book-keeper--after referring toformer entries to make quite certain of the amount, paid her the sumthat Hunter had represented as her wages, the same amount that MissWade had on the previous occasions given him to pay the charwoman. WhenMrs White got outside she found that she held in her hand half a crowninstead of the two shillings she usually received from Mr Hunter. Atfirst she felt inclined to take it back, but after some hesitation shethought it better to wait until she saw Hunter, when she could tell himabout it; but the next morning when she saw the disciple at 'The Cave'he broached the subject first, and told her that Miss Wade had made amistake. And that evening when he paid her, he deducted the sixpencefrom the usual two shillings. 

The lecture announced by Philpot was not delivered. Anxiously awaitingthe impending slaughter the men kept tearing into it as usual, for theygenerally keep working in the usual way, each one trying to outdo theothers so as not to lose his chance of being one of the lucky one. .. 

Misery now went round and informed all the men with the exception ofCrass, Owen, Slyme and Sawkins--that they would have to stand off thatnight. He told them that the firm had several jobs in view--work theyhad tendered for and hoped to get, and said they could look round afterChristmas and he might--possibly--be able to start some of them again. They would be paid at the office tomorrow--Saturday--at one o'clock asusual, but if any of them wished they could have their money tonight. The men thanked him, and most of them said they would come for theirwages at the usual pay-time, and would call round as he suggested, after the holidays, to see if there was anything to do. 

In all, fifteen men--including Philpot, Harlow, Easton and Ned Dawson, were to 'stand off' that night. They took their dismissal stolidly, without any remark, some of them even with an affectation ofindifference, but there were few attempts at conversation afterwards. The little work that remained to be done they did in silence, every manoppressed by the same terror--the dread of the impending want, theprivation and unhappiness that they knew they and their families wouldhave to suffer during the next few months. 

Bundy and his mate Dawson were working in the kitchen fixing the newrange in place of the old one which they had taken out. They had beenengaged on this job all day, and their hands and faces and clothes werecovered with soot, which they had also contrived to smear and dab allover the surfaces of the doors and other woodwork in the room, much tothe indignation of Crass and Slyme, who had to wash it all off beforethey could put on the final coat of paint. 

'You can't help makin' a little mess on a job of this kind, you know, 'remarked Bundy, as he was giving the finishing touches to the work, making good the broken parts of the wall with cement, whilst his matewas clearing away the debris. 

'Yes; but there's no need to claw 'old of the bloody doors every timeyou goes in and out, ' snarled Crass, 'and you could 'ave put yer toolson the floor instead of makin' a bench of the dresser. '

'You can 'ave the bloody place all to yerself in about five minutes, 'replied Bundy, as he assisted to lift a sack of cement weighing abouttwo hundredweight on to Dawson's buck. 'We're finished now. '

When they had cleared away all the dirt and fragments of bricks andmortar, while Crass and Slyme proceeded with the painting, Bundy andDawson loaded up their hand-cart with the old range and the bags ofunused cement and plaster, which they took back to the yard. Meantime, Misery was wandering about the house and pounds like an evil spiritseeking rest and finding none. He stood for some time gloomilywatching the four gardeners, who were busily at work laying strips ofturf, mowing the lawn, rolling the gravel paths and trimming the treesand bushes. The boy Bert, Philpot, Harlow, Easton and Sawkins wereloading a hand-cart with ladders and empty paint-pots to return to theyard. Just as they were setting out, Misery stopped them, remarkingthat the cart was not half loaded--he said it would take a month to getall the stuff away if they went on like that; so by his directions theyplaced another long ladder on top of the pile and once more started ontheir way, but before they had gone two dozen yards one of the wheelsof the cart collapsed and the load was scattered over the roadway. Bert was at the same side of the cart as the wheel that broke and hewas thrown violently to the ground, where he lay half stunned, in themidst of the ladders and planks. When they got him out they wereastonished to find that, thanks to the special Providence that watchesover all small boys, he was almost unhurt--just a little dazed, thatwas all; and by the time Sawkins returned with another cart, Bert wasable to help to gather up the fallen paint-pots and to accompany themen with the load to the yard. At the corner of the road they pausedto take a last look at the 'job'. 

'There it stands!' said Harlow, tragically, extending his arm towardsthe house. 'There it stands! A job that if they'd only have let us doit properly, couldn't 'ave been done with the number of 'ands we've'ad, in less than four months; and there it is, finished, messed up, slobbered over and scamped, in nine weeks!'

'Yes, and now we can all go to 'ell, ' said Philpot, gloomily. 

At the yard they found Bundy and his mate, Ned Dawson, who helped themto hang up the ladders in their usual places. Philpot was glad to getout of assisting to do this, for he had contracted a rather severeattack of rheumatism when working outside at the 'Cave'. Whilst theothers were putting the ladders away he assisted Bert to carry thepaint-pots and buckets into the paint shop, and while there he filled asmall medicine bottle he had brought with him for the purpose, withturpentine from the tank. He wanted this stuff to rub into hisshoulders and legs, and as he secreted the bottle in the inner pocketof his coat, he muttered: 'This is where we gets some of our own back. '

They took the key of the yard to the office and as they separated to gohome Bundy suggested that the best thing they could do would be to sewtheir bloody mouths up for a few months, because there was not muchprobability of their getting another job until about March. 

The next morning while Crass and Slyme were finishing inside, Owenwrote the two gates. On the front entrance 'The Cave' and on the back'Tradesmens Entrance', in gilded letters. In the meantime, Sawkins andBert made several journeys to the Yard with the hand-cart. 

Crass--working in the kitchen with Slyme--was very silent andthoughtful. Ever since the job was started, every time Mr Sweater hadvisited the house to see what progress was being made, Crass had beengrovelling to him in the hope of receiving a tip when the work wasfinished. He had been very careful to act upon any suggestions thatSweater had made from time to time and on several occasions had taken alot of trouble to get just the right tints of certain colours, makingup a number of different shades and combinations, and doing parts ofthe skirtings or mouldings of rooms in order that Mr Sweater might seeexactly--before they went on with it--what it would look like whenfinished. He made a great pretence of deferring to Sweater's opinion, and assured him that he did not care how much trouble he took as longas he--Sweater--was pleased. In fact, it was no trouble at all: it wasa pleasure. As the work neared completion, Crass began to speculateupon the probable amount of the donation he would receive as the rewardof nine weeks of cringing, fawning, abject servility. He thought itquite possible that he might get a quid: it would not be too much, considering all the trouble he had taken. It was well worth it. Atany rate, he felt certain that he was sure to get ten bob; a gentlemanlike Mr Sweater would never have the cheek to offer less. The more hethought about it the more improbable it appeared that the amount wouldbe less than a quid, and he made up his mind that whatever he got hewould take good care that none of the other men knew anything about it. HE was the one who had had all the worry of the job, and he was theonly one entitled to anything there was to be had. Besides, even if hegot a quid, by the time you divided that up amongst a dozen--or evenamongst two or three--it would not be worth having. 

At about eleven o'clock Mr Sweater arrived and began to walk over thehouse, followed by Crass, who carried a pot of paint and a small brushand made believe to be 'touching up' and finishing off parts of thework. As Sweater went from one room to another Crass repeatedly placedhimself in the way in the hope of being spoken to, but Sweater took nonotice of him whatever. Once or twice Crass's heart began to beatquickly as he furtively watched the great man and saw him thrust histhumb and finger into his waistcoat pocket, but on each occasionSweater withdrew his hand with nothing in it. After a while, observingthat the gentleman was about to depart without having spoken, Crassdetermined to break the ice himself. 

'It's a little better weather we're 'avin' now, sir. '

'Yes, ' replied Sweater. 

'I was beginnin' to be afraid as I shouldn't be hable to githeverything finished in time for you to move in before Christmas, sir, 'Crass continued, 'but it's hall done now, sir. '

Sweater made no reply. 

'I've kept the fire agoin' in hall the rooms has you told me, sir, 'resumed Crass after a pause. 'I think you'll find as the place is niceand dry, sir; the honly places as is a bit damp is the kitchen andscullery and the other rooms in the basement, sir, but of course that'snearly halways the case, sir, when the rooms is partly hunderground, sir. 

'But of course it don't matter so much about the basement, sir, becauseit's honly the servants what 'as to use it, sir, and even down thereit'll be hall right hin the summer, sir. '

One would scarcely think, from the contemptuous way in which he spokeof 'servants' that Crass's own daughter was 'in service', but such wasthe case. 

'Oh, yes, there's no doubt about that, ' replied Sweater as he movedtowards the door; 'there's no doubt it will be dry enough in thesummer. Good morning. '

'Good morning to YOU, sir, ' said Crass, following him. 'I 'opes asyou're pleased with all the work, sir; everything satisfactory, sir. '

'Oh, yes. I think it looks very nice; very nice indeed; I'm verypleased with it, ' said Sweater affably. 'Good morning. '

'Good morning, sir, ' replied the foreman with a sickly smile as Sweaterdeparted. 

When the other was gone, Crass sat down dejectedly on the bottom stepof the stairs, overwhelmed with the ruin of his hopes and expectations. He tried to comfort himself with the reflection that all hope was notlost, because he would have to come to the house again on Monday andTuesday to fix the venetian blinds; but all the same he could not helpthinking that it was only a very faint hope, for he felt that ifSweater had intended giving anything he would have done so today; andit was very improbable that he would see Sweater on Monday or Tuesdayat all, for the latter did not usually visit the job in the early partof the week. However, Crass made up his mind to hope for the best, and, pulling himself together, he presently returned to the kitchen, where he found Slyme and Sawkins waiting for him. He had not mentionedhis hopes of a tip to either of them, but they did not need any tellingand they were both determined to have their share of whatever he got. They eyed him keenly as he entered. 

'What did 'e give yer?' demanded Sawkins, going straight to the point. 

'Give me?' replied Crass. 'Nothing!'

Slyme laughed in a sneering, incredulous way, but Sawkins was inclinedto be abusive. He averred that he had been watching Crass and Sweaterand had seen the latter put his thumb and finger into his waistcoatpocket as he walked into the dining-room, followed by Crass. It tookthe latter a long time to convince his two workmates of the truth ofhis own account, but he succeeded at last, and they all three agreedthat Old Sweater was a sanguinary rotter, and they lamented over thedecay of the good old-fashioned customs. 

'Why, at one time o' day, ' said Crass, 'only a few years ago, if youwent to a gentleman's 'ouse to paint one or two rooms you could alwaysbe sure of a bob or two when you'd finished. '

By half past twelve everything was squared up, and, having loaded upthe hand-cart with all that remained of the materials, dirty paint-potsand plant, they all set out together for the yard, to put all thethings away before going to the office for their money. Sawkins tookthe handle of the cart, Slyme and Crass walked at one side and Owen andBert at the other. There was no need to push, for the road wasdownhill most of the way; so much so that they had all to help to holdback the cart, which travelled so rapidly that Bert found it difficultto keep pace with the others and frequently broke into a trot torecover lost ground, and Crass--being fleshy and bloated with beer, besides being unused to much exertion--began to perspire and soonappealed to the others not to let it go so fast--there was no need toget done before one o'clock. 

Chapter 27

The March of the Imperialists

It was an unusually fine day for the time of year, and as they passedalong the Grand Parade--which faced due south--they felt quite warm. The Parade was crowded with richly dressed and bejewelled loafers, whose countenances in many instances bore unmistakable signs ofdrunkenness and gluttony. Some of the females had tried to conceal theravages of vice and dissipation by coating their faces with powder andpaint. Mingling with and part of this crowd were a number ofwell-fed-looking individuals dressed in long garments of black cloth ofthe finest texture, and broad-brimmed soft felt hats. Most of thesepersons had gold rings on their soft white fingers and glove-like kidor calfskin boots on their feet. They belonged to the great army ofimposters who obtain an easy living by taking advantage of theignorance and simplicity of their fellow-men, and pretending to be the'followers' and 'servants' of the lowly Carpenter of Nazareth--the Manof Sorrows, who had not where to lay His head. 

None of these black-garbed 'disciples' were associating with the groupsof unemployed carpenters, bricklayers, plasterers, and painters whostood here and there in the carriage-way dressed in mean and shabbyclothing and with faces pale with privation. Many of these latter wereknown to our friends with the cart, and nodded to them as they passed. Now and then some of them came over and walked a little distance bytheir side, inquiring whether there was any news of another job atRushton's. 

When they were about half-way down the Parade, just near the Fountain, Crass and his mates encountered a number of men on whose arms werewhite bands with the word 'Collector' in black letters. They carriedcollecting boxes and accosted the people in the street, begging formoney for the unemployed. These men were a kind of skirmishers for themain body, which could be seen some distance behind. 

As the procession drew near, Sawkins steered the cart into the kerb andhalted as they went past. There were about three hundred menaltogether, marching four abreast. They carried three large whitebanners with black letters, 'Thanks to our Subscribers' 'In aid ofGenuine Unemployed', 'The Children must be Fed'. Although there were anumber of artisans in the procession, the majority of the men belongedto what is called the unskilled labourer class. The skilled artisandoes not as a rule take part in such a procession except as a very lastresource. .. And all the time he strives to keep up an appearance ofbeing well-to-do, and would be highly indignant if anyone suggestedthat he was really in a condition of abject, miserable poverty. Although he knows that his children are often not so well fed as arethe pet dogs and cats of his 'betters', he tries to bluff hisneighbours into thinking that he has some mysterious private means ofwhich they know nothing, and conceals his poverty as if it were acrime. Most of this class of men would rather starve than beg. Consequently not more than a quarter of the men in the procession wereskilled artisans; the majority were labourers. 

There was also a sprinkling of those unfortunate outcasts ofsociety--tramps and destitute, drunken loafers. If the self-righteoushypocrites who despise these poor wretches had been subjected to thesame conditions, the majority of them would inevitably have become thesame as these. 

Haggard and pale, shabbily or raggedly dressed, their boots broken anddown at heel, they slouched past. Some of them stared about with adazed or half-wild expression, but most of them walked with downcasteyes or staring blankly straight in front of them. They appearedutterly broken-spirited, hopeless and ashamed. .. 

'Anyone can see what THEY are, ' sneered Crass, 'there isn't fiftygenuine tradesmen in the whole crowd, and most of 'em wouldn't work ifthey 'ad the offer of it. '

'That's just what I was thinkin', ' agreed Sawkins with a laugh. 

'There will be plenty of time to say that when they have been offeredwork and have refused to do it, ' said Owen. 

'This sort of thing does the town a lot of 'arm, ' remarked Slyme; 'itoughtn't to be allowed; the police ought to stop it. It's enough todrive all the gentry out of the place!'

'Bloody disgraceful, I call it, ' said Crass, 'marchin' along the GrandParade on a beautiful day like this, just at the very time when most ofthe gentry is out enjoyin' the fresh hair. '

'I suppose you think they ought to stay at home and starve quietly, 'said Owen. 'I don't see why these men should care what harm they do tothe town; the town doesn't seem to care much what becomes of THEM. '

'Do you believe in this sort of thing, then?' asked Slyme. 

'No; certainly not. I don't believe in begging as a favour for whatone is entitled to demand as a right from the thieves who have robbedthem and who are now enjoying the fruits of their labour. From thelook of shame on their faces you might think that they were thecriminals instead of being the victims. '

'Well you must admit that most of them is very inferior men, ' saidCrass with a self-satisfied air. 'There's very few mechanics amongstem. '

'What about it if they are? What difference does that make?' repliedOwen. 'They're human beings, and they have as much right to live asanyone else. What is called unskilled labour is just as necessary anduseful as yours or mine. I am no more capable of doing the "unskilled"labour that most of these men do than most of them would be capable ofdoing my work. '

'Well, if they was skilled tradesmen, they might find it easier to geta job, ' said Crass. 

Owen laughed offensively. 

'Do you mean to say you think that if all these men could betransformed into skilled carpenters, plasterers, bricklayers, andpainters, that it would be easier for all those other chaps whom wepassed a little while ago to get work? Is it possible that you or anyother sane man can believe anything so silly as that?'

Crass did not reply. 

'If there is not enough work to employ all the mechanics whom we seestanding idle about the streets, how would it help these labourers inthe procession if they could all become skilled workmen?'

Still Crass did not answer, and neither Slyme nor Sawkins came to hisassistance. 

'If that could be done, ' continued Owen, 'it would simply make thingsworse for those who are already skilled mechanics. A greater number ofskilled workers--keener competition for skilled workmen's jobs--alarger number of mechanics out of employment, and consequently, improved opportunities for employers to reduce wages. That is probablythe reason why the Liberal Party--which consists for the most part ofexploiters of labour--procured the great Jim Scalds to tell us thatimproved technical education is the remedy for unemployment andpoverty. '

'I suppose you think Jim Scalds is a bloody fool, the same as everybodyelse what don't see things YOUR way?' said Sawkins. 

'I should think he was a fool if I thought he believed what he says. But I don't think he believes it. He says it because he thinks themajority of the working classes are such fools that they will believehim. If he didn't think that most of us are fools he wouldn't tell ussuch a yarn as that. '

'And I suppose you think as 'is opinion ain't far wrong, ' snarled Crass. 

'We shall be better able to judge of that after the next GeneralElection, ' replied Owen. 'If the working classes again elect amajority of Liberal or Tory landlords and employers to rule over them, it will prove that Jim Scalds' estimate of their intelligence is aboutright. '

'Well, anyhow, ' persisted Slyme, 'I don't think it's a right thing thatthey should be allowed to go marchin' about like that--driving visitorsout of the town. '

'What do you think they ought to do, then?' demanded Owen. 

'Let the b--rs go to the bloody workhouse!' shouted Crass. 

'But before they could be received there they would have to beabsolutely homeless and destitute, and then the ratepayers would haveto keep them. It costs about twelve shillings a week for each inmate, so it seems to me that it would be more sensible and economical for thecommunity to employ them on some productive work. '

They had by this time arrived at the yard. The steps and ladders wereput away in their places and the dirty paint-pots and pails were placedin the paint-shop on the bench and on the floor. With what hadpreviously been brought back there were a great many of these things, all needing to be cleaned out, so Bert at any rate stood in no dangerof being out of employment for some time to come. 

When they were paid at the office, Owen on opening his envelope foundit contained as usual, a time sheet for the next week, which meant thathe was not 'stood off' although he did not know what work there wouldbe to do. Crass and Slyme were both to go to the 'Cave' to fix thevenetian blinds, and Sawkins also was to come to work as usual. 

Chapter 28

The Week before Christmas

During the next week Owen painted a sign on the outer wall of one ofthe workshops at the yard, and he also wrote the name of the firm onthree of the handcarts. 

These and other odd jobs kept him employed a few hours every day, sothat he was not actually out of work. 

One afternoon--there being nothing to do--he went home at threeo'clock, but almost as soon as he reached the house Bert White camewith a coffin-plate which had to be written at once. The lad said hehad been instructed to wait for it. 

Nora gave the boy some tea and bread and butter to eat whilst Owen wasdoing the coffin-plate, and presently Frankie--who had been playing outin the street--made his appearance. The two boys were already known toeach other, for Bert had been there several times before--on errandssimilar to the present one, or to take lessons on graining andletter-painting from Owen. 

'I'm going to have a party next Monday--after Christmas, ' remarkedFrankie. 'Mother told me I might ask you if you'll come?'

'All right, ' said Bert; 'and I'll bring my Pandoramer. '

'What is it? Is it alive?' asked Frankie with a puzzled look. 

'Alive! No, of course not, ' replied Bert with a superior air. 'It's ashow, like they have at the Hippodrome or the Circus. '

'How big is it?'

'Not very big: it's made out of a sugar-box. I made it myself. It'snot quite finished yet, but I shall get it done this week. There's aband as well, you know. I do that part with this. '

'This' was a large mouth organ which he produced from the inner pocketof his coat. 

'Play something now. '

Bert accordingly played, and Frankie sang at the top of his voice aselection of popular songs, including 'The Old Bull and Bush', 'HasAnyone seen a German Band?', 'Waiting at the Church' andfinally--possibly as a dirge for the individual whose coffin-plate Owenwas writing--'Goodbye, Mignonette' and 'I wouldn't leave my littlewooden hut for you'. 

'You don't know what's in that, ' said Frankie, referring to a largeearthenware bread-pan which Nora had just asked Owen to help her tolift from the floor on to one of the chairs. The vessel in questionwas covered with a clean white cloth. 

'Christmas pudding, ' replied Bert, promptly. 

'Guessed right first time!' cried Frankie. 'We got the things out ofthe Christmas Club on Saturday. We've been paying in ever since lastChristmas. We're going to mix it now, and you can have a stir too ifyou like, for luck. '

Whilst they were stirring the pudding, Frankie several times requestedthe others to feel his muscle: he said he felt sure that he would soonbe strong enough to go out to work, and he explained to Bert that theextraordinary strength he possessed was to be attributed to the factthat he lived almost exclusively on porridge and milk. 

For the rest of the week, Owen continued to work down at the yard withSawkins, Crass, and Slynie, painting some of the ladders, steps andother plant belonging to the firm. These things had to have two coatsof paint and the name Rushton & Co. Written on them. As soon as theyhad got some of them second-coated, Owen went on with the writing, leaving the painting for the others, so as to share the work as fairlyas possible. Several times during the week one or other of them wastaken away to do some other work; once Crass and Slyme had to go andwash off and whiten a ceiling somewhere, and several times Sawkins wassent out to assist the plumbers. 

Every day some of the men who had been 'stood off' called at the yardto ask if any other 'jobs' had 'come in'. From these callers theyheard all the news. Old Jack Linden had not succeeded in gettinganything to do at the trade since he was discharged from Rushton's, andit was reported that he was trying to earn a little money by hawkingbloaters from house to house. As for Philpot, he said that he had beenround to nearly all the firms in the town and none of them had any workto speak of. 

Newman--the man whom the reader will remember was sacked for taking toomuch pains with his work--had been arrested and sentenced to a month'simprisonment because he had not been able to pay his poor rates, andthe Board of Guardians were allowing his wife three shillings a week tomaintain herself and the three children. Philpot had been to see them, and she told him that the landlord was threatening to turn them intothe street; he would have seized their furniture and sold it if it hadbeen worth the expense of the doing. 

'I feel ashamed of meself, ' Philpot added in confidence to Owen, 'whenI think of all the money I chuck away on beer. If it wasn't for that, I shouldn't be in such a hole meself now, and I might be able to lend'em a 'elpin' 'and. '

'It ain't so much that I likes the beer, you know, ' he continued; 'it'sthe company. When you ain't got no 'ome, in a manner o' speakin', likeme, the pub's about the only place where you can get a littleenjoyment. But you ain't very welcome there unless you spends yourmoney. '

'Is the three shillings all they have to live on?'

'I think she goes out charin' when she can get it, ' replied Philpot, 'but I don't see as she can do a great deal o' that with three young'uns to look after, and from what I hear of it she's only just got overa illness and ain't fit to do much. '

'My God!' said Owen. 

'I'll tell you what, ' said Philpot. 'I've been thinking we might getup a bit of a subscription for 'em. There's several chaps in work whatknows Newman, and if they was each to give a trifle we could get enoughto pay for a Christmas dinner, anyway. I've brought a sheet offoolscap with me, and I was goin' to ask you to write out the headingfor me. '

As there was no pen available at the workshop, Philpot waited till fouro'clock and then accompanied Owen home, where the heading of the listwas written. Owen put his name down for a shilling and Philpot his fora similar amount. 

Philpot stayed to tea and accepted an invitation to spend Christmas Daywith them, and to come to Frankie's party on the Monday after. 

The next morning Philpot brought the list to the yard and Crass andSlyme put their names down for a shilling each, and Sawkins forthreepence, it being arranged that the money was to be paid onpayday--Christmas Eve. In the meantime, Philpot was to see as many ashe could of those who were in work, at other firms and get as manysubscriptions as possible. 

At pay-time on Christmas Eve Philpot turned up with the list and Owenand the others paid him the amounts they had put their names down for. From other men he had succeeded in obtaining nine and sixpence, mostlyin sixpences and threepences. Some of this money he had alreadyreceived, but for the most part he had made appointments with thesubscribers to call at their homes that evening. It was decided thatOwen should accompany him and also go with him to hand over the moneyto Mrs Newman. 

It took them nearly three hours to get in all the money, for the placesthey had to go to were in different localities, and in one or two casesthey had to wait because their man had not yet come home, and sometimesit was not possible to get away without wasting a little time in talk. In three instances those who had put their names down for threepenceincreased the amount to sixpence and one who had promised sixpence gavea shilling. There were two items of threepence each which they did notget at all, the individuals who had put their names down having goneupon the drunk. Another cause of delay was that they met or called onseveral other men who had not yet been asked for a subscription, andthere were several others--including some members of the PaintersSociety whom Owen had spoken to during the week--who had promised himto give a subscription. In the end they succeeded in increasing thetotal amount to nineteen and ninepence, and they then putthree-halfpence each to make it up to a pound. 

The Newmans lived in a small house the rent of which was six shillingsper week and taxes. To reach the house one had to go down a dark andnarrow passage between two shops, the house being in a kind of well, surrounded by the high walls of the back parts of largerbuildings--chiefly business premises and offices. The air did notcirculate very freely in this place, and the rays of the sun neverreached it. In the summer the atmosphere was close and foul with thevarious odours which came from the back-yards of the adjoiningbuildings, and in the winter it was dark and damp and gloomy, aculture-ground for bacteria and microbes. The majority of those whoprofess to be desirous of preventing and curing the disease calledconsumption must be either hypocrites or fools, for they ridicule thesuggestion that it is necessary first to cure and prevent the povertythat compels badly clothed and half-starved human beings to sleep insuch dens as this. 

The front door opened into the living-room or, rather, kitchen, whichwas dimly lighted by a small paraffin lamp on the table, where werealso some tea-cups and saucers, each of a different pattern, and theremains of a loaf of bread. The wallpaper was old and discoloured; afew almanacs and unframed prints were fixed to the walls, and on themantelshelf were some cracked and worthless vases and ornaments. Atone time they had possessed a clock and an overmantel and some framedpictures, but they had all been sold to obtain money to buy food. Nearly everything of any value had been parted with for the samereason--the furniture, the pictures, the bedclothes, the carpet and theoilcloth, piece by piece, nearly everything that had once constitutedthe home--had been either pawned or sold to buy food or to pay rentduring the times when Newman was out of work--periods that had recurredduring the last few years with constantly increasing frequency andduration. Now there was nothing left but these few old broken chairsand the deal table which no one would buy; and upstairs, the wretchedbedsteads and mattresses whereon they slept at night, coveringthemselves with worn-out remnants of blankets and the clothes they woreduring the day. 

In answer to Philpot's knock, the door was opened by a little girlabout seven years old, who at once recognized Philpot, and called outhis name to her mother, and the latter came also to the door, closelyfollowed by two other children, a little, fragile-looking girl aboutthree, and a boy about five years of age, who held on to her skirt andpeered curiously at the visitors. Mrs Newman was about thirty, and herappearance confirmed the statement of Philpot that she had only justrecovered from an illness; she was very white and thin anddejected-looking. When Philpot explained the object of their visit andhanded her the money, the poor woman burst into tears, and the twosmaller children--thinking that this piece of paper betokened somefresh calamity--began to cry also. They remembered that all theirtroubles had been preceded by the visits of men who brought pieces ofpaper, and it was rather difficult to reassure them. 

That evening, after Frankie was asleep, Owen and Nora went out to dotheir Christmas marketing. They had not much money to spend, for Owenhad brought home only seventeen shillings. He had worked thirty-threehours--that came to nineteen and threepence--one shilling andthreehalfpence had gone on the subscription list, and he had given therest of the coppers to a ragged wreck of a man who was singing a hymnin the street. The other shilling had been deducted from his wages inrepayment of a 'sub' he had had during the week. 

There was a great deal to be done with this seventeen shillings. Firstof all there was the rent--seven shillings--that left ten. Then therewas the week's bread bill--one and threepence. They had a pint of milkevery day, chiefly for the boy's sake--that came to one and two. Thenthere was one and eight for a hundredweight of coal that had beenbought on credit. Fortunately, there were no groceries to buy, for thethings they had obtained with their Christmas Club money would be morethan sufficient for the ensuing week. 

Frankie's stockings were all broken and beyond mending, so it waspositively necessary to buy him another pair for fivepencethree-farthings. These stockings were not much good--a pair at doublethe price would have been much cheaper, for they would have lastedthree or four times longer; but they could not afford to buy the dearerkind. It was just the same with the coal: if they had been able toafford it, they could have bought a ton of the same class of coal fortwenty-six shillings, but buying it as they did, by the hundredweight, they had to pay at the rate of thirty-three shillings and fourpence aton. It was just the same with nearly everything else. This is howthe working classes are robbed. Although their incomes are the lowest, they are compelled to buy the most expensive articles--that is, thelowest-priced articles. Everybody knows that good clothes, boots orfurniture are really the cheapest in the end, although they cost moremoney at first; but the working classes can seldom or never afford tobuy good things; they have to buy cheap rubbish which is dear at anyprice. 

Six weeks previously Owen bought a pair of second-hand boots for threeshillings and they were now literally falling to pieces. Nora's shoeswere in much the same condition, but, as she said, it did not matter somuch about hers because there was no need for her to go out if theweather were not fine. 

In addition to the articles already mentioned, they had to spendfourpence for half a gallon of paraffin oil, and to put sixpence intothe slot of the gas-stove. This reduced the money to five andsevenpence farthing, and of this it was necessary to spend a shillingon potatoes and other vegetables. 

They both needed some new underclothing, for what they had was so oldand worn that it was quite useless for the purpose it was supposed toserve; but there was no use thinking of these things, for they had nowonly four shillings and sevenpence farthing left, and all that would beneeded for toys. They had to buy something special for Frankie forChristmas, and it would also be necessary to buy something for each ofthe children who were coming to the party on the following Monday. Fortunately, there was no meat to buy, for Nora had been paying intothe Christmas Club at the butcher's as well as at the grocer's. Sothis necessary was already paid for. 

They stopped to look at the display of toys at Sweater's Emporium. Forseveral days past Frankie had been talking of the wonders contained inthese windows, so they wished if possible to buy him something here. They recognized many of the things from the description the boy hadgiven of them, but nearly everything was so dear that for a long timethey looked in vain for something it would be possible to buy. 

'That's the engine he talks so much about, ' said Non, indicating amodel railway locomotive; that one marked five shillings. '

'It might just as well be marked five pounds as far as we'reconcerned, ' replied Owen. 

As they were speaking, one of the salesmen appeared at the back of thewindow and, reaching forward, removed the engine. It was probably thelast one of the kind and had evidently just been sold. Owen and Noraexperienced a certain amount of consolation in knowing that even ifthey had the money they would not have been able to buy it. 

After lengthy consideration, they decided on a clockwork engine at ashilling, but the other toys they resolved to buy at a cheaper shop. Nora went into the Emporium to get the toy and whilst Owen was waitingfor her Mr and Mrs Rushton came out. They did not appear to see Owen, who observed that the shape of one of several parcels they carriedsuggested that it contained the engine that had been taken from thewindow a little while before. 

When Nora returned with her purchase, they went in search of a cheaperplace and after a time they found what they wanted. For sixpence theybought a cardboard box that had come all the way from Japan andcontained a whole family of dolls--father, mother and four children ofdifferent sizes. A box of paints, threepence: a sixpenny tea service, a threepenny drawing slate, and a rag doll, sixpence. 

On their way home they called at a greengrocer's where Owen had orderedand paid for a small Christmas tree a few weeks before; and as theywere turning the corner of the street where they lived they met Crass, half-drunk, with a fine fat goose slung over his shoulder by its neck. He greeted Owen jovially and held up the bird for their inspection. 

'Not a bad tanner's-worth, eh?' he hiccoughed. 'This makes two we'vegot. I won this and a box of cigars--fifty--for a tanner, and theother one I got out of the Club at our Church Mission 'all: threepencea week for twenty-eight weeks; that makes seven bob. But, ' he added, confidentially, ''you couldn't buy 'em for that price in a shop, youknow. They costs the committee a good bit more nor that--wholesale;but we've got some rich gents on our committee and they makes up thedifference, ' and with a nod and a cunning leer he lurched off. 

Frankie was sleeping soundly when they reached home, and so was thekitten, which was curled up on the quilt on the foot of the bed. Afterthey had had some supper, although it was after eleven o'clock, Owenfixed the tree in a large flower-pot that had served a similar purposebefore, and Nora brought out from the place where it had been storedaway since last Christmas a cardboard box containing a lot ofglittering tinsel ornaments--globes of silvered or gilded or paintedglass, birds, butterflies and stars. Some of these things had doneduty three Christmases ago and although they were in some instancesslightly tarnished most of them were as good as new. In addition tothese and the toys they had bought that evening they had a box ofbon-bons and a box of small coloured wax candles, both of which hadformed part of the things they got from the grocer's with the ChristmasClub money; and there were also a lot of little coloured paper bags ofsweets, and a number of sugar and chocolate toys and animals which hadbeen bought two or three at a time for several weeks past and put awayfor this occasion. There was something suitable for each child thatwas coming, with the exception of Bert White; they had intended toinclude a sixpenny pocket knife for him in their purchases thatevening, but as they had not been able to afford this Owen decided togive him an old set of steel paining combs which he knew the lad hadoften longed to possess. The tin case containing these tools wasaccordingly wrapped in some red tissue paper and hung on the tree withthe other things. 

They moved about as quietly as possible so as not to disturb those whowere sleeping in the rooms beneath, because long before they werefinished the people in the other parts of the house had all retired torest, and silence had fallen on the deserted streets outside. As theywere putting the final touches to their work the profound stillness ofthe night was suddenly broken by the voices of a band of carol-singers. 

The sound overwhelmed them with memories of other and happier times, and Nora stretched out her hands impulsively to Owen, who drew herclose to his side. 

They had been married just over eight years, and although during allthat time they had never been really free from anxiety for the future, yet on no previous Christmas had they been quite so poor as now. Duringthe last few years periods of unemployment had gradually become morefrequent and protracted, and the attempt he had made in the early partof the year to get work elsewhere had only resulted in plunging theminto even greater poverty than before. But all the same there was muchto be thankful for: poor though they were, they were far better offthan many thousands of others: they still had food and shelter, andthey had each other and the boy. 

Before they went to bed Owen carried the tree into Frankie's bedroomand placed it so that he would be able to see it in all its glitteringglory as soon as he awoke on Christmas morning. 

Chapter 29

The Pandorama

Although the party was not supposed to begin till six o'clock, Bertturned up at half past four, bringing the 'Pandoramer' with him. 

At about half past five the other guests began to arrive. Elsie andCharley Linden came first, the girl in a pretty blue frock trimmed withwhite lace, and Charley resplendent in a new suit, which, like hissister's dress, had been made out of somebody's cast-off clothes thathad been given to their mother by a visiting lady. It had taken MrsLinden many hours of hard work to contrive these garments; in fact, more time than the things were worth, for although they looked allright--especially Elsie's--the stuff was so old that it would not wearvery long: but this was the only way in which she could get clothes forthe children at all: she certainly could not afford to buy them any. So she spent hours and hours making things that she knew would fall topieces almost as soon as they were made. 

After these came Nellie, Rosie and Tommy Newman. These presented amuch less prosperous appearance than the other two. Their mother wasnot so skilful at contriving new clothes out of old. Nellie waswearing a grown-up woman's blouse, and by way of ulster she had on anold-fashioned jacket of thick cloth with large pearl buttons. This wasalso a grown-up woman's garment: it was shaped to fit the figure of atall woman with wide shoulders and a small waist; consequently, it didnot fit Nellie to perfection. The waist reached below the poor child'ships. 

Tommy was arrayed in the patched remains of what had once been a goodsuit of clothes. They had been purchased at a second-hand shop lastsummer and had been his 'best' for several months, but they were nowmuch too small for him. 

Little Rosie--who was only just over three years old--was better offthan either of the other two, for she had a red cloth dress that fittedher perfectly: indeed, as the district visitor who gave it to hermother had remarked, it looked as if it had been made for her. 

'It's not much to look at, ' observed Nellie, referring to her bigjacket, but all the same we was very glad of it when the rain came on. '

The coat was so big that by withdrawing her arms from the sleeves andusing it as a cloak or shawl she had managed to make it do for allthree of them. 

Tommy's boots were so broken that the wet had got in and saturated hisstockings, so Nora made him take them all off and wear some old ones ofFrankie's whilst his own were drying at the fire. 

Philpot, with two large paper bags full of oranges and nuts, arrivedjust as they were sitting down to tea--or rather cocoa--for with theexception of Bert all the children expressed a preference for thelatter beverage. Bert would have liked to have cocoa also, but hearingthat the grown-ups were going to have tea, he thought it would be moremanly to do the same. This question of having tea or cocoa for teabecame a cause of much uproarious merriment on the part of thechildren, who asked each other repeatedly which they liked best, 'teatea?' or 'cocoa tea?' They thought it so funny that they said it overand over again, screaming with laughter all the while, until Tommy gota piece of cake stuck in his throat and became nearly black in theface, and then Philpot had to turn him upside down and punch him in theback to save him from choking to death. This rather sobered theothers, but for some time afterwards whenever they looked at each otherthey began to laugh afresh because they thought it was such a good joke. 

When they had filled themselves up with the 'cocoa-tea' and cakes andbread and jam, Elsie Linden and Nellie Newman helped to clear away thecups and saucers, and then Owen lit the candles on the Christmas treeand distributed the toys to the children, and a little while afterwardsPhilpot--who had got a funny-looking mask out of one of thebon-bons--started a fine game pretending to be a dreadful wild animalwhich he called a Pandroculus, and crawling about on all fours, rolledhis goggle eyes and growled out he must have a little boy or girl toeat for his supper. 

He looked so terrible that although they knew it was only a joke theywere almost afraid of him, and ran away laughing and screaming toshelter themselves behind Nora or Owen; but all the same, wheneverPhilpot left off playing, they entreated him to 'be it again', and sohe had to keep on being a Pandroculus, until exhaustion compelled himto return to his natural form. 

After this they all sat round the table and had a game of cards;'Snap', they called it, but nobody paid much attention to the rules ofthe game: everyone seemed to think that the principal thing to do wasto kick up as much row as possible. After a while Philpot suggested achange to 'Beggar my neighbour', and won quite a lot of cards beforethey found out that he had hidden all the jacks in the pocket of hiscoat, and then they mobbed him for a cheat. He might have beenseriously injured if it had not been for Bert, who created a diversionby standing on a chair and announcing that he was about to introduce totheir notice 'Bert White's World-famed Pandorama' as exhibited beforeall the nobility and crowned heads of Europe, England, Ireland andScotland, including North America and Wales. 

Loud cheers greeted the conclusion of Bert's speech. The box wasplaced on the table, which was then moved to the end of the room, andthe chairs were ranged in two rows in front. 

The 'Pandorama' consisted of a stage-front made of painted cardboardand fixed on the front of a wooden box about three feet long by twofeet six inches high, and about one foot deep from back to front. The'Show' was a lot of pictures cut out of illustrated weekly papers andpasted together, end to end, so as to form a long strip or ribbon. Berthad coloured all the pictures with water-colours. 

Just behind the wings of the stage-front at each end of the box--was anupright roller, and the long strip of pictures was rolled up on this. The upper ends of the rollers came through the top of the box and hadhandles attached to them. When these handles were turned the picturespassed across the stage, unrolling from one roller and rolling on tothe other, and were illuminated by the light of three candles placedbehind. 

The idea of constructing this machine had been suggested to Bert by apanorama entertainment he had been to see some time before. 

'The Style of the decorations, ' he remarked, alluding to the paintedstage-front, 'is Moorish. '

He lit the candles at the back of the stage and, having borrowed atea-tray from Nora, desired the audience to take their seats. Whenthey had all done so, he requested Owen to put out the lamp and thecandles on the tree, and then he made another speech, imitating themanner of the lecturer at the panorama entertainment before mentioned. 

'Ladies and Gentlemen: with your kind permission I am about tohinterduce to your notice some pitchers of events in different parts ofthe world. As each pitcher appears on the stage I will give a shortexplanation of the subject, and afterwards the band will play asuitable collection of appropriated music, consisting of hymns and allthe latest and most popular songs of the day, and the audience iskindly requested to join in the chorus. 

'Our first scene, ' continued Bert as he turned the handles and broughtthe picture into view, 'represents the docks at Southampton; themagnificent steamer which you see lying alongside the shore is the shipwhich is waiting to take us to foreign parts. As we have already paidour fare, we will now go on board and set sail. '

As an accompaniment to this picture Bert played the tune of 'Goodbye, Dolly, I must leave you', and by the time the audience had finishedsinging the chorus he had rolled on another scene, which depicted adreadful storm at sea, with a large ship evidently on the point offoundering. The waves were running mountains high and the inky cloudswere riven by forked lightning. To increase the terrifying effect, Bert rattled the tea tray and played 'The Bay of Biscay', and thechildren sung the chorus whilst he rolled the next picture into view. This scene showed the streets of a large city; mounted police withdrawn swords were dispersing a crowd: several men had been ridden downand were being trampled under the hoofs of the horses, and a number ofothers were bleeding profusely from wounds on the head and face. 

'After a rather stormy passage we arrives safely at the beautiful cityof Berlin, in Germany, just in time to see a procession of unemployedworkmen being charged by the military police. This picture ishintitled "Tariff Reform means Work for All". '

As an appropriate musical selection Bert played the tune of awell-known song, and the children sang the words:

 'To be there! to be there! Oh, I knew what it was to be there! And when they tore me clothes, Blacked me eyes and broke me nose, Then I knew what it was to be there!'

During the singing Bert turned the handles backwards and again broughton the picture of the storm at sea. 

'As we don't want to get knocked on the 'ed, we clears out of Berlin assoon as we can--whiles we're safe--and once more embarks on our gallintship' and after a few more turns of the 'andle we finds ourselves backonce more in Merry Hingland, where we see the inside of a blacksmith'sshop with a lot of half-starved women making iron chains. They workseventy hours a week for seven shillings. Our next scene is hintitled"The Hook and Eye Carders". 'Ere we see the inside of a room inSlumtown, with a mother and three children and the old grandmothersewin' hooks and eyes on cards to be sold in drapers' shops. It sesunderneath the pitcher that 384 hooks and 384 eyes has to be joinedtogether and sewed on cards for one penny. '

While this picture was being rolled away the band played and thechildren sang with great enthusiasm:

 'Rule, Brittania, Brittania rules the waves! Britons, never, never, never shall be slaves!'

'Our next picture is called "An Englishman's Home". 'Ere we see theinside of another room in Slumtown, with the father and mother and fourchildren sitting down to dinner--bread and drippin' and tea. It sesunderneath the pitcher that there's Thirteen millions of people inEngland always on the verge of starvation. These people that you seein the pitcher might be able to get a better dinner than this if itwasn't that most of the money wot the bloke earns 'as to pay the rent. Again we turns the 'andle and presently we comes to another verybeautiful scene--"Early Morning in Trafalgar Square". 'Ere we see alot of Englishmen who have been sleepin' out all night because theyain't got no 'omes to go to. '

As a suitable selection for this picture, Bert played the tune of amusic-hall song, the words of which were familiar to all theyoungsters, who sang at the top of their voices:

 'I live in Trafalgar Square, With four lions to guard me, Pictures and statues all over the place, Lord Nelson staring me straight in the face, Of course it's rather draughty, But still I'm sure you'll agree, If it's good enough for Lord Nelson, It's quite good enough for me. '

'Next we 'ave a view of the dining-hall at the Topside Hotel in London, where we see the tables set for a millionaires' banquet. The forks andspoons is made of solid gold and the plates is made of silver. Theflowers that you see on the tables and 'angin' down from the ceilin'and on the walls is worth �2, 000 and it cost the bloke wot give thesupper over �30, 000 for this one beano. A few more turns of the 'andleshows us another glorious banquet--the King of Rhineland beingentertained by the people of England. Next we finds ourselves lookingon at the Lord Mayor's supper at the Mansion House. All the fat menthat you see sittin' at the tables is Liberal and Tory Members ofParlimint. After this we 'ave a very beautiful pitcher hintitled "Fourfooted Haristocrats". 'Ere you see Lady Slumrent's pet dogs sittin' upon chairs at their dinner table with white linen napkins tied roundtheir necks, eatin' orf silver plates like human people and beingwaited on by real live waiters in hevening dress. Lady Slumrent isvery fond of her pretty pets and she does not allow them to be fed onanything but the very best food; they gets chicken, rump steak, muttonchops, rice pudding, jelly and custard. '

'I wished I was a pet dog, don't you?' remarked Tommy Newman to CharleyLinden. 

'Not arf!' replied Charley. 

'Here we see another unemployed procession, ' continued Bert as herolled another picture into sight; '2, 000 able-bodied men who are notallowed to work. Next we see the hinterior of a Hindustrial'Ome--Blind children and cripples working for their living. Our nextscene is called "Cheap Labour". 'Ere we see a lot of small boys abouttwelve and thirteen years old bein' served out with their LabourStifficats, which gives 'em the right to go to work and earn money tohelp their unemployed fathers to pay the slum rent. 

'Once more we turns the 'andle and brings on one of our finest scenes. This lovely pitcher is hintitled "The Hangel of Charity", and shows usthe beautiful Lady Slumrent seated at the table in a cosy corner of 'ercharmin' boodore, writin' out a little cheque for the relief of thepoor of Slumtown. 

'Our next scene is called "The Rival Candidates, or, a Scene during theGeneral Election". On the left you will observe, standin' up in amotor car, a swell bloke with a eyeglass stuck in one eye, and aovercoat with a big fur collar and cuffs, addressing the crowd: this isthe Honourable Augustus Slumrent, the Conservative candidate. On theother side of the road we see another motor car and another swell blokewith a round pane of glass in one eye and a overcoat with a big furcollar and cuffs, standing up in the car and addressin' the crowd. Thisis Mr Mandriver, the Liberal candidate. The crowds of shabby-lookin'chaps standin' round the motor cars wavin' their 'ats and cheerin' isworkin' men. Both the candidates is tellin' 'em the same old story, and each of 'em is askin' the workin' men to elect 'im to Parlimint, and promisin' to do something or other to make things better for thelower horders. '

As an appropriate selection to go with this picture, Bert played thetune of a popular song, the words being well known to the children, whosang enthusiastically, clapping their hands and stamping their feet onthe floor in time with the music:

 'We've both been there before, Many a time, many a time! We've both been there before, Many a time! Where many a gallon of beer has gone. To colour his nose and mine, We've both been there before, Many a time, many a time!'

At the conclusion of the singing, Bert turned another picture into view. 

''Ere we 'ave another election scene. At each side we see the twocandidates the same as in the last pitcher. In the middle of the roadwe see a man lying on the ground, covered with blood, with a lot ofLiberal and Tory working men kickin' 'im, jumpin' on 'im, and stampin'on 'is face with their 'obnailed boots. The bloke on the ground is aSocialist, and the reason why they're kickin' 'is face in is because 'esaid that the only difference between Slumrent and Mandriver was thatthey was both alike. '

While the audience were admiring this picture, Bert played anotherwell-known tune, and the children sang the words:

 'Two lovely black eyes, Oh what a surprise! Only for telling a man he was wrong, Two lovely black eyes. '

Bert continued to turn the handles of the rollers and a long successionof pictures passed across the stage, to the delight of the children, who cheered and sang as occasion demanded, but the most enthusiasticoutburst of all greeted the appearance of the final picture, which wasa portrait of the King. Directly the children saw it--without waitingfor the band--they gave three cheers and began to sing the chorus ofthe National Anthem. 

A round of applause for Bert concluded the Pandorama performance; thelamp and the candles of the Christmas tree were relit--for although allthe toys had been taken off, the tree still made a fine show with theshining glass ornaments--and then they had some more games; blind man'sbuff, a tug-of-war--in which Philpot was defeated with greatlaughter--and a lot of other games. And when they were tired of these, each child 'said a piece' or sung a song, learnt specially for theoccasion. The only one who had not come prepared in this respect waslittle Rosie, and even she--so as to be the same as theothers--insisted on reciting the only piece she knew. Kneeling on thehearthrug, she put her hands together, palm to palm, and shutting hereyes very tightly she repeated the verse she always said every nightbefore going to bed:

 'Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, Look on me, a little child. Pity my simplicity, Suffer me to come to Thee. '

Then she stood up and kissed everyone in turn, and Philpot crossed overand began looking out of the window, and coughed, and blew his nose, because a nut that he had been eating had gone down the wrong way. 

Most of them were by this time quite tired out, so after some supperthe party broke up. Although they were nearly all very sleepy, none ofthem were very willing to go, but they were consoled by the thought ofanother entertainment to which they were going later on in theweek--the Band of Hope Tea and Prize Distribution at the Shining LightChapel. 

Bert undertook to see Elsie and Charley safely home, and Philpotvolunteered to accompany Nellie and Tommy Newman, and to carry Rosie, who was so tired that she fell asleep on his shoulder before they leftthe house. 

As they were going down the stairs Frankie held a hurried consultationwith his mother, with the result that he was able to shout after theman invitation to come again next Christmas. 

Chapter 30

The Brigands hold a Council of War

It being now what is usually called the festive season--possiblybecause at this period of the year a greater number of people aresuffering from hunger and cold than at any other time--the reader willnot be surprised at being invited to another little party which tookplace on the day after the one we have just left. The scene was MrSweater's office. Mr Sweater was seated at his desk, but with hischair swung round to enable him to face his guests--Messrs Rushton, Didlum, and Grinder, who were also seated. 

'Something will 'ave to be done, and that very soon, ' Grinder wassaying. 'We can't go on much longer as we're doing at present. For mypart, I think the best thing to do is to chuck up the sponge at once;the company is practically bankrupt now, and the longer we waits theworser it will be. '

'That's just my opinion, ' said Didlum dejectedly. 'If we could supplythe electric light at the same price as gas, or a little cheaper, wemight have some chance; but we can't do it. The fact is that themachinery we've got is no dam good; it's too small and it's wore out, consequently the light we supply is inferior to gas and costs more. '

'Yes, I think we're fairly beaten this time, ' said Rushton. 'Why, evenif the Gas Coy hadn't moved their works beyond the borough boundary, still we shouldn't 'ave been hable to compete with 'em. '

'Of course not, ' said Grinder. 'The truth of the matter is just wotDidlum says. Our machinery is too small, it's worn hout, and good fornothing but to be throwed on the scrap-heap. So there's only one thingleft to do and that is--go into liquidation. '

'I don't see it, ' remarked Sweater. 

'Well, what do you propose, then?' demanded Grinder. 'Reconstruct thecompany? Ask the shareholders for more money? Pull down the works andbuild fresh, and buy some new machinery? And then most likely not makea do of it after all? Not for me, old chap! I've 'ad enough. Youwon't catch me chuckin' good money after bad in that way. '

'Nor me neither, ' said Rushton. 

'Dead orf!' remarked Didlum, very decidedly. 

Sweater laughed quietly. 'I'm not such a fool as to suggest anythingof that sort, ' he said. 'You seem to forget that I am one of thelargest shareholders myself. No. What I propose is that we Sell Out. '

'Sell out!' replied Grinder with a contemptuous laugh in which theothers joined. 'Who's going to buy the shares of a concern that'spractically bankrupt and never paid a dividend?'

'I've tried to sell my little lot several times already, ' said Didlumwith a sickly smile, 'but nobody won't buy 'em. '

'Who's to buy?' repeated Sweater, replying to Grinder. 'Themunicipality of course! The ratepayers. Why shouldn't Mugsborough goin for Socialism as well as other towns?'

Rushton, Didlum and Grinder fairly gasped for breath: the audacity ofthe chief's proposal nearly paralysed them. 

'I'm afraid we should never git away with it, ' ejaculated Didlum, assoon as he could speak. 'When the people tumbled to it, there'd be nohend of a row. '

'PEOPLE! ROW!' replied Sweater, scornfully. 'The majority of thepeople will never know anything about it! Listen to me--'

'Are you quite sure as we can't be over'eard?' interrupted Rushton, glancing nervously at the door and round the office. 

'It's all right, ' answered Sweater, who nevertheless lowered his voicealmost to a whisper, and the others drew their chairs closer and bentforward to listen. 

'You know we still have a little money in hand: well, what I propose isthis: At the annual meeting, which, as you know, comes off next week, we'll arrange for the Secretary to read a highly satisfactory report, and we'll declare a dividend of 15 per cent--we can arrange it somehowbetween us. Of course, we'll have to cook the accounts a little, butI'll see that it's done properly. The other shareholders are not goingto ask any awkward questions, and we all understand each other. '

Sweater paused, and regarded the other three brigands intently. 'Doyou follow me?' he asked. 

'Yes, yes, ' said Didlum eagerly. 'Go on with it. ' And Rushton andGrinder nodded assent. 

'Afterwards, ' resumed Sweater, 'I'll arrange for a good report of themeeting to appear in the Weekly Ananias. I'll instruct the Editor towrite it himself, and I'll tell him just what to say. I'll also gethim to write a leading article about it, saying that electricity issure to supersede gas for lighting purposes in the very near future. Then the article will go on to refer to the huge profits made by theGas Coy and to say how much better it would have been if the town hadbought the gasworks years ago, so that those profits might have beenused to reduce the rates, the same as has been done in other towns. Finally, the article will declare that it's a great pity that theElectric Light Supply should be in the hands of a private company, andto suggest that an effort be made to acquire it for the town. 

'In the meantime we can all go about--in a very quiet and judiciousway, of course--bragging about what a good thing we've got, and sayingwe don't mean to sell. We shall say that we've overcome all theinitial expenses and difficulties connected with the installation ofthe works--that we are only just beginning to reap the reward of ourindustry and enterprise, and so on. 

'Then, ' continued the Chief, 'we can arrange for it to be proposed inthe Council that the Town should purchase the Electric Light Works. '

'But not by one of us four, you know, ' said Grinder with a cunning leer. 

'Certainly not; that would give the show away at once. There are, asyou know--several members of the Band who are not shareholders in thecompany; we'll get some of them to do most of the talking. We, beingthe directors of the company, must pretend to be against selling, andstick out for our own price; and when we do finally consent we mustmake out that we are sacrificing our private interests for the good ofthe Town. We'll get a committee appointed--we'll have an expertengineer down from London--I know a man that will suit our purposeadmirably--we'll pay him a trifle and he'll say whatever we tell himto--and we'll rush the whole business through before you can say "JackRobinson", and before the rate-payers have time to realize what's beingdone. Not that we need worry ourselves much about them. Most of themtake no interest in public affairs, but even if there is somethingsaid, it won't matter much to us once we've got the money. It'll be anine days' wonder and then we'll hear no more of it. '

As the Chief ceased speaking, the other brigands also remained silent, speechless with admiration of his cleverness. 

'Well, what do you think of it?' he asked. 

'Think of it!' cried Grinder, enthusiastically. 'I think it'ssplendid! Nothing could be better. If we can honly git away with it, I reckon it'll be one of the smartest thing we've ever done. '

'Smart ain't the word for it, ' observed Rushton. 

'There's no doubt it's a grand idear!' exclaimed Didlum, 'and I've justthought of something else that might be done to help it along. We couldarrange to 'ave a lot of letters sent "To the Editor of the Obscurer"and "To the Editor of the Ananias, " and "To the Editor of the WeeklyChloroform" in favour of the scheme. '

'Yes, that's a very good idea, ' said Grinder. 'For that matter theeditors could write them to themselves and sign them "Progress", "Ratepayer", "Advance Mugsborough", and sich-like. '

'Yes, that's all right, ' said the Chief, thoughtfully, 'but we must becareful not to overdo it; of course there will have to be a certainamount of publicity, but we don't want to create too much interest init. '

'Come to think of it, ' observed Rushton arrogantly, 'why should wetrouble ourselves about the opinion of the ratepayers at all? Whyshould we trouble to fake the books, or declare a dividend or 'ave theharticles in the papers or anything else? We've got the game in ourown 'ands; we've got a majority in the Council, and, as Mr Sweater ses, very few people even take the trouble to read the reports of themeetings. '

'Yes, that's right enough, ' said Grinder. 'But it's just them few wotwould make a lot of trouble and talk; THEY'RE the very people we 'as tothink about. If we can only manage to put THEM in a fog we'll be allright, and the way to do it is as Mr Sweater proposes. '

'Yes, I think so, ' said the Chief. 'We must be very careful. I canwork it all right in the Ananias and the Chloroform, and of courseyou'll see that the Obscurer backs us up. '

'I'll take care of that, ' said Grinder, grimly. 

The three local papers were run by limited companies. Sweater heldnearly all the shares of the Ananias and of the Weekly Chloroform, andcontrolled their policy and contents. Grinder occupied the sameposition with regard to the Obscurer. The editors were a sort ofmarionettes who danced as Sweater and Grinder pulled the strings. 

'I wonder how Dr Weakling will take it?' remarked Rushton. 

'That's the very thing I was just thinkin' about, ' cried Didlum. 'Don'tyou think it would be a good plan if we could arrange to 'ave somebodytook bad--you know, fall down in a fit or something in the street justoutside the Town 'All just before the matter is brought forward in theCouncil, and then 'ave someone to come and call 'im out to attend tothe party wot's ill, and keep 'im out till the business is done. '

'Yes, that's a capital idear, ' said Grinder thoughtfully. 'But whocould we get to 'ave the fit? It would 'ave to be someone we couldtrust, you know. '

''Ow about Rushton? You wouldn't mind doin' it, would yer?' inquiredDidlum. 

'I should strongly object, ' said Rushton haughtily. He regarded thesuggestion that he should act such an undignified part, as a kind ofsacrilege. 

'Then I'll do it meself if necessary, ' said Didlum. 'I'm not proudwhen there's money to be made; anything for an honest living. '

'Well, I think we're all agreed, so far, ' remarked Sweater. The otherssignified assent. 

'And I think we all deserve a drink, ' the Chief continued, producing adecanter and a box of cigars from a cupboard by the side of his desk. 'Pass that water bottle from behind you, Didlum. '

'I suppose nobody won't be comin' in?' said the latter, anxiously. 'I'ma teetotaler, you know. '

'Oh, it's all right, ' said Sweater, taking four glasses out of thecupboard and pouring out the whisky. 'I've given orders that we're notto be disturbed for anyone. Say when. '

'Well, 'ere's success to Socialism, ' cried Grinder, raising his glass, and taking a big drink. 

'Amen--'ear, 'ear, I mean, ' said Didlum, hastily correcting himself. 

'Wot I likes about this 'ere business is that we're not only doin'ourselves a bit of good, ' continued Grinder with a laugh, 'we're notonly doin' ourselves a bit of good, but we're likewise doin' theSocialists a lot of 'arm. When the ratepayers 'ave bought the Works, and they begins to kick up a row because they're losin' money overit--we can tell 'em that it's Socialism! And then they'll say that ifthat's Socialism they don't want no more of it. '

The other brigands laughed gleefully, and some of Didlum's whisky wentdown the wrong way and nearly sent him into a fit. 

'You might as well kill a man at once, ' he protested as he wiped thetears from his eyes, 'you might as well kill a man at once as choke 'imto death. '

'And now I've got a bit of good news for you, ' said the Chief as he puthis empty glass down. 

The others became serious at once. 

'Although we've had a very rough time of it in our contest with theGasworks Company, and although we've got the worst of it, it hasn'tbeen all lavender for them, you know. They've not enjoyed themselveseither: we hit them pretty hard when we put up the coal dues. '

'A damn good job too, ' said Grinder malignantly. 

'Well, ' continued Sweater, 'they're just as sick of the fight as theywant to be, because of course they don't know exactly how badly we'vebeen hit. For all they know, we could have continued the struggleindefinitely: and--well, to make a long story short, I've had a talkwith the managing director and one or two others, and they're willingto let us in with them. So that we can put the money we get for theElectric Light Works into gas shares!'

This was such splendid news that they had another drink on the strengthof it, and Didlum said that one of the first things they would have todo would be to totally abolish the Coal Dues, because they pressed sohard on the poor. 

Chapter 31

The Deserter

About the end of January, Slyme left Easton's. The latter had notsucceeded in getting anything to do since the work at 'The Cave' wasfinished, and latterly the quality of the food had been falling off. The twelve shillings Slyme paid for his board and lodging was all thatRuth had to keep house with. She had tried to get some work to doherself, but generally without success; there were one or two jobs thatshe might have had if she had been able to give her whole time to them, but of course that was not possible; the child and the housework had tobe attended to, and Slyme's meals had to be prepared. Nevertheless, shecontrived to get away several times when she had a chance of earning afew shillings by doing a day's charing for some lady or other, and thenshe left everything in such order at home that Easton was able tomanage all right while she was away. On these occasions, she usuallyleft the baby with Owen's wife, who was an old schoolmate of hers. Nora was the more willing to render her this service because Frankieused to be so highly delighted whenever it happened. He never tired ofplaying with the child, and for several days afterwards he used toworry his mother with entreaties to buy a baby of their own. 

Easton earned a few shillings occasionally; now and then he got a jobto clean windows, and once or twice he did a few days' or hours' workwith some other painter who had been fortunate enough to get a littlejob 'on his own'--such as a ceiling to wash and whiten, or a room ortwo to paint; but such jobs were few. 

Sometimes, when they were very hard up, they sold something; the Biblethat used to lie on the little table in the bay window was one of thefirst things to be parted with. Ruth erased the inscription from thefly-leaf and then they sold the book at a second-hand shop for twoshillings. As time went on, they sold nearly everything that wassaleable, except of course, the things that were obtained on the hiresystem. 

Slyme could see that they were getting very much into debt and behindwith the rent, and on two occasions already Easton had borrowed fiveshillings from him, which he might never be able to pay back. Anotherthing was that Slyme was always in fear that Ruth--who had never whollyabandoned herself to wrongdoing--might tell Easton what had happened;more than once she had talked of doing so, and the principal reason whyshe refrained was that she knew that even if he forgave her, he couldnever think the same of her as before. Slyme repeatedly urged thisview upon her, pointing out that no good could result from such aconfession. 

Latterly the house had become very uncomfortable. It was not only thatthe food was bad and that sometimes there was no fire, but Ruth andEaston were nearly always quarrelling about something or other. Shescarcely spoke to Slyme at all, and avoided sitting at the table withhim whenever possible. He was in constant dread that Easton mightnotice her manner towards him, and seek for some explanation. Altogether the situation was so unpleasant that Slyme determined toclear out. He made the excuse that he had been offered a few weeks'work at a place some little distance outside the town. After he wasgone they lived for several weeks in semi-starvation on what creditthey could get and by selling the furniture or anything else theypossessed that could be turned into money. The things out of Slyme'sroom were sold almost directly he left. 

Chapter 32

The Veteran

Old Jack Linden had tried hard to earn a little money by sellingbloaters, but they often went bad, and even when he managed to sellthem all the profit was so slight that it was not worth doing. 

Before the work at 'The Cave' was finished, Philpot was a good friendto them; he frequently gave old Jack sixpence or a shilling and oftenbrought a bag off cakes or buns for the children. Sometimes he came totea with them on Sundays as an excuse for bringing a tin of salmon. 

Elsie and Charley frequently went to Owen's house to take tea withFrankie; in fact, whilst Owen had anything to do, they almost livedthere, for both Owen and Nora, knowing that the Lindens had nothing tolive on except the earnings of the young woman, encouraged the childrento come often. 

Old Jack made some hopeless attempts to get work--work of any kind, butnobody wanted him; and to make things worse, his eyesight, which hadbeen failing for a long time, became very bad. Once he was given a jobby a big provision firm to carry an advertisement about the streets. The man who had been carrying it before--an old soldier--had beensacked the previous day for getting drunk while on duty. Theadvertisement was not an ordinary pair of sandwich boards, but a sortof box without any bottom or lid, a wooden frame, four sides coveredwith canvas, an which were pasted printed bills advertising margarine. Each side of this box or frame was rather larger than an ordinarysandwich board. 

Old Linden had to get inside this thing and carry it about the streets;two straps fixed across the top of the frame and passing one over eachof his shoulders enabled him to carry it. It swayed about a good dealas he walked along, especially when the wind caught it, but there weretwo handles inside to hold it steady by. The pay was eighteenpence aday, and he had to travel a certain route, up and down the busieststreets. 

At first the frame did not feel very heavy, but the weight seemed toincrease as the time went on, and the straps hurt his shoulders. Hefelt very much ashamed, also, whenever he encountered any of his oldmates, some of whom laughed at him. 

In consequence of the frame requiring so much attention to keep itsteady, and being unused to the work, and his sight so bad, he severaltimes narrowly escaped being run over. Another thing that added to hisembarrassment was the jeering of the other sandwichmen, the loafersoutside the public houses, and the boys, who shouted 'old Jack in thebox' after him. Sometimes the boys threw refuse at the frame, and oncea decayed orange thrown by one of them knocked his hat off. 

By the time evening came he was scarcely able to stand for weariness. His shoulders, his legs and his feet ached terribly, and as he wastaking the thing back to the shop he was accosted by a ragged, dirty-looking, beer-sodden old man whose face was inflamed with drinkand fury. 'This was the old soldier who had been discharged theprevious day. He cursed and swore in the most awful manner and accusedLinden of 'taking the bread out of his mouth', and, shaking his fistfiercely at him, shouted that he had a good mind to knock his facethrough his head and out of the back of his neck. He might possiblyhave tried to put this threat into practice but for the timelyappearance of a policeman, when he calmed down at once and took himselfoff. 

Jack did not go back the next day; he felt that he would rather starvethan have any more of the advertisement frame, and after this he seemedto abandon all hope of earning money: wherever he went it was thesame--no one wanted him. So he just wandered about the streetsaimlessly, now and then meeting an old workmate who asked him to have adrink, but this was not often, for nearly all of them were out of workand penniless. 

Chapter 33

The Soldier's Children

During most of this time, Jack Linden's daughter-in-law had 'Plenty ofWork', making blouses and pinafores for Sweater & Co. She had so muchto 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 ofblouses--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 soneatly that they kept her busy on the better qualities, which did notpay her so well, because although she was paid more per dozen, therewas a great deal more work in them than in the cheaper kinds. Once shehad 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, andpaid three guineas for it. But of course Mrs Linden knew nothing ofthat, and even if she had known, it would have made no difference toher. 

Most of the money she earned went to pay the rent, and sometimes therewas 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 shewas not always able to do it. There were times when the strain ofworking the machine was unendurable: her shoulders ached, her armsbecame cramped, and her eyes pained so that it was impossible tocontinue. Then for a change she would leave the sewing and do somehousework. 

Once, when they owed four weeks' rent, the agent was so threateningthat they were terrified at the thought of being sold up and turned outof the house, and so she decided to sell the round mahogany table andsome of the other things out of the sitting-room. Nearly all thefurniture that was in the house now belonged to her, and had formed herhome before her husband died. The old people had given most of theirthings away at different times to their other sons since she had cometo live there. These men were all married and all in employment. Onewas a fitter at the gasworks; the second was a railway porter, and theother was a butcher; but now that the old man was out of work theyseldom came to the house. The last time they had been there was onChristmas Eve, and then there had been such a terrible row between themthat the children had been awakened by it and frightened nearly out oftheir lives. The cause of the row was that some time previously theyhad 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 hadstopped his contribution: it had occurred to him that he was not to beexpected to help to keep his brother's widow and her children. If theold people liked to give up the house and go to live in a roomsomewhere by themselves, he would continue paying his shilling a week, but not otherwise. Upon this the railway porter and the gas-fitteralso ceased paying. They said it wasn't fair that they should pay ashilling a week each when the butcher--who was the eldest and earnedthe best wages--paid nothing. Provided he paid, they would pay; but ifhe didn't pay anything, neither would they. On Christmas Eve they allhappened to come to the house at the same time; each denounced theothers, and after nearly coming to blows they all went away raging andcursing and had not been near the place since. 

As soon as she decided to sell the things, Mary went to Didlum'ssecond-hand furniture store, and the manager said he would ask MrDidlum to call and see the table and other articles. She waitedanxiously all the morning, but he did not appear, so she went once moreto the shop to remind him. When he did come at last he was verycontemptuous of the table and of everything else she offered to sell. Five shillings was the very most he could think of giving for thetable, and even then he doubted whether he would ever get his moneyback. Eventually he gave her thirty shillings for the table, theovermantel, the easy chair, three other chairs and the two bestpictures--one a large steel engraving of 'The Good Samaritan' and theother 'Christ Blessing Little Children'. 

He paid the money at once; half an hour afterwards the van came to takethe things away, and when they were gone, Mary sank down on thehearthrug in the wrecked room and sobbed as if her heart would break. 

This was the first of several similar transactions. Slowly, piece bypiece, in order to buy food and to pay the rent, the furniture wassold. Every time Didlum came he affected to be doing them a very greatfavour by buying the things at all. Almost an act of charity. He didnot want them. Business was so bad: it might be years before he couldsell them again, and so on. Once or twice he asked Mary if she did notwant to sell the clock--the one that her late husband had made for hismother, but Mary shrank from the thought of selling this, until at lastthere was nothing else left that Didlum would buy, and one week, whenMary was too ill to do any needlework--it had to go. He gave them tenshillings for it. 

Mary had expected the old woman to be heartbroken at having to partwith this clock, but she was surprised to see her almost indifferent. The truth was, that lately both the old people seemed stunned, andincapable of taking an intelligent interest in what was happeningaround them, and Mary had to attend to everything. 

From time to time nearly all their other possessions--things ofinferior value that Didlum would not look at, she carried out and soldat small second-hand shops in back streets or pledged at thepawn-broker's. The feather pillows, sheets, and blankets: bits ofcarpet or oilcloth, and as much of their clothing as was saleable orpawnable. They felt the loss of the bedclothes more than anythingelse, for although all the clothes they wore during the day, and allthe old clothes and dresses in the house, and even an old colouredtablecloth, were put on the beds at night, they did not compensate forthe blankets, and they were often unable to sleep on account of theintense cold. 

A lady district visitor who called occasionally sometimes gave Mary anorder for a hundredweight of coal or a shillingsworth of groceries, ora ticket for a quart of soup, which Elsie fetched in the evening fromthe Soup Kitchen. But this was not very often, because, as the ladysaid, there were so many cases similar to theirs that it was impossibleto 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 timebeing, and positively could not do any work at all. Then she used tolie down on the bed in her room and cry. 

Whenever she became like this, Elsie and Charley used to do thehousework when they came home from school, and make tea and toast forher, and bring it to the bedside on a chair so that she could eat lyingdown. 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 sodifferent from other days when their mother was so busy she had no timeto speak to them. 

They would sit on the side of the bed, the old grandmother in her chairopposite with the cat beside her listening to the conversation andpurring or mewing whenever they stroked it or spoke to it. They talkedprincipally of the future. Elsie said she was going to be a teacherand 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 andcart. 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 yourshop--good stuff, too, tins of salmon, jam, sardines, eggs, cakes, biscuits and all those sorts of things--and one was almost certain tohave some money every day, because it wasn't likely that a whole daywould go by without someone or other coming into the shop to buysomething. When delivering the groceries with the horse and cart, hewould give rides to all the boys he knew, and in the summertime, afterthe work was done and the shop shut up, Mother and Elsie and Grannycould also come for long rides into the country. 

The old grandmother--who had latterly become quite childish--used tosit and listen to all this talk with a superior air. Sometimes sheargued with the children about their plans, and ridiculed them. Sheused to say with a chuckle that she had heard people talk like thatbefore--lots of times--but it never came to nothing in the end. 

One week about the middle of February, when they were in very sorestraits indeed, old Jack applied to the secretary of the OrganizedBenevolence Society for assistance. It was about eleven o'clock in themorning when he turned the corner of the street where the office of thesociety was situated and saw a crowd of about thirty men waiting forthe doors to be opened in order to apply for soup tickets. Some ofthese men were of the tramp or the drunken loafer class; some were old, broken-down workmen like himself, and others were labourers wearingcorduroy or moleskin trousers with straps round their legs under theirknees. 

Linden waited at a distance until all these were gone before he wentin. The secretary received him sympathetically and gave him a big formto fill up, but as Linden's eyes were so bad and his hand so unsteadythe secretary very obligingly wrote in the answers himself, andinformed him that he would inquire into the case and lay hisapplication before the committee at the next meeting, which was to beheld on the following Thursday--it was then Monday. 

Linden explained to him that they were actually starving. He had beenout of work for sixteen weeks, and during all that time they had livedfor the most part on the earnings of his daughter-in-law, but she hadnot done anything for nearly a fortnight now, because the firm sheworked for had not had any work for her to do. There was no food inthe house and the children were crying for something to eat. All lastweek they had been going to school hungry, for they had had nothing butdry bread and tea every day: but this week--as far as he couldsee--they would not get even that. After some further talk thesecretary gave him two soup tickets and an order for a loaf of bread, and repeated his promise to inquire into the case and bring it beforethe committee. 

As Jack was returning home he passed the Soup Kitchen, where he saw thesame lot of men who had been to the office of the Organized BenevolenceSociety for the soup tickets. They were waiting in a long line to beadmitted. The premises being so small, the proprietor served them inbatches of ten at a time. 

On Wednesday the secretary called at the house, and on Friday Jackreceived a letter from him to the effect that the case had been dulyconsidered by the committee, who had come to the conclusion that as itwas a 'chronic' case they were unable to deal with it, and advised himto apply to the Board of Guardians. This was what Linden had hithertoshrunk from doing, but the situation was desperate. They owed fiveweeks' rent, and to crown their misfortune his eyesight had become sobad that even if there had been any prospect of obtaining work it wasvery doubtful if he could have managed to do it. So Linden, feelingutterly crushed and degraded, swallowed all that remained of his prideand went like a beaten dog to see the relieving officer, who took himbefore the Board, who did not think it a suitable case for out-relief, and after some preliminaries it was arranged that Linden and his wifewere to go into the workhouse, and Mary was to be allowed threeshillings a week to help her to support herself and the two children. As for Linden's sons, the Guardians intimated their Intention ofcompelling them to contribute towards the cost of their parents'maintenance. 

Mary accompanied the old people to the gates of their futuredwelling-place, and when she returned home she found there a letteraddressed to J. Linden. It was from the house agent and contained anotice to leave the house before the end of the ensuing week. Nothingwas said about the rent that was due. Perhaps Mr Sweater thought thatas he had already received nearly six hundred pounds in rent fromLinden he could afford to be generous about the five weeks that werestill owing--or perhaps he thought there was no possibility of gettingthe money. However that may have been, there was no reference to it inthe letter--it was simply a notice to clear out, addressed to Linden, but meant for Mary. 

It was about half past three o'clock in the afternoon when she returnedhome and found this letter on the floor in the front passage. She wasfaint with fatigue and hunger, for she had had nothing but a cup of teaand a slice of bread that day, and her fare had not been much betterfor many weeks past. The children were at school, and the house--nowalmost destitute of furniture and without carpets or oilcloth on thefloors--was deserted and cold and silent as a tomb. On the kitchentable were a few cracked cups and saucers, a broken knife, some leadteaspoons, a part of a loaf, a small basin containing some dripping anda brown earthenware teapot with a broken spout. Near the table were twobroken kitchen chairs, one with the top cross-piece gone from the back, and the other with no back to the seat at all. The bareness of thewalls was relieved only by a coloured almanac and some paper pictureswhich the children had tacked upon them, and by the side of thefireplace was the empty wicker chair where the old woman used to sit. There was no fire in the grate, and the cold hearth was untidy with anaccumulation of ashes, for during the trouble of these last few daysshe had not had time or heart to do any housework. The floor wasunswept and littered with scraps of paper and dust: in one corner was aheap of twigs and small branches of trees that Charley had foundsomewhere and brought home for the fire. 

The same disorder prevailed all through the house: all the doors wereopen, and from where she stood in the kitchen she could see the bed sheshared with Elsie, with its heterogeneous heap of coverings. Thesitting-room contained nothing but a collection of odds and ends ofrubbish which belonged to Charley--his 'things' as he called them--bitsof wood, string and rope; one wheel of a perambulator, a top, an ironhoop and so on. Through the other door was visible the dilapidatedbedstead that had been used by the old people, with a similar lot ofbedclothes to those on her own bed, and the torn, ragged covering ofthe mattress through the side of which the flock was protruding andfalling in particles on to the floor. 

As she stood there with the letter in her hand--faint and weary in themidst of all this desolation, it seemed to her as if the whole worldwere falling to pieces and crumbling away all around her. 

Chapter 34

The Beginning of the End

During the months of January and February, Owen, Crass, Slyme andSawkins continued to work at irregular intervals for Rushton & Co. , although--even when there was anything to do--they now put in only sixhours a day, commencing in the morning and leaving off at four, with anhour's interval for dinner between twelve and one. They finished the'plant' and painted the front of Rushton's shop. When all this wascompleted, as no other work came in, they all had to 'stand off' withthe exception of Sawkins, who was kept on because he was cheap and ableto do all sorts of odd jobs, such as unstopping drains, repairing leakyroofs, rough painting or lime-washing, and he was also useful as alabourer for the plumbers, of whom there were now three employed atRushton's, the severe weather which had come in with January havingmade a lot of work in that trade. With the exception of this onebranch, practically all work was at a standstill. 

During this time Rushton & Co. Had had several 'boxing-up' jobs to do, and Crass always did the polishing of the coffins on these occasions, besides assisting to take the 'box' home when finished and to 'lift in'the corpse, and afterwards he always acted as one of the bearers at thefunerals. For an ordinary class funeral he usually put in about threehours for the polishing; that came to one and nine. Taking home thecoffin and lifting in the corpse, one shilling--usually there were twomen to do this besides Hunter, who always accompanied them tosuperintend the work--attending the funeral and acting as bearer, fourshillings: so that altogether Crass made six shillings and ninepenceout of each funeral, and sometimes a little more. For instance, whenthere was an unusually good-class corpse they had a double coffin andthen of course there were two 'lifts in', for the shell was taken homefirst and the outer coffin perhaps a day or two later: this madeanother shilling. No matter how expensive the funeral was, the bearersnever got any more money. Sometimes the carpenter and Crass were ableto charge an hour or two more on the making and polishing of a coffinfor a good job, but that was all. Sometimes, when there was a verycheap job, they were paid only three shillings for attending asbearers, but this was not often: as a rule they got the same amountwhether it was a cheap funeral or an expensive one. Slyme earned onlyfive shillings out of each funeral, and Owen only one and six--forwriting the coffin plate. 

Sometimes there were three or four funerals in a week, and then Crassdid very well indeed. He still had the two young men lodgers at hishouse, and although one of them was out of work he was still able topay his way because he had some money in the bank. 

One of the funeral jobs led to a terrible row between Crass andSawkins. The corpse was that of a well-to-do woman who had been illfor a long time with cancer of the stomach, and after the funeralRushton & Co. Had to clean and repaint and paper the room she hadoccupied during her illness. Although cancer is not supposed to be aninfectious disease, they had orders to take all the bedding away andhave it burnt. Sawkins was instructed to take a truck to the house andget the bedding and take it to the town Refuse Destructor to bedestroyed. There were two feather beds, a bolster and two pillows:they were such good things that Sawkins secretly resolved that insteadof taking them to the Destructor he would take them to a second-handdealer and sell them. 

As he was coming away from the house with the things he met Hunter, whotold him that he wanted him for some other work; so he was to take thetruck to the yard and leave it there for the present; he could take thebedding to the Destructor later on in the day. Sawkins did as Hunterordered, and in the meantime Crass, who happened to be working at theyard painting some venetian blinds, saw the things on the truck, and, hearing what was to be done with them, he also thought it was a pitythat such good things should be destroyed: so when Sawkins came in theafternoon to take them away Crass told him he need not trouble; 'I'mgoin' to 'ave that lot, he said; 'they're too good to chuck away;there's nothing wrong with 'em. '

This did not suit Sawkins at all. He said he had been told to takethem to the Destructor, and he was going to do so. He was dragging thecart out of the yard when Crass rushed up and lifted the bundle off andcarried it into the paint-shop. Sawkins ran after him and they beganto curse and swear at each other; Crass accusing Sawkins of intendingto take the things to the marine stores and sell them. Sawkins seizedhold of the bundle with the object of replacing it on the cart, butCrass got hold of it as well and they had a tussle for it--a kind oftug of war--reeling and struggling all over the shop. Cursing andswearing horribly all the time. Finally, Sawkins--being the better manof the two--succeeded in wrenching the bundle away and put it on thecart again, and then Crass hurriedly put on his coat and said he wasgoing to the office to ask Mr Rushton if he might have the things. Upon hearing this, Sawkins became so infuriated that he lifted thebundle off the cart and, throwing it upon the muddy ground, right intoa pool of dirty water, trampled it underfoot; and then, taking out hisclasp knife, began savagely hacking and ripping the ticking so that thefeathers all came falling out. In a few minutes he had damaged thethings beyond hope of repair, while Crass stood by, white andtrembling, watching the proceedings but lacking the courage tointerfere. 

'Now go to the office and ask Rushton for 'em, if you like!' shoutedSawkins. 'You can 'ave 'em now, if you want 'em. '

Crass made no answer and, after a moment's hesitation, went back to hiswork, and Sawkins piled the things on the cart once more and took themaway to the Destructor. He would not be able to sell them now, but atany rate he had stopped that dirty swine Crass from getting them. 

When Crass went back to the paint-shop he found there one of thepillows which had fallen out of the bundle during the struggle. Hetook it home with him that evening and slept upon it. It was a finepillow, much fuller and softer and more cosy than the one he had beenaccustomed to. 

A few days afterwards when he was working at the room where the womandied, they gave him some other things that had belonged to her to doaway with, and amongst them was a kind of wrap of grey knitted wool. Crass kept this for himself: it was just the thing to wrap round one'sneck when going to work on a cold morning, and he used it for thatpurpose all through the winter. In addition to the funerals, there wasa little other work: sometimes a room or two to be painted and paperedand ceilings whitened, and once they had the outside of two smallcottages to paint--doors and windows--two coats. All four of themworked at this job and it was finished in two days. And so they wenton. 

Some weeks Crass earned a pound or eighteen shillings; sometimes alittle more, generally less and occasionally nothing at all. 

There was a lot of jealousy and ill-feeling amongst them about thework. Slyme and Crass were both aggrieved about Sawkins whenever theywere idle, especially if the latter were painting or whitewashing, andtheir indignation was shared by all the others who were 'off'. Harlowswore horribly about it, and they all agreed that it was disgracefulthat a bloody labourer should be employed doing what ought to beskilled work for fivepence an hour, while properly qualified men were'walking about'. These other men were also incensed against Slyme andCrass because the latter were given the preference whenever there was alittle job to do, and it was darkly insinuated that in order to securethis preference these two were working for sixpence an hour. There wasno love lost between Crass and Slyme either: Crass was furious wheneverit happened that Slyme had a few hours' work to do if he himself wereidle, and if ever Crass was working while Slyme was 'standing still'the latter went about amongst the other unemployed men saying uglythings about Crass, whom he accused of being a 'crawler'. Owen alsocame in for his share of abuse and blame: most of them said that a manlike him should stick out for higher wages whether employed on specialwork or not, and then he would not get any preference. But all thesame, whatever they said about each other behind each other's backs, they were all most friendly to each other when they met face to face. 

Once or twice Owen did some work--such as graining a door or writing asign--for one or other of his fellow workmen who had managed to securea little job 'on his own', but putting it all together, thecoffin-plates and other work at Rushton's and all, his earnings had notaveraged ten shillings a week for the last six weeks. Often they hadno coal and sometimes not even a penny to put into the gas meter, andthen, having nothing left good enough to pawn, he sometimes obtained afew pence by selling some of his books to second-hand book dealers. However, bad as their condition was, Owen knew that they were betteroff than the majority of the others, for whenever he went out he wascertain to meet numbers of men whom he had worked with at differenttimes, who said--some of them--that they had been idle for ten, twelve, fifteen and in some cases for twenty weeks without having earned ashilling. 

Owen used to wonder how they managed to continue to exist. Most ofthem were wearing other people's cast-off clothes, hats, and boots, which had in some instances been given to their wives by 'visitingladies', or by the people at whose houses their wives went to work, charing. As for food, most of them lived on such credit as they couldget, and on the scraps of broken victuals and meat that their wivesbrought home from the places they worked at. Some of them had grown-upsons and daughters who still lived with them and whose earnings kepttheir homes together, and the wives of some of them eked out amiserable existence by letting lodgings. 

The week before old Linden went into the workhouse Owen earned nothing, and to make matters worse the grocer from whom they usually boughttheir things suddenly refused to let them have any more credit. Owenwent to see him, and the man said he was very sorry, but he could notlet them have anything more without the money; he did not mind waitinga few weeks for what was already owing, but he could not let the amountget any higher; his books were full of bad debts already. Inconclusion, he said that he hoped Owen would not do as so many othershad done and take his ready money elsewhere. People came and gotcredit from him when they were hard up, and afterwards spent theirready money at the Monopole Company's stores on the other side of thestreet, because their goods were a trifle cheaper, and it was not fair. Owen admitted that it was not fair, but reminded him that they alwaysbought their things at his shop. The grocer, however, was inexorable;he repeated several times that his books were full of bad debts and hisown creditors were pressing him. During their conversation theshopkeeper's eyes wandered continually to the big store on the otherside of the street; the huge, gilded letters of the name 'MonopoleStores' seemed to have an irresistible attraction for him. Once heinterrupted himself in the middle of a sentence to point out to Owen alittle girl who was just coming out of the Stores with a small parcelin her hand. 

'Her father owes me nearly thirty shillings, ' he said, 'but they spendtheir ready money there. '

The front of the grocer's shop badly needed repainting, and the name onthe fascia, 'A. Smallman', was so faded as to be almost indecipherable. It had been Owen's intention to offer to do this work--the cost to goagainst his account--but the man appeared to be so harassed that Owenrefrained from making the suggestion. 

They still had credit at the baker's, but they did not take much bread:when one has had scarcely anything else but bread to eat for nearly amonth one finds it difficult to eat at all. That same day, when hereturned home after his interview with the grocer, they had a loaf ofbeautiful fresh bread, but none of them could eat it, although theywere hungry: it seemed to stick in their throats, and they could notswallow it even with the help of a drink of tea. But they drank thetea, which was the one thing that enabled them to go on living. 

The next week Owen earned eight shillings altogether: a few hours heput in assisting Crass to wash off and whiten a ceiling and paint aroom, and there was one coffin-plate. He wrote the latter at home, andwhile he was doing it he heard Frankie--who was out in the scullerywith Nora--say to her:

'Mother, how many more days to you think we'll have to have only drybread and tea?'

Owen's heart seemed to stop as he heard the child's question andlistened for Nora's answer, but the question was not to be answered atall just then, for at that moment they heard someone running up thestairs and presently the door was unceremoniously thrown open andCharley Linden rushed into the house, out of breath, hatless, andcrying piteously. His clothes were old and ragged; they had beenpatched at the knees and elbows, but the patches were tearing away fromthe rotting fabric into which they had been sewn. He had on a pair ofblack stockings full of holes through which the skin was showing. Thesoles of his boots were worn through at one side right to the uppers, and as he walked the sides of his bare heels came into contact with thefloor, the front part of the sole of one boot was separated from theupper, and his bare toes, red with cold and covered with mud, protrudedthrough the gap. Some sharp substance--a nail or a piece of glass orflint--had evidently lacerated his right foot, for blood was oozingfrom the broken heel of his boot on to the floor. 

They were unable to make much sense of the confused story he told themthrough his sobs as soon as he was able to speak. All that was clearwas that there was something very serious the matter at home: hethought his mother must be either dying or dead, because she did notspeak or move or open her eyes, and 'please, please, please will youcome home with me and see her?'

While Nora was getting ready to go with the boy, Owen made him sit on achair, and having removed the boot from the foot that was bleeding, washed the cut with some warm water and bandaged it with a piece ofclean rag, and then they tried to persuade him to stay there withFrankie while Nora went to see his mother, but the boy would not hearof it. So Frankie went with them instead. Owen could not go becausehe had to finish the coffin-plate, which was only just commenced. 

It will be remembered that we left Mary Linden alone in the house aftershe returned from seeing the old people away. When the children camehome from school, about half an hour afterwards, they found her sittingin one of the chairs with her head resting on her arms on the table, unconscious. They were terrified, because they could not awaken herand began to cry, but presently Charley thought of Frankie's motherand, telling his sister to stay there while he was gone, he started offat a run for Owen's house, leaving the front door wide open after him. 

When Nora and the two boys reached the house they found there two otherwomen neighbours, who had heard Elsie crying and had come to see whatwas wrong. Mary had recovered from her faint and was lying down on thebed. Nora stayed with her for some time after the other women wentaway. She lit the fire and gave the children their tea--there wasstill some coal and food left of what had been bought with the threeshillings obtained from the Board of Guardians--and afterwards shetidied the house. 

Mary said that she did not know exactly what she would have to do inthe future. If she could get a room somewhere for two or threeshillings a week, her allowance from the Guardians would pay the rent, and she would be able to earn enough for herself and the children tolive on. 

This was the substance of the story that Nora told Owen when shereturned home. He had finished writing the coffin-plate, and as it wasnow nearly dry he put on his coat and took it down to the carpenter'sshop at the yard. 

On his way back he met Easton, who had been hanging about in the vainhope of seeing Hunter and finding out if there was any chance of a job. As they walked along together, Easton confided to Owen that he hadearned scarcely anything since he had been stood off at Rushton's, andwhat he had earned had gone, as usual, to pay the rent. Slyme had leftthem some time ago. Ruth did not seem able to get on with him; she hadbeen in a funny sort of temper altogether, but since he had gone shehad had a little work at a boarding-house on the Grand Parade. Butthings had been going from bad to worse. They had not been able to keepup the payments for the furniture they had hired, so the things hadbeen seized and carted off. They had even stripped the oilcloth fromthe floor. Easton remarked he was sorry he had not tacked the bloodystuff down in such a manner that they would not have been able to takeit up without destroying it. He had been to see Didlum, who said hedidn't want to be hard on them, and that he would keep the thingstogether for three months, and if Easton had paid up arrears by thattime he could have them back again, but there was, in Easton's opinion, very little chance of that. 

Owen listened with contempt and anger. Here was a man who grumbled atthe present state of things, yet took no trouble to think for himselfand try to alter them, and who at the first chance would vote for theperpetuation of the System which produced his misery. 

'Have you heard that old Jack Linden and his wife went to the workhousetoday, ' he said. 

'No, ' replied Easton, indifferently. 'It's only what I expected. '

Owen then suggested it would not be a bad plan for Easton to let hisfront room, now that it was empty, to Mrs Linden, who would be sure topay her rent, which would help Easton to pay his. Easton agreed andsaid he would mention it to Ruth, and a few minutes later they parted. 

The next morning Nora found Ruth talking to Mary Linden about the roomand as the Eastons lived only about five minutes' walk away, they allthree went round there in order that Mary might see the room. Theappearance of the house from outside was unaltered: the white lacecurtains still draped the windows of the front room; and in the centreof the bay was what appeared to be a small round table covered with ared cloth, and upon it a geranium in a flowerpot standing in a saucerwith a frill of coloured tissue paper round it. These things and thecurtains, which fell close together, made it impossible for anyone tosee that the room was, otherwise, unfurnished. The 'table' consistedof an empty wooden box--procured from the grocer's--stood on end, withthe lid of the scullery copper placed upside down upon it for a top andcovered with an old piece of red cloth. The purpose of this was toprevent the neighbours from thinking that they were hard up; althoughthey knew that nearly all those same neighbours were in more or lesssimilar straits. 

It was not a very large room, considering that it would have to serveall purposes for herself and the two children, but Mrs Linden knew thatit was not likely that she would be able to get one as good elsewherefor the same price, so she agreed to take it from the following Mondayat two shillings a week. 

As the distance was so short they were able to carry most of thesmaller things to their new home during the next few days, and on theMonday evening, when it was dark. Owen and Easton brought theremainder on a truck they borrowed for the purpose from Hunter. 

During the last weeks of February the severity of the weatherincreased. There was a heavy fall of snow on the 20th followed by ahard frost which lasted several days. 

About ten o'clock one night a policeman found a man lying unconsciousin the middle of a lonely road. At first he thought the man was drunk, and after dragging him on to the footpath out of the way of passingvehicles he went for the stretcher. They took the man to the stationand put him into a cell, which was already occupied by a man who hadbeen caught in the act of stealing a swede turnip from a barn. When thepolice surgeon came he pronounced the supposed drunken man to be dyingfrom bronchitis and want of food; and he further said that there wasnothing to indicate that the man was addicted to drink. When theinquest was held a few days afterwards, the coroner remarked that itwas the third case of death from destitution that had occurred in thetown within six weeks. 

The evidence showed that the man was a plasterer who had walked fromLondon with the hope of finding work somewhere in the country. He hadno money in his possession when he was found by the policeman; all thathis pockets contained being several pawn-tickets and a letter from hiswife, which was not found until after he died, because it was in aninner pocket of his waistcoat. A few days before this inquest washeld, the man who had been arrested for stealing the turnip had beentaken before the magistrates. The poor wretch said he did it becausehe was starving, but Aldermen Sweater and Grinder, after telling himthat starvation was no excuse for dishonesty, sentenced him to pay afine of seven shillings and costs, or go to prison for seven days withhard labour. As the convict had neither money nor friends, he had togo to jail, where he was, after all, better off than most of those whowere still outside because they lacked either the courage or theopportunity to steal something to relieve their sufferings. 

As time went on the long-continued privation began to tell upon Owenand his family. He had a severe cough: his eyes became deeply sunkenand of remarkable brilliancy, and his thin face was always eitherdeathly pale or dyed with a crimson flush. 

Frankie also began to show the effects of being obliged to go so oftenwithout his porridge and milk; he became very pale and thin and hislong hair came out in handfuls when his mother combed or brushed it. This was a great trouble to the boy, who, since hearing the story ofSamson read out of the Bible at school, had ceased from asking to havehis hair cut short, lest he should lose his strength in consequence. Heused to test himself by going through a certain exercise he had himselfinvented, with a flat iron, and he was always much relieved when hefound that, notwithstanding the loss of the porridge, he was still ableto lift the iron the proper number of times. But after a while, as hefound that it became increasingly difficult to go through the exercise, he gave it up altogether, secretly resolving to wait until 'Dad' hadmore work to do, so that he could have the porridge and milk again. Hewas sorry to have to discontinue the exercise, but he said nothingabout it to his father or mother because he did not want to 'worry'them. .. 

Sometimes Nora managed to get a small job of needlework. On oneoccasion a woman with a small son brought a parcel of garmentsbelonging to herself or her husband, an old ulster, several coats, andso on--things that although they were too old-fashioned or shabby towear, yet might look all right if turned and made up for the boy. 

Nora undertook to do this, and after working several hours every dayfor a week she earned four shillings: and even then the woman thoughtit was so dear that she did not bring any more. 

Another time Mrs Easton got her some work at a boarding-house where sheherself was employed. The servant was laid up, and they wanted somehelp for a few days. The pay was to be two shillings a day, anddinner. Owen did not want her to go because he feared she was notstrong enough to do the work, but he gave way at last and Nora went. She had to do the bedrooms, and on the evening of the second day, as aresult of the constant running up and down the stairs carrying heavycans and pails of water, she was in such intense pain that she wasscarcely able to walk home, and for several days afterwards had to liein bed through a recurrence of her old illness, which caused her tosuffer untold agony whenever she tried to stand. 

Owen was alternately dejected and maddened by the knowledge of his ownhelplessness: when he was not doing anything for Rushton he went aboutthe town trying to find some other work, but usually with scantsuccess. He did some samples of showcard and window tickets andendeavoured to get some orders by canvassing the shops in the town, butthis was also a failure, for these people generally had a ticket-writerto whom they usually gave their work. He did get a few triflingorders, but they were scarcely worth doing at the price he got forthem. He used to feel like a criminal when he went into the shops toask them for the work, because he realized fully that, in effect, hewas saying to them: 'Take your work away from the other man, and employme. ' He was so conscious of this that it gave him a shamefaced manner, which, coupled as it was with his shabby clothing, did not create avery favourable impression upon those he addressed, who usually treatedhim with about as much courtesy as they would have extended to anyother sort of beggar. Generally, after a day's canvassing, he returnedhome unsuccessful and faint with hunger and fatigue. 

Once, when there was a bitterly cold east wind blowing, he was out onone of these canvassing expeditions and contracted a severe cold: hischest became so bad that he found it almost impossible to speak, because the effort to do so often brought on a violent fit of coughing. It was during this time that a firm of drapers, for whom he had donesome showcards, sent him an order for one they wanted in a hurry, ithad to be delivered the next morning, so he stayed up by himself tillnearly midnight to do it. As he worked, he felt a strange sensation inhis chest: it was not exactly a pain, and he would have found itdifficult to describe it in words--it was just a sensation. He did notattach much importance to it, thinking it an effect of the cold he hadtaken, but whatever it was he could not help feeling conscious of itall the time. 

Frankie had been put to bed that evening at the customary hour, but didnot seem to be sleeping as well as usual. Owen could hear him twistingand turning about and uttering little cries in his sleep. 

He left his work several times to go into the boy's room and cover himwith the bedclothes which his restless movements had disordered. Asthe time wore on, the child became more tranquil, and about eleveno'clock, when Owen went in to look at him, he found him in a deepsleep, lying on his side with his head thrown back on the pillow, breathing so softly through his slightly parted lips that the sound wasalmost imperceptible. The fair hair that clustered round his foreheadwas damp with perspiration, and he was so still and pale and silentthat one might have thought he was sleeping the sleep that knows noawakening. 

About an hour later, when he had finished writing the showcard, Owenwent out into the scullery to wash his hands before going to bed: andwhilst he was drying them on the towel, the strange sensation he hadbeen conscious of all the evening became more intense, and a fewseconds afterwards he was terrified to find his mouth suddenly filledwith blood. 

For what seemed an eternity he fought for breath against thesuffocating torrent, and when at length it stopped, he sank tremblinginto a chair by the side of the table, holding the towel to his mouthand scarcely daring to breathe, whilst a cold sweat streamed from everypore and gathered in large drops upon his forehead. 

Through the deathlike silence of the night there came from time to timethe chimes of the clock of a distant church, but he continued to sitthere motionless, taking no heed of the passing hours, and possessedwith an awful terror. 

So this was the beginning of the end! And afterwards the other twowould be left by themselves at the mercy of the world. In a few years'time the boy would be like Bert White, in the clutches of somepsalm-singing devil like Hunter or Rushton, who would use him as if hewere a beast of burden. He imagined he could see him now as he wouldbe then: worked, driven, and bullied, carrying loads, dragging carts, and running here and there, trying his best to satisfy the brutaltyrants, whose only thought would be to get profit out of him forthemselves. If he lived, it would be to grow up with his body deformedand dwarfed by unnatural labour and with his mind stultified, degradedand brutalized by ignorance and poverty. As this vision of the child'sfuture rose before him, Owen resolved that it should never be! Hewould not leave them alone and defenceless in the midst of the'Christian' wolves who were waiting to rend them as soon as he wasgone. If he could not give them happiness, he could at least put themout of the reach of further suffering. If he could not stay with them, they would have to come with him. It would be kinder and more merciful. 

Chapter 35

Facing the 'Problem'

Nearly every other firm in the town was in much the same plight asRushton & Co. ; none of them had anything to speak of to do, and theworkmen no longer troubled to go to the different shops asking for ajob. They knew it was of no use. Most of them just walked aboutaimlessly or stood talking in groups in the streets, principally in theneighbourhood of the Wage Slave Market near the fountain on the GrandParade. They congregated here in such numbers that one or tworesidents wrote to the local papers complaining of the 'nuisance', andpointing out that it was calculated to drive the 'better-class'visitors out of the town. After this two or three extra policemen wereput on duty near the fountain with instructions to 'move on' any groupsof unemployed that formed. They could not stop them from coming there, but they prevented them standing about. 

The processions of unemployed continued every day, and the money theybegged from the public was divided equally amongst those who took part. Sometimes it amounted to one and sixpence each, sometimes it was alittle more and sometimes a little less. These men presented aterrible spectacle as they slunk through the dreary streets, throughthe rain or the snow, with the slush soaking into their broken boots, and, worse still, with the bitterly cold east wind penetrating theirrotten clothing and freezing their famished bodies. 

The majority of the skilled workers still held aloof from theseprocessions, although their haggard faces bore involuntary testimony totheir sufferings. Although privation reigned supreme in their desolatehomes, where there was often neither food nor light nor fire, they weretoo 'proud' to parade their misery before each other or the world. They secretly sold or pawned their clothing and their furniture andlived in semi-starvation on the proceeds, and on credit, but they wouldnot beg. Many of them even echoed the sentiments of those who hadwritten to the papers, and with a strange lack of class-sympathy blamedthose who took part in the processions. They said it was that sort ofthing that drove the 'better class' away, injured the town, and causedall the poverty and unemployment. However, some of them acceptedcharity in other ways; district visitors distributed tickets for coaland groceries. Not that that sort of thing made much difference; therewas usually a great deal of fuss and advice, many quotations ofScripture, and very little groceries. And even what there wasgenerally went to the least-deserving people, because the only way toobtain any of this sort of 'charity' is by hypocritically pretending tobe religious: and the greater the hypocrite, the greater the quantityof coal and groceries. These 'charitable' people went into thewretched homes of the poor and--in effect--said: 'Abandon everyparticle of self-respect: cringe and fawn: come to church: bow down andgrovel to us, and in return we'll give you a ticket that you can taketo a certain shop and exchange for a shillingsworth of groceries. And, if you're very servile and humble we may give you another one nextweek. '

They never gave the 'case' the money. The ticket system serves threepurposes. It prevents the 'case' abusing the 'charity' by spending themoney on drink. It advertises the benevolence of the donors: and itenables the grocer--who is usually a member of the church--to get ridof any stale or damaged stock he may have on hand. 

When these visiting ladies' went into a workman's house and found itclean and decently furnished, and the children clean and tidy, theycame to the conclusion that those people were not suitable 'cases' forassistance. Perhaps the children had had next to nothing to eat, andwould have been in rags if the mother had not worked like a slavewashing and mending their clothes. But these were not the sort ofcases that the visiting ladies assisted; they only gave to those whowere in a state of absolute squalor and destitution, and then only oncondition that they whined and grovelled. 

In addition to this district visitor business, the well-to-doinhabitants and the local authorities attempted--or rather, pretended--to grapple with the poverty 'problem' in many other ways, and the columns of the local papers were filled with letters from allsorts of cranks who suggested various remedies. One individual, whoseincome was derived from brewery shares, attributed the prevailingdistress to the drunken and improvident habits of the lower orders. Another suggested that it was a Divine protest against the growth ofRitualism and what he called 'fleshly religion', and suggested a day ofhumiliation and prayer. A great number of well-fed persons thoughtthis such an excellent proposition that they proceeded to put it intopractice. They prayed, whilst the unemployed and the little childrenfasted. 

If one had not been oppressed by the tragedy of Want and Misery, onemight have laughed at the farcical, imbecile measures that were takento relieve it. Several churches held what they called 'Rummage' or'jumble' sales. They sent out circulars something like this:

 JUMBLE SALE in aid of the Unemployed. 

 If you have any articles of any description which are of no further use to you, we should be grateful for them, and if you will kindly fill in annexed form and post it to us, we will send and collect them. 

On the day of the sale the parish room was transformed into a kind ofMarine Stores, filled with all manner of rubbish, with the parson andthe visiting ladies grinning in the midst. The things were sold fornext to nothing to such as cared to buy them, and the localrag-and-bone man reaped a fine harvest. The proceeds of these saleswere distributed in 'charity' and it was usually a case of much cry andlittle wool. 

There was a religious organization, called 'The Mugsborough Skull andCrossbones Boys', which existed for the purpose of perpetuating thegreat religious festival of Guy Fawkes. This association also came tothe aid of the unemployed and organized a Grand Fancy Dress Carnivaland Torchlight Procession. When this took place, although there was aslight sprinkling of individuals dressed in tawdry costumes ascavaliers of the time of Charles I, and a few more as highwaymen orfootpads, the majority of the processionists were boys in women'sclothes, or wearing sacks with holes cut in them for their heads andarms, and with their faces smeared with soot. There were also a numberof men carrying frying-pans in which they burnt red and blue fire. Theprocession--or rather, mob--was headed by a band, and the band washeaded by two men, arm in arm, one very tall, dressed to representSatan, in red tights, with horns on his head, and smoking a largecigar, and the other attired in the no less picturesque costume of abishop of the Established Church. 

This crew paraded the town, howling and dancing, carrying flaringtorches, burning the blue and red fire, and some of them singing sillyor obscene songs; whilst the collectors ran about with the boxesbegging for money from people who were in most cases nearly aspoverty-stricken as the unemployed they were asked to assist. Themoney thus obtained was afterwards handed over to the Secretary of theOrganized Benevolence Society, Mr Sawney Grinder. 

Then there was the Soup Kitchen, which was really an inferioreating-house in a mean street. The man who ran this was a relative ofthe secretary of the OBS. He cadged all the ingredients for the soupfrom different tradespeople: bones and scraps of meat from butchers:pea meal and split peas from provision dealers: vegetables fromgreengrocers: stale bread from bakers, and so on. Well-intentioned, charitable old women with more money than sense sent him donations incash, and he sold the soup for a penny a basin--or a penny a quart tothose who brought jugs. 

He had a large number of shilling books printed, each containingthirteen penny tickets. The Organized Benevolence Society bought a lotof these books and resold them to benevolent persons, or gave them awayto 'deserving cases'. It was this connection with the OBS that gavethe Soup Kitchen a semi-official character in the estimation of thepublic, and furnished the proprietor with the excuse for cadging thematerials and money donations. 

In the case of the Soup Kitchen, as with the unemployed processions, most of those who benefited were unskilled labourers or derelicts: withbut few exceptions the unemployed artisans--although their need wasjust as great as that of the others--avoided the place as if it wereinfected with the plague. They were afraid even to pass through thestreet where it was situated lest anyone seeing them coming from thatdirection should think they had been there. But all the same, some ofthem allowed their children to go there by stealth, by night, to buysome of this charity-tainted food. 

Another brilliant scheme, practical and statesmanlike, so differentfrom the wild projects of demented Socialists, was started by the Rev. Mr Bosher, a popular preacher, the Vicar of the fashionable Church ofthe Whited Sepulchre. He collected some subscriptions from a number ofsemi-imbecile old women who attended his church. With some of thismoney he bought a quantity of timber and opened what he called a LabourYard, where he employed a number of men sawing firewood. Being aclergyman, and because he said he wanted it for a charitable purpose, of course he obtained the timber very cheaply--for about half whatanyone else would have had to pay for it. 

The wood-sawing was done piecework. A log of wood about the size of arailway sleeper had to be sawn into twelve pieces, and each of thesehad to be chopped into four. For sawing and chopping one log in thismanner the worker was paid ninepence. One log made two bags offirewood, which were sold for a shilling each--a trifle under the usualprice. The men who delivered the bags were paid three half-pence foreach two bags. 

As there were such a lot of men wanting to do this work, no one wasallowed to do more than three lots in one day--that came to twoshillings and threepence--and no one was allowed to do more than twodays in one week. 

The Vicar had a number of bills printed and displayed in shop windowscalling attention to what he was doing, and informing the public thatorders could be sent to the Vicarage by post and would receive promptattention and the fuel could be delivered at any address--MessrsRushton & Co. Having very kindly lent a handcart for the use of the menemployed at the Labour Yard. 

As a result of the appearance of this bill, and of the laudatorynotices in the columns of the Ananias, the Obscurer, and theChloroform--the papers did not mind giving the business a freeadvertisement, because it was a charitable concern--many personswithdrew their custom from those who usually supplied them withfirewood, and gave their orders to the Yard; and they had thesatisfaction of getting their fuel cheaper than before and ofperforming a charitable action at the same time. 

As a remedy for unemployment this scheme was on a par with the methodof the tailor in the fable who thought to lengthen his cloth by cuttinga piece off one end and sewing it on to the other; but there was onething about it that recommended it to the Vicar--it wasself-supporting. He found that there would be no need to use all themoney he had extracted from the semi-imbecile old ladies for timber, sohe bought himself a Newfoundland dog, an antique set of carved ivorychessmen, and a dozen bottles of whisky with the remainder of the cash. 

The reverend gentleman hit upon yet another means of helping the poor. He wrote a letter to the Weekly Chloroform appealing for cast-off bootsfor poor children. This was considered such a splendid idea that theeditors of all the local papers referred to it in leading articles, andseveral other letters were written by prominent citizens extolling thewisdom and benevolence of the profound Bosher. Most of the boots thatwere sent in response to this appeal had been worn until they neededrepair--in a very large proportion of instances, until they were beyondrepair. The poor people to whom they were given could not afford tohave them mended before using them, and the result was that the bootsgenerally began to fall to pieces after a few days' wear. 

This scheme amounted to very little. It did not increase the number ofcast-off boots, and most of the people who 'cast off' their bootsgenerally gave them to someone or other. The only difference It canhave made was that possibly a few persons who usually threw their bootsaway or sold them to second-hand dealers may have been induced to sendthem to Mr Bosher instead. But all the same nearly everybody said itwas a splendid idea: its originator was applauded as a publicbenefactor, and the pettifogging busybodies who amused themselves withwhat they were pleased to term 'charitable work' went into imbecileecstasies over him. 

Chapter 36

The OBS

One of the most important agencies for the relief of distress was theOrganized Benevolence Society. This association received money frommany sources. The proceeds of the fancy-dress carnival; thecollections from different churches and chapels which held specialservices in aid of the unemployed; the weekly collections made by theemployees of several local firms and business houses; the proceeds ofconcerts, bazaars, and entertainments, donations from charitablepersons, and the subscriptions of the members. The society alsoreceived large quantities of cast-off clothing and boots, and ticketsof admission to hospitals, convalescent homes and dispensaries fromsubscribers to those institutions, or from people like Rushton & Co. , who had collecting-boxes in their workshops and offices. 

Altogether during the last year the Society had received from varioussources about three hundred pounds in hard cash. This money wasdevoted to the relief of cases of distress. 

The largest item in the expenditure of the Society was the salary ofthe General Secretary, Mr Sawney Grinder--a most deserving case--whowas paid one hundred pounds a year. 

After the death of the previous secretary there were so many candidatesfor the vacant post that the election of the new secretary was a ratherexciting affair. The excitement was all the more intense because itwas restrained. A special meeting of the society was held: the Mayor, Alderman Sweater, presided, and amongst those present were CouncillorsRushton, Didlum and Grinder, Mrs Starvem, Rev. Mr Bosher, a number ofthe rich, semi-imbecile old women who had helped to open the LabourYard, and several other 'ladies'. Some of these were the districtvisitors already alluded to, most of them the wives of wealthy citizensand retired tradesmen, richly dressed, ignorant, insolent, overbearingfrumps, who--after filling themselves with good things in their ownluxurious homes--went flouncing into the poverty-stricken dwellings oftheir poor 'sisters' and talked to them of 'religion', lectured themabout sobriety and thrift, and--sometimes--gave them tickets for soupor orders for shillingsworths of groceries or coal. Some of theseoverfed females--the wives of tradesmen, for instance--belonged to theOrganized Benevolence Society, and engaged in this 'work' for thepurpose of becoming acquainted with people of superior socialposition--one of the members was a colonel, and Sir GraballD'Encloseland--the Member of Parliament for the borough--also belongedto the Society and occasionally attended its meetings. Others took updistrict visiting as a hobby; they had nothing to do, and being denselyignorant and of inferior mentality, they had no desire or capacity forany intellectual pursuit. So they took up this work for the pleasureof playing the grand lady and the superior person at a very smallexpense. Other of these visiting ladies were middle-aged, unmarriedwomen with small private incomes--some of them well-meaning, compassionate, gentle creatures who did this work because theysincerely desired to help others, and they knew of no better way. Thesedid not take much part in the business of the meetings; they paid theirsubscriptions and helped to distribute the cast-off clothing and bootsto those who needed them, and occasionally obtained from the secretaryan order for provisions or coal or bread for some poverty-strickenfamily; but the poor, toil-worn women whom they visited welcomed themmore for their sisterly sympathy than for the gifts they brought. Someof the visiting ladies were of this character--but they were not many. They were as a few fragrant flowers amidst a dense accumulation ofnoxious weeds. They were examples of humility and kindness shiningamidst a vile and loathsome mass of hypocrisy, arrogance, and cant. 

When the Chairman had opened the meeting, Mr Rushton moved a vote ofcondolence with the relatives of the late secretary whom he eulogizedin the most extraordinary terms. 

'The poor of Mugsborough had lost a kind and sympathetic friend', 'Onewho had devoted his life to helping the needy', and so on and so forth. (As a matter of fact, most of the time of the defunct had been passedin helping himself, but Rushton said nothing about that. )

Mr Didlum seconded the vote of condolence in similar terms, and it wascarried unanimously. Then the Chairman said that the next business wasto elect a successor to the departed paragon; and immediately no fewerthan nine members rose to propose a suitable person--they each had anoble-minded friend or relative willing to sacrifice himself for thegood of the poor. 

The nine Benevolent stood looking at each other and at the Chairmanwith sickly smiles upon their hypocritical faces. It was a dramaticmoment. No one spoke. It was necessary to be careful. It would neverdo to have a contest. The Secretary of the OBS was usually regarded asa sort of philanthropist by the outside public, and it was necessary tokeep this fiction alive. 

For one or two minutes an awkward silence reigned. Then, one afteranother they all reluctantly resumed their seats with the exception ofMr Amos Grinder, who said he wished to propose his nephew, Mr SawneyGrinder, a young man of a most benevolent disposition who was desirousof immolating himself upon the altar of charity for the benefit of thepoor--or words to that effect. 

Mr Didlum seconded, and there being no other nomination--for they allknew that it would give the game away to have a contest--the Chairmanput Mr Grinder's proposal to the meeting and declared it carriedunanimously. 

Another considerable item in the expenditure of the society was therent of the offices--a house in a back street. The landlord of thisplace was another very deserving case. 

There were numerous other expenses: stationery and stamps, printing, and so on, and what was left of the money was used for the purpose forwhich it had been given--a reasonable amount being kept in hand forfuture expenses. All the details were of course duly set forth in theReport and Balance Sheet at the annual meetings. No copy of thisdocument was ever handed to the reporters for publication; it was readto the meeting by the Secretary; the representatives of the Press tooknotes, and in the reports of the meeting that subsequently appeared inthe local papers the thing was so mixed up and garbled together thatthe few people who read it could not make head or tail of it. The onlything that was clear was that the society had been doing a great dealof good to someone or other, and that more money was urgently needed tocarry on the work. It usually appeared something like this:

 HELPING THE NEEDY Mugsborough Organized Benevolence Society Annual Meeting at the Town Hall

 A Splendid record of Miscellaneous and Valuable Work. 

 The annual meeting of the above Society was held yesterday at the Town Hall. The Mayor, Alderman Sweater, presided, and amongst those present were Sir Graball D'Encloseland, Lady D'Encloseland, Lady Slumrent. Rev. Mr Bosher, Mr Cheeseman, Mrs Bilder, Mrs Grosare, Mrs Daree, Mrs Butcher, Mrs Taylor, Mrs Baker, Mrs Starvem, Mrs Slodging, Mrs M. B. Sile, Mrs Knobrane, Mrs M. T. Head, Mr Rushton, Mr Didlum, Mr Grinder and (here followed about a quarter of a column of names of other charitable persons, all subscribers to the Society). 

 The Secretary read the annual report which contained the following amongst other interesting items:

 During the year, 1, 972 applications for assistance have been received, and of this number 1, 302 have been assisted as follows: Bread or grocery orders, 273. Coal or coke orders, 57. Nourishment 579. (Applause. ) Pairs of boots granted, 29. Clothing, 105. Crutch granted to poor man, 1. Nurses provided, 2. Hospital tickets, 26. Sent to Consumption Sanatorium, 1. Twenty-nine persons, whose cases being chronic, were referred to the Poor Law Guardians. Work found for 19 persons. (Cheers. ) Pedlar's licences, 4. Dispensary tickets, 24. Bedding redeemed, 1. Loans granted to people to enable them to pay their rent, 8. (Loud cheers. ) Dental tickets, 2. Railway fares for men who were going away from the town to employment elsewhere, 12. (Great cheering. ) Loans granted, 5. Advertisements for employment, 4-- and so on. 

There was about another quarter of a column of these details, thereading of which was punctuated with applause and concluded with:'Leaving 670 cases which for various reasons the Society was unable toassist'. The report then went on to explain that the work of inquiringinto the genuineness of the applications entailed a lot of labour onthe part of the Secretary, some cases taking several days. No fewerthan 649 letters had been sent out from the office, and 97 postcards. (Applause. ) Very few cash gifts were granted, as it was most necessaryto guard against the Charity being abused. (Hear, hear. )

Then followed a most remarkable paragraph headed 'The Balance Sheet', which--as it was put--'included the following'. 'The following' was ajumbled list of items of expenditure, subscriptions, donations, legacies, and collections, winding up with 'the general summary showeda balance in hand of �178. 4. 6'. (They always kept a good balance inhand because of the Secretary's salary and the rent of the offices. )

After this very explicit financial statement came the most importantpart of the report: 'Thanks are expressed to Sir Graball D'Encloselandfor a donation of 2 guineas. Mrs Grosare, 1 guinea. Mrs Starvem, Hospital tickets. Lady Slumrent, letter of admission to ConvalescentHome. Mrs Knobrane, 1 guinea. Mrs M. B. Sile, 1 guinea. Mrs M. T. Head, 1 guinea. Mrs Sledging, gifts of clothing--and so on for anotherquarter of a column, the whole concluding with a vote of thanks to theSecretary and an urgent appeal to the charitable public for more fundsto enable the Society to continue its noble work. 

Meantime, in spite of this and kindred organizations the conditions ofthe under-paid poverty stricken and unemployed workers remained thesame. Although the people who got the grocery and coal orders, the'Nourishment', and the cast-off clothes and boots, were very glad tohave them, yet these things did far more harm than good. Theyhumiliated, degraded and pauperized those who received them, and theexistence of the societies prevented the problem being grappled with ina sane and practical manner. The people lacked the necessaries oflife: the necessaries of life are produced by Work: these people werewilling to work, but were prevented from doing so by the idiotic systemof society which these 'charitable' people are determined to do theirbest to perpetuate. 

If the people who expect to be praised and glorified for beingcharitable were never to give another farthing it would be far betterfor the industrious poor, because then the community as a whole wouldbe compelled to deal with the absurd and unnecessary state of affairsthat exists today--millions of people living and dying in wretchednessand poverty in an age when science and machinery have made it possibleto produce such an abundance of everything that everyone might enjoyplenty and comfort. It if were not for all this so-called charity thestarving unemployed men all over the country would demand to be allowedto work and produce the things they are perishing for want of, insteadof being--as they are now--content to wear their masters' cast-offclothing and to eat the crumbs that fall from his table. 

Chapter 37

A Brilliant Epigram

All through the winter, the wise, practical, philanthropic, fat personswhom the people of Mugsborough had elected to manage their affairs--orwhom they permitted to manage them without being elected--continued tograpple, or to pretend to grapple, with the 'problem' of unemploymentand poverty. They continued to hold meetings, rummage and jumblesales, entertainments and special services. They continued todistribute the rotten cast-off clothing and boots, and the nourishmenttickets. They were all so sorry for the poor, especially for the 'dearlittle children'. They did all sorts of things to help the children. In fact, there was nothing that they would not do for them except levya halfpenny rate. It would never do to do that. It might pauperizethe parents and destroy parental responsibility. They evidentlythought that it would be better to destroy the health or even the livesof the 'dear little children' than to pauperize the parents orundermine parental responsibility. These people seemed to think thatthe children were the property of their parents. They did not havesense enough to see that the children are not the property of theirparents at all, but the property of the community. When they attain tomanhood and womanhood they will be, if mentally or physicallyinefficient, a burden on the community; if they become criminals, theywill prey upon the community, and if they are healthy, educated andbrought up in good surroundings, they will become useful citizens, ableto render valuable service, not merely to their parents, but to thecommunity. Therefore the children are the property of the community, and it is the business and to the interest of the community to see thattheir constitutions are not undermined by starvation. The Secretary ofthe local Trades Council, a body formed of delegates from all thedifferent trades unions in the town, wrote a letter to the Obscurer, setting forth this view. He pointed out that a halfpenny rate in thattown would produce a sum of �800, which would be more than sufficientto provide food for all the hungry schoolchildren. In the next issueof the paper several other letters appeared from leading citizens, including, of course, Sweater, Rushton, Didlum and Grinder, ridiculingthe proposal of the Trades Council, who were insultingly alluded to as'pothouse politicians', 'beer-sodden agitators' and so forth. Theirright to be regarded as representatives of the working men was denied, and Grinder, who, having made inquiries amongst working men, wasacquainted with the facts, stated that there was scarcely one of thelocal branches of the trades unions which had more than a dozenmembers; and as Grinder's statement was true, the Secretary was unableto contradict it. The majority of the working men were also veryindignant when they heard about the Secretary's letter: they said therates were quite high enough as it was, and they sneered at him forpresuming to write to the papers at all:

'Who the bloody 'ell was 'e?' they said. ''E was not a Gentleman! 'Ewas only a workin' man the same as themselves--a common carpenter! Whatthe 'ell did 'e know about it? Nothing. 'E was just trying to make'isself out to be Somebody, that was all. The idea of one of the likesof them writing to the papers!'

One day, having nothing better to do, Owen was looking at some booksthat were exposed for sale on a table outside a second-hand furnitureshop. One book in particular took his attention: he read several pageswith great interest, and regretted that he had not the necessarysixpence to buy it. The title of the book was: Consumption: Its Causesand Its Cure. The author was a well-known physician who devoted hiswhole attention to the study of that disease. Amongst other things, the book gave rules for the feeding of delicate children, and therewere also several different dietaries recommended for adult personssuffering from the disease. One of these dietaries amused him verymuch, because as far as the majority of those who suffer fromconsumption are concerned, the good doctor might just as well haveprescribed a trip to the moon:

'Immediately on waking in the morning, half a pint of milk--this shouldbe hot, if possible--with a small slice of bread and butter. 

'At breakfast: half a pint of milk, with coffee, chocolate, or oatmeal:eggs and bacon, bread and butter, or dry toast. 

'At eleven o'clock: half a pint of milk with an egg beaten up in it orsome beef tea and bread and butter. 

'At one o'clock: half a pint of warm milk with a biscuit or sandwich. 

'At two o'clock: fish and roast mutton, or a mutton chop, with as muchfat as possible: poultry, game, etc. , may be taken with vegetables, andmilk pudding. 

'At five o'clock: hot milk with coffee or chocolate, bread and butter, watercress, etc. 

'At eight o'clock: a pint of milk, with oatmeal or chocolate, andgluten bread, or two lightly boiled eggs with bread and butter. 

'Before retiring to rest: a glass of warm milk. 

'During the night: a glass of milk with a biscuit or bread and buttershould be placed by the bedside and be eaten if the patient awakes. '

Whilst Owen was reading this book, Crass, Harlow, Philpot and Eastonwere talking together on the other side of the street, and presentlyCrass caught sight of him. They had been discussing the Secretary'sletter re the halfpenny rate, and as Owen was one of the members of theTrades Council, Crass suggested that they should go across and tacklehim about it. 

'How much is your house assessed at?' asked Owen after listening forabout a quarter of an hour to Crass's objection. 

'Fourteen pound, ' replied Crass. 

'That means that you would have to pay sevenpence per year if we had ahalfpenny rate. Wouldn't it be worth sevenpence a year to you to knowthat there were no starving children in the town?'

'Why should I 'ave to 'elp to keep the children of a man who's too lazyto work, or spends all 'is money on drink?' shouted Crass. ''Ow areyer goin' to make out about the likes o' them?'

'If his children are starving we should feed them first, and punish himafterwards. '

'The rates is quite high enough as it is, ' grumbled Harlow, who hadfour children himself. 

'That's quite true, but you must remember that the rates the workingclasses at present pay are spent mostly for the benefit of otherpeople. Good roads are maintained for people who ride in motor carsand carriages; the Park and the Town Band for those who have leisure toenjoy them; the Police force to protect the property of those who havesomething to lose, and so on. But if we pay this rate we shall getsomething for our money. '

'We gets the benefit of the good roads when we 'as to push a 'andcartwith a load o' paint and ladders, ' said Easton. 

'Of course, ' said Crass, 'and besides, the workin' class gets thebenefit of all the other things too, because it all makes work. '

'Well, for my part, ' said Philpot, 'I wouldn't mind payin' my sharetowards a 'appeny rate, although I ain't got no kids o' me own. '

The hostility of most of the working men to the proposed rate wasalmost as bitter as that of the 'better' classes--the noble-mindedphilanthropists who were always gushing out their sympathy for the'dear little ones', the loathsome hypocrites who pretended that therewas no need to levy a rate because they were willing to give sufficientmoney in the form of charity to meet the case: but the childrencontinued to go hungry all the same. 

'Loathsome hypocrites' may seem a hard saying, but it was a matter ofcommon knowledge that the majority of the children attending the localelementary schools were insufficiently fed. It was admitted that themoney that could be raised by a halfpenny rate would be more thansufficient to provide them all with one good meal every day. Thecharity-mongers who professed such extravagant sympathy with the 'dearlittle children' resisted the levying of the rate 'because it wouldpress so heavily on the poorer ratepayers', and said that they werewilling to give more in voluntary charity than the rate would amountto: but, the 'dear little children'--as they were so fond of callingthem--continued to go to school hungry all the same. 

To judge them by their profession and their performances, it appearedthat these good kind persons were willing to do any mortal thing forthe 'dear little children' except allow them to be fed. 

If these people had really meant to do what they pretended, they wouldnot have cared whether they paid the money to a rate-collector or tothe secretary of a charity society and they would have preferred toaccomplish their object in the most efficient and economical way. 

But although they would not allow the children to be fed, they went tochurch and to chapel, glittering with jewellery, their fat carcasesclothed in rich raiment, and sat with smug smiles upon their faceslistening to the fat parsons reading out of a Book that none of themseemed able to understand, for this was what they read:

'And Jesus called a little child unto Him, and set him in the midst ofthem, and said: Whosoever shall receive one such little child in Myname, receiveth Me. But whoso shall offend one of these little ones, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck andthat he were drowned in the depth of the sea. 

'Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones, for I say untoyou that in heaven their angels do always behold the face of My Father. '

And this: 'Then shall He say unto them: Depart from me, ye cursed, intothe everlasting fire prepared for the devil and his angels: for I wasan hungered and ye gave Me no meat: I was thirsty and ye gave Me nodrink: I was a stranger and ye took Me not in; naked, and ye clothed Menot. 

'Then shall they answer: "Lord, when saw we Thee an hungered or athirstor a stranger or naked, or sick, and did not minister unto Thee?" andHe shall answer them, "Verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye did it notto one of the least of these, ye did it not to Me. "'

These were the sayings that the infidel parsons mouthed in the infideltemples to the richly dressed infidel congregations, who heard but didnot understand, for their hearts were become gross and their ears dullof hearing. And meantime, all around them, in the alley and the slum, and more terrible still--because more secret--in the better sort ofstreets where lived die respectable class of skilled artisans, thelittle children became thinner and paler day by day for lack of properfood, and went to bed early because there was no fire. 

Sir Graball D'Encloseland, the Member of Parliament for the borough, was one of the bitterest opponents of the halfpenny rate, but as hethought it was probable that there would soon be another GeneralElection and he wanted the children's fathers to vote for him again, hewas willing to do something for them in another way. He had aten-year-old daughter whose birthday was in that month, so thekind-hearted Baronet made arrangements to give a Tea to all the schoolchildren in the town in honour of the occasion. The tea was served inthe schoolrooms and each child was presented with a gilt-edged card onwhich was a printed portrait of the little hostess, with 'From yourloving little friend, Honoria D'Encloseland', in gold letters. Duringthe evening the little girl, accompanied by Sir Graball and LadyD'Encloseland, motored round to all the schools where the tea was beingconsumed: the Baronet made a few remarks, and Honoria made a prettylittle speech, specially learnt for the occasion, at each place, andthey were loudly cheered and greatly admired in response. Theenthusiasm was not confined to the boys and girls, for while thespeechmaking was going on inside, a little crowd of grown-up childrenwere gathered round outside the entrance, worshipping the motor car:and when the little party came out the crowd worshipped them also, going into imbecile ecstasies of admiration of their benevolence andtheir beautiful clothes. 

For several weeks everybody in the town was in raptures over thistea--or, rather, everybody except a miserable little minority ofSocialists, who said it was bribery, an electioneering dodge, that didno real good, and who continued to clamour for a halfpenny rate. 

Another specious fraud was the 'Distress Committee'. This body--orcorpse, for there was not much vitality in it--was supposed to existfor the purpose of providing employment for 'deserving cases'. Onemight be excused for thinking that any man--no matter what his past mayhave been--who is willing to work for his living is a 'deserving case':but this was evidently not the opinion of the persons who devised theregulations for the working of this committee. Every applicant forwork was immediately given a long job, and presented with a doublesheet of foolscap paper to do it with. Now, if the object of thecommittee had been to furnish the applicant with material for themanufacture of an appropriate headdress for himself, no one couldreasonably have found fault with them: but the foolscap was not to beutilized in that way; it was called a 'Record Paper', three pages of itwere covered with insulting, inquisitive, irrelevant questionsconcerning the private affairs and past life of the 'case' who wishedto be permitted to work for his living, and all these had to beanswered to the satisfaction of Messrs D'Encloseland, Bosher, Sweater, Rushton, Didlum, Grinder and the other members of the committee, beforethe case stood any chance of getting employment. 

However, notwithstanding the offensive nature of the questions on theapplication form, during the five months that this precious committeewas in session, no fewer than 1, 237 broken-spirited and humble 'lion'swhelps' filled up the forms and answered the questions as meekly as ifthey had been sheep. The funds of the committee consisted of �500, obtained from the Imperial Exchequer, and about �250 in charitabledonations. This money was used to pay wages for certain work--some ofwhich would have had to be done even if the committee had neverexisted--and if each of the 1, 237 applicants had had an equal share ofthe work, the wages they would have received would have amounted toabout twelve shillings each. This was what the 'practical' persons, the 'business-men', called 'dealing with the problem of unemployment'. Imagine having to keep your family for five months with twelveshillings!

And, if you like, imagine that the Government grant had been four timesas much as it was, and that the charity had amounted to four times asmuch as it did, and then fancy having to keep your family for fivemonths with two pounds eight shillings!

It is true that some of the members of the committee would have beenvery glad if they had been able to put the means of earning a livingwithin the reach of every man who was willing to work; but they simplydid not know what to do, or how to do it. They were not ignorant ofthe reality of the evil they were supposed to be 'dealingwith'--appalling evidences of it faced them on every side, and as, after all, these committee men were human beings and not devils, theywould have been glad to mitigate it if they could have done so withouthurting themselves: but the truth was that they did not know what to do!

These are the 'practical' men; the monopolists of intelligence, thewise individuals who control the affairs of the world: it is inaccordance with the ideas of such men as these that the conditions ofhuman life are regulated. 

This is the position:

It is admitted that never before in the history of mankind was itpossible to produce the necessaries of life in such abundance as atpresent. 

The management of the affairs of the world--the business of arrangingthe conditions under which we live--is at present in the hands ofPractical, Level-headed, Sensible Business-men. 

The result of their management is, that the majority of the people findit a hard struggle to live. Large numbers exist in perpetual poverty:a great many more periodically starve: many actually die of want:hundreds destroy themselves rather than continue to live and suffer. 

When the Practical, Level-headed, Sensible Business-men are asked whythey do not remedy this state of things, they reply that they do notknow what to do! or, that it is impossible to remedy it!

And yet it is admitted that it is now possible to produce thenecessaries of life, in greater abundance than ever before!

With lavish kindness, the Supreme Being had provided all thingsnecessary for the existence and happiness of his creatures. To suggestthat it is not so is a blasphemous lie: it is to suggest that theSupreme Being is not good or even just. On every side there is anoverflowing superfluity of the materials requisite for the productionof all the necessaries of life: from these materials everything we needmay be produced in abundance--by Work. Here was an army of peoplelacking the things that may be made by work, standing idle. Willing towork; clamouring to be allowed to work, and the Practical, Level-headed, Sensible Business-men did not know what to do!

Of course, the real reason for the difficulty is that the raw materialsthat were created for the use and benefit of all have been stolen by asmall number, who refuse to allow them to be used for the purposes forwhich they were intended. This numerically insignificant minorityrefused to allow the majority to work and produce the things they need;and what work they do graciously permit to be done is not done with theobject of producing the necessaries of life for those who work, but forthe purpose of creating profit for their masters. 

And then, strangest fact of all, the people who find it a hard struggleto live, or who exist in dreadful poverty and sometimes starve, insteadof trying to understand the causes of their misery and to find out aremedy themselves, spend all their time applauding the Practical, Sensible, Level-headed Business-men, who bungle and mismanage theiraffairs, and pay them huge salaries for doing so. Sir GraballD'Encloseland, for instance, was a 'Secretary of State' and was paid�5, 000 a year. When he first got the job the wages were only abeggarly �2, 000, but as he found it impossible to exist on less than�100 a week he decided to raise his salary to that amount; and thefoolish people who find it a hard struggle to live paid it willingly, and when they saw the beautiful motor car and the lovely clothes andjewellery he purchased for his wife with the money, and heard the GreatSpeech he made--telling them how the shortage of everything was causedby Over-production and Foreign Competition, they clapped their handsand went frantic with admiration. Their only regret was that therewere no horses attached to the motor car, because if there had been, they could have taken them out and harnessed themselves to it instead. 

Nothing delighted the childish minds of these poor people so much aslistening to or reading extracts from the speeches of such men asthese; so in order to amuse them, every now and then, in the midst ofall the wretchedness, some of the great statesmen made 'great speeches'full of cunning phrases intended to hoodwink the fools who had electedthem. The very same week that Sir Graball's salary was increased to�5, 000 a year, all the papers were full of a very fine one that hemade. They appeared with large headlines like this:

 GREAT SPEECH BY SIR GRABALL D'ENCLOSELAND

 Brilliant Epigram!

 None should have more than they need, whilst any have less than they need!

The hypocrisy of such a saying in the mouth of a man who was drawing asalary of five thousand pounds a year did not appear to occur toanyone. On the contrary, the hired scribes of the capitalist Presswrote columns of fulsome admiration of the miserable claptrap, and theworking men who had elected this man went into raptures over the'Brilliant Epigram' as if it were good to eat. They cut it out of thepapers and carried it about with them: they showed it to each other:they read it and repeated it to each other: they wondered at it andwere delighted with it, grinning and gibbering at each other in theexuberance of their imbecile enthusiasm. 

The Distress Committee was not the only body pretending to 'deal' withthe poverty 'problem': its efforts were supplemented by all the otheragencies already mentioned--the Labour Yard, the Rummage Sales, theOrganized Benevolence Society, and so on, to say nothing of a mostbenevolent scheme originated by the management of Sweater's Emporium, who announced in a letter that was published in the local Press thatthey were prepared to employ fifty men for one week to carry sandwichboards at one shilling--and a loaf of bread--per day. 

They got the men; some unskilled labourers, a few old, worn outartisans whom misery had deprived of the last vestiges of pride orshame; a number of habitual drunkards and loafers, and a non-descriptlot of poor ragged old men--old soldiers and others of whom it would beimpossible to say what they had once been. 

The procession of sandwich men was headed by the Semi-drunk and theBesotted Wretch, and each board was covered with a printed poster:'Great Sale of Ladies' Blouses now Proceeding at Adam Sweater'sEmporium. '

Besides this artful scheme of Sweater's for getting a goodadvertisement on the cheap, numerous other plans for providingemployment or alleviating the prevailing misery were put forward in thecolumns of the local papers and at the various meetings that were held. Any foolish, idiotic, useless suggestion was certain to receiverespectful attention; any crafty plan devised in his own interest orfor his own profit by one or other of the crew of sweaters andlandlords who controlled the town was sure to be approved of by theother inhabitants of Mugsborough, the majority of whom were persons offeeble intellect who not only allowed themselves to be robbed andexploited by a few cunning scoundrels, but venerated and applauded themfor doing it. 

Chapter 38

The Brigands' Cave

One evening in the drawing-room at 'The Cave' there was a meeting of anumber of the 'Shining Lights' to arrange the details of a RummageSale, that was to be held in aid of the unemployed. It was an informalaffair, and while they were waiting for the other luminaries, the earlyarrivals, Messrs Rushton, Didlum and Grinder, Mr Oyley Sweater, theBorough Surveyor, Mr Wireman, the electrical engineer who had beenengaged as an 'expert' to examine and report on the Electric LightWorks, and two or three other gentlemen--all members of the Band--tookadvantage of the opportunity to discuss a number of things they weremutually interested in, which were to be dealt with at the meeting ofthe Town Council the next day. First, there was the affair of theuntenanted Kiosk on the Grand Parade. This building belonged to theCorporation, and 'The Cosy Corner Refreshment Coy. ' of which Mr Grinderwas the managing director, was thinking of hiring it to open as ahigh-class refreshment lounge, provided the Corporation would makecertain alterations and let the place at a reasonable rent. Anotheritem which was to be discussed at the Council meeting was Mr Sweater'sgenerous offer to the Corporation respecting the new drain connecting'The Cave' with the Town Main. 

The report of Mr Wireman, the electrical expert, was also to be dealtwith, and afterwards a resolution in favour of the purchase of theMugsborough Electric light and Installation Co. Ltd by the town, was tobe proposed. 

In addition to these matters, several other items, including a proposalby Mr Didlum for an important reform in the matter of conducting themeetings of the Council, formed subjects for animated conversationbetween the brigands and their host. 

During this discussion other luminaries arrived, including severalladies and the Rev. Mr Bosher, of the Church of the Whited Sepulchre. 

The drawing-room of 'The Cave' was now elaborately furnished. A largemirror in a richly gilt frame reached from the carved marblemantelpiece to the cornice. A magnificent clock in an alabaster casestood in the centre of the mantelpiece and was flanked by twoexquisitely painted and gilded vases of Dresden ware. The windows weredraped with costly hangings, the floor was covered with a luxuriouscarpet and expensive rugs. Sumptuously upholstered couches and easychairs added to the comfort of the apartment, which was warmed by theimmense fire of coal and oak logs that blazed and crackled in the grate. 

The conversation now became general and at times highly philosophicalin character, although Mr Bosher did not take much part, being toobusily engaged gobbling up the biscuits and tea, and only occasionallyspluttering out a reply when a remark or question was directlyaddressed to him. 

This was Mr Grinder's first visit at the house, and he expressed hisadmiration of the manner in which the ceiling and the walls weredecorated, remarking that he had always liked this 'ere Japanese style. 

Mr Bosher, with his mouth full of biscuit, mumbled that it was sweetlypretty--charming--beautifully done--must have cost a lot of money. 

'Hardly wot you'd call Japanese, though, is it?' observed Didlum, looking round with the air of a connoisseur. 'I should be inclined tosay it was rather more of the--er--Chinese or Egyptian. '

'Moorish, ' explained Mr Sweater with a smile. 'I got the idear at theParis Exhibition. It's simler to the decorations in the "Halambara", the palace of the Sultan of Morocco. That clock there is in the samestyle. '

The case of the clock referred to--which stood on a table in a cornerof the room--was of fretwork, in the form of an Indian Mosque, with apointed dome and pinnacles. This was the case that Mary Linden hadsold to Didlum; the latter had had it stained a dark colour andpolished and further improved it by substituting a clock of moresuitable design than the one it originally held. Mr Sweater hadnoticed it in Didlum's window and, seeing that the design was similarin character to the painted decorations on the ceiling and walls of hisdrawing-room, had purchased it. 

'I went to the Paris Exhibition meself, ' said Grinder, when everyonehad admired the exquisite workmanship of the clock-case. 'I remember'avin' a look at the moon through that big telescope. I was never sosurprised in me life: you can see it quite plain, and it's round!'

'Round?' said Didlum with a puzzled look. 'Round? Of course it'sround! You didn't used to think it was square, did yer?'

'No, of course not, but I always used to think it was flat--like aplate, but it's round like a football. '

'Certainly: the moon is a very simler body to the earth, ' explainedDidlum, describing an aerial circle with a wave of his hand. Theymoves through the air together, but the earth is always nearest to thesun and consequently once a fortnight the shadder of the earth falls onthe moon and darkens it so that it's invisible to the naked eye. Thenew moon is caused by the moon movin' a little bit out of the earth'sshadder, and it keeps on comin' more and more until we gets the fullmoon; and then it goes back again into the shadder; and so it keeps on. '

For about a minute everyone looked very solemn, and the profoundsilence was disturbed only the the crunching of the biscuits betweenthe jaws of Mr Bosher, and by certain gurglings in the interior of thatgentleman. 

'Science is a wonderful thing, ' said Mr Sweater at length, wagging hishead gravely, 'wonderful!'

'Yes: but a lot of it is mere theory, you know, ' observed Rushton. 'Take this idear that the world is round, for instance; I fail to seeit! And then they say as Hawstralia is on the other side of the globe, underneath our feet. In my opinion it's ridiculous, because if it wastrue, wot's to prevent the people droppin' orf?'

'Yes: well, of course it's very strange, ' admitted Sweater. 'I'veoften thought of that myself. If it was true, we ought to be able towalk on the ceiling of this room, for instance; but of course we knowthat's impossible, and I really don't see that the other is any morereasonable. '

'I've often noticed flies walkin' on the ceilin', ' remarked Didlum, whofelt called upon to defend the globular theory. 

'Yes; but they're different, ' replied Rushton. 'Flies is provided bynature with a gluey substance which oozes out of their feet for thepurpose of enabling them to walk upside down. '

'There's one thing that seems to me to finish that idear once for all, 'said Grinder, 'and that is--water always finds its own level. You can'tget away from that; and if the world was round, as they want us tobelieve, all the water would run off except just a little at the top. To my mind, that settles the whole argymint. '

'Another thing that gets over me, ' continued Rushton, 'is this:according to science, the earth turns round on its axle at the rate oftwenty miles a minit. Well, what about when a lark goes up in the skyand stays there about a quarter of an hour? Why, if it was true thatthe earth was turnin' round at that rate all the time, when the birdcame down it would find itself 'undreds of miles away from the placewhere it went up from! But that doesn't 'appen at all; the bird alwayscomes down in the same spot. '

'Yes, and the same thing applies to balloons and flyin' machines, ' saidGrinder. 'If it was true that the world is spinnin' round on its axleso quick as that, if a man started out from Calais to fly to Dover, bythe time he got to England he'd find 'imself in North America, orp'r'aps farther off still. '

'And if it was true that the world goes round the sun at the rate theymakes out, when a balloon went up, the earth would run away from it!They'd never be able to get back again!' remarked Rushton. 

This was so obvious that nearly everyone said there was probablysomething in it, and Didlum could think of no reply. Mr Bosher uponbeing appealed to for his opinion, explained that science was alrightin its way, but unreliable: the things scientists said yesterday theycontradicted today, and what they said today they would probablyrepudiate tomorrow. It was necessary to be very cautious beforeaccepting any of their assertions. 

'Talking about science, ' said Grinder, as the holy man relapsed intosilence and started on another biscuit and a fresh cup of tea. 'Talkingabout science reminds me of a conversation I 'ad with Dr Weakling theother day. You know, he believes we're all descended from monkeys. '

Everyone laughed; the thing was so absurd: the idea of placingintellectual beings on a level with animals!

'But just wait till you hear how nicely I flattened 'im out, ' continuedGrinder. 'After we'd been arguin' a long time about wot 'e calledeverlution or some sich name, and a lot more tommy-rot that I couldn'tmake no 'ead or tail of--and to tell you the truth I don't believe 'eunderstood 'arf of it 'imself--I ses to 'im, "Well, " I ses, "if it'strue that we're hall descended from monkeys, " I ses, "I think yourfamly must 'ave left orf where mine begun. "'

In the midst of the laughter that greeted the conclusion of Grinder'sstory it was seen that Mr Bosher had become black in the face. He waswaving his arms and writhing about like one in a fit, his goggle eyesbursting from their sockets, whilst his huge stomach quiveringspasmodically, alternately contracted and expanded as if it were aboutto explode. 

In the exuberance of his mirth, the unfortunate disciple had swallowedtwo biscuits at once. Everybody rushed to his assistance, Grinder andDidlum seized an arm and a shoulder each and forced his head down. Rushton punched him in the back and the ladies shrieked with alarm. They gave him a big drink of tea to help to get the biscuits down, andwhen he at last succeeded in swallowing them he sat in the armchairwith his eyes red-rimmed and full of tears, which ran down over hiswhite, flabby face. 

The arrival of the other members of the committee put an end to theinteresting discussion, and they shortly afterwards proceeded with thebusiness for which the meeting had been called--the arrangements forthe forthcoming Rummage Sale. 

Chapter 39

The Brigands at Work

The next day, at the meeting of the Town Council, Mr Wireman's reportconcerning the Electric Light Works was read. The expert's opinion wasso favourable--and it was endorsed by the Borough Engineer, Mr OyleySweater--that a resolution was unanimously carried in favour ofacquiring the Works for the town, and a secret committee was appointedto arrange the preliminaries. Alderman Sweater then suggested that asuitable honorarium be voted to Mr Wireman for his services. This wasgreeted with a murmur of approval from most of the members, and MrDidlum rose with the intention of proposing a resolution to that effectwhen he was interrupted by Alderman Grinder, who said he couldn't seeno sense in giving the man a thing like that. 'Why not give him a sumof money?'

Several members said 'Hear, hear, ' to this, but some of the otherslaughed. 

'I can't see nothing to laugh at, ' cried Grinder angrily. 'For my partI wouldn't give you tuppence for all the honorariums in the country. Imove that we pay 'im a sum of money. '

'I'll second that, ' said another member of the Band--one of those whohad cried 'Hear, Hear. '

Alderman Sweater said that there seemed to be a little misunderstandingand explained that an honorarium WAS a sum of money. 

'Oh, well, in that case I'll withdraw my resolution, ' said Grinder. 'Ithought you wanted to give 'im a 'luminated address or something likethat. '

Didlum now moved that a letter of thanks and a fee of fifty guineas bevoted to Mr Wireman, and this was also unanimously agreed to. DrWeakling said that it seemed rather a lot, but he did not go so far asto vote against it. 

The next business was the proposal that the Corporation should takeover the drain connecting Mr Sweater's house with the town main. MrSweater--being a public-spirited man--proposed to hand this connectingdrain--which ran through a private road--over to the Corporation to betheirs and their successors for ever, on condition that they would payhim the cost of construction--�55--and agreed to keep it in properrepair. After a brief discussion it was decided to take over the drainon the terms offered, and then Councillor Didlum proposed a vote ofthanks to Alderman Sweater for his generosity in the matter: this waspromptly seconded by Councillor Rushton and would have been carriednem. Con. , but for the disgraceful conduct of Dr Weakling, who had thebad taste to suggest that the amount was about double what the draincould possibly have cost to construct, that it was of no use to theCorporation at all, and that they would merely acquire the liability tokeep it in repair. 

However, no one took the trouble to reply to Weakling, and the Bandproceeded to the consideration of the next business, which was MrGrinder's offer--on behalf of the 'Cosy Corner Refreshment Company'--totake the Kiosk on the Grand Parade. Mr Grinder submitted a plan ofcertain alterations that he would require the Corporation to make atthe Kiosk, and, provided the Council agreed to do this work he waswilling to take a lease of the place for five years at �20 per year. 

Councillor Didlum proposed that the offer of the 'Cosy CornerRefreshment Co. Ltd' be accepted and the required alterations proceededwith at once. The Kiosk had brought in no rent for nearly two years, but, apart from that consideration, if they accepted this offer theywould be able to set some of the unemployed to work. (Applause. )

Councillor Rushton seconded. 

Dr Weakling pointed out that as the proposed alterations would costabout �175--according to the estimate of the Borough Engineer--and, therent being only �20 a year, it would mean that the Council would be �75out of pocket at the end of the five years; to say nothing of theexpense of keeping the place in repair during all that time. (Disturbance. ) He moved as an amendment that the alterations be made, and that they then invite tenders, and let the place to the highestbidder. (Great uproar. )

Councillor Rushton said he was disgusted with the attitude taken up bythat man Weakling. (Applause. ) Perhaps it was hardly right to callhim a man. (Hear! Hear!) In the matter of these alterations they hadhad the use of Councillor Grinder's brains: it was he who first thoughtof making these improvements in the Kiosk, and therefore he--or ratherthe company he represented--had a moral right to the tenancy. (Loudcheers. )

Dr Weakling said that he thought it was understood that when a man waselected to that Council it was because he was supposed to be willing touse his brains for the benefit of his constituents. (Sardoniclaughter. )

The Mayor asked if there was any seconder to Weakling's amendment, andas there was not the original proposition was put and carried. 

Councillor Rushton suggested that a large shelter with seatingaccommodation for about two hundred persons should be erected on theGrand Parade near the Kiosk. The shelter would serve as a protectionagainst rain, or the rays of the sun in summer. It would addmaterially to the comfort of visitors and would be a notable additionto the attractions of the town. 

Councillor Didlum said it was a very good idear, and proposed that theSurveyor be instructed to get out the plans. 

Dr Weakling opposed the motion. (Laughter. ) It seemed to him that theobject was to benefit, not the town, but Mr Grinder. (Disturbance. ) Ifthis shelter were erected, it would increase the value of the Kiosk asa refreshment bar by a hundred per cent. If Mr Grinder wanted ashelter for his customers he should pay for it himself. (Uproar. ) He(Dr Weakling) was sorry to have to say it, but he could not helpthinking that this was a Put-up job. (Loud cries of 'Withdraw''Apologize' 'Cast 'im out' and terrific uproar. )

Weakling did not apologize or withdraw, but he said no more. Didlum'sproposition was carried, and the 'hand' went on to the next item on theagenda, which was a proposal by Councillor Didlum to increase thesalary of Mr Oyley Sweater, the Borough Engineer, from fifteen poundsto seventeen pounds per week. 

Councillor Didlum said that when they had a good man they ought toappreciate him. (Applause. ) Compared with other officials, theBorough Engineer was not fairly paid. (Hear, hear. ) The magistrates'clerk received seventeen pounds a week. The Town Clerk seventeenpounds per week. He did not wish it to be understood that he thoughtthose gentlemen were overpaid--far from it. (Hear, hear. ) It was notthat they got too much but that the Engineer got too little. How couldthey expect a man like that to exist on a paltry fifteen pounds a week?Why, it was nothing more or less than sweating! (Hear, hear. ) He hadmuch pleasure in moving that the Borough Engineer's salary be increasedto seventeen pounds a week, and that his annual holiday be extendedfrom a fortnight to one calendar month with hard la--he beggedpardon--with full pay. (Loud cheers. )

Councillor Rushton said that he did not propose to make a longspeech--it was not necessary. He would content himself with formallyseconding Councillor Didlum's excellent proposition. (Applause. )

Councillor Weakling, whose rising was greeted with derisive laughter, said he must oppose the resolution. He wished it to be understood thathe was not actuated by any feeling of personal animosity towards theBorough Engineer, but at the same time he considered it his duty to saythat in his (Dr Weakling's) opinion, that official would be dear athalf the price they were now paying him. (Disturbance. ) He did notappear to understand his business, nearly all the work that was donecost in the end about double what the Borough Engineer estimated itcould be done for. (Liar. ) He considered him to be a grosslyincompetent person (uproar) and was of opinion that if they were toadvertise they could get dozens of better men who would be glad to dothe work for five pounds a week. He moved that Mr Oyley Sweater beasked to resign and that they advertise for a man at five pounds aweek. (Great uproar. )

Councillor Grinder rose to a point of order. He appealed to theChairman to squash the amendment. (Applause. )

Councillor Didlum remarked that he supposed Councillor Grinder meant'quash': in that case, he would support the suggestion. 

Councillor Grinder said it was about time they put a stopper on thatfeller Weakling. He (Grinder) did not care whether they called itsquashing or quashing; it was all the same so long as they nipped himin the bud. (Cheers. ) The man was a disgrace to the Council; alwaysinterfering and hindering the business. 

The Mayor--Alderman Sweater--said that he did not think it consistentwith the dignity of that Council to waste any more time over thisscurrilous amendment. (Applause. ) He was proud to say that it hadnever even been seconded, and therefore he would put Mr Didlum'sresolution--a proposition which he had no hesitation in sayingreflected the highest credit upon that gentleman and upon all those whosupported it. (Vociferous cheers. )

All those who were in favour signified their approval in the customarymanner, and as Weakling was the only one opposed, the resolution wascarried and the meeting proceeded to the next business. 

Councillor Rushton said that several influential ratepayers andemployers of labour had complained to him about the high wages of theCorporation workmen, some of whom were paid sevenpence-halfpenny anhour. Sevenpence an hour was the maximum wage paid to skilled workmenby private employers in that town, and he failed to see why theCorporation should pay more. (Hear, hear. ) It had a very bad effecton the minds of the men in the employment of private firms, tending tomake them dissatisfied with their wages. The same state of affairsprevailed with regard to the unskilled labourers in the Council'semployment. Private employers could get that class of labour forfourpence-halfpenny or fivepence an hour, and yet the corporation paidfivepence-halfpenny and even sixpence for the same class of work. (Shame. ) It was not fair to the ratepayers. (Hear, hear. ) Consideringthat the men in the employment of the Corporation had almost constantwork, if there was to be a difference at all, they should get not more, but less, than those who worked for private firms. (Cheers. ) He movedthat the wages of the Corporation workmen be reduced in all cases tothe same level as those paid by private firms. 

Councillor Grinder seconded. He said it amounted to a positivescandal. Why, in the summer-time some of these men drew as much as35/- in a single week! (Shame. ) and it was quite common for unskilledlabourers--fellers who did nothing but the very hardest and mostlaborious work, sich as carrying sacks of cement, or digging up theroads to get at the drains, and sich-like easy jobs--to walk off with25/- a week! (Sensation. ) He had often noticed some of these menswaggering about the town on Sundays, dressed like millionaires andcigared up! They seemed quite a different class of men from those whoworked for private firms, and to look at the way some of their childrenwas dressed you'd think their fathers was Cabinet Minstrels! No wonderthe ratepayers complained ot the high rates. Another grievance wasthat all the Corporation workmen were allowed two days' holiday everyyear, in addition to the Bank Holidays, and were paid for them! (Criesof 'shame', 'Scandalous', 'Disgraceful', etc. ) No private contractorpaid his men for Bank Holidays, and why should the Corporation do so?He had much pleasure in seconding Councillor Rushton's resolution. 

Councillor Weakling opposed the motion. He thought that 35/- a week waslittle enough for a man to keep a wife and family with (Rot), even ifall the men got it regularly, which they did not. Members shouldconsider what was the average amount per week throughout the wholeyear, not merely the busy time, and if they did that they would findthat even the skilled men did not average more than 25/- a week, and inmany cases not so much. If this subject had not been introduced byCouncillor Rushton, he (Dr Weakling) had intended to propose that thewages of the Corporation workmen should be increased to the standardrecognized by the Trades Unions. (Loud laughter. ) It had been provedthat the notoriously short lives of the working people--whose averagespan of life was about twenty years less than that of the well-to-doclasses--their increasingly inferior physique, and the high rate ofmortality amongst their children was caused by the wretchedremuneration they received for hard and tiring work, the excessivenumber of hours they have to work, when employed, the bad quality oftheir food, the badly constructed and insanitary homes their povertycompels them to occupy, and the anxiety, worry, and depression of mindthey have to suffer when out of employment. (Cries of 'Rot', 'Bosh', and loud laughter. ) Councillor Didlum said, 'Rot'. It was a very goodword to describe the disease that was sapping the foundations ofsociety and destroying the health and happiness and the very lives ofso many of their fellow countrymen and women. (Renewed merriment andshouts of 'Go and buy a red tie. ') He appealed to the members toreject the resolution. He was very glad to say that he believed it wastrue that the workmen in the employ of the Corporation were a littlebetter off than those in the employ of private contractors, and if itwere so, it was as it should be. They had need to be better off thanthe poverty-stricken, half-starved poor wretches who worked for privatefirms. 

Councillor Didlum said that it was very evident that Dr Weakling hadobtained his seat on that Council by false pretences. If he had toldthe ratepayers that he was a Socialist, they would never have electedhim. (Hear, hear. ) Practically every Christian minister in thecountry would agree with him (Didlum) when he said that the poverty ofthe working classes was caused not by the 'wretched remuneration theyreceive as wages', but by Drink. (Loud applause. ) And he was verysure that the testimony of the clergy of all denominations was more tobe relied upon than the opinion of a man like Dr Weakling. (Hear, hear. )

Dr Weakling said that if some of the clergymen referred to or some ofthe members of the council had to exist and toil amid the same sordidsurroundings, overcrowding and ignorance as some of the workingclasses, they would probably seek to secure some share of pleasure andforgetfulness in drink themselves! (Great uproar and shouts of'Order', 'Withdraw', 'Apologize'. )

Councillor Grinder said that even if it was true that the haveragelives of the working classes was twenty years shorter than those of thebetter classes, he could not see what it had got to do with DrWeakling. (Hear, hear. ) So long as the working class was contented todie twenty years before their time, he failed to see what it had got todo with other people. They was not runnin' short of workers, was they?There was still plenty of 'em left. (Laughter. ) So long as theworkin' class was satisfied to die orf--let 'em die orf! It was a freecountry. (Applause. ) The workin' class adn't arst Dr Weakling tostick up for them, had they? If they wasn't satisfied, they wouldstick up for theirselves! The working men didn't want the likes of DrWeakling to stick up for them, and they would let 'im know it when thenext election came round. If he (Grinder) was a wordly man, he wouldnot mind betting that the workin' men of Dr Weakling's ward would givehim 'the dirty kick out' next November. (Applause. )

Councillor Weakling, who knew that this was probably true, made nofurther protest. Rushton's proposition was carried, and then the Clerkannounced that the next item was the resolution Mr Didlum had givennotice of at the last meeting, and the Mayor accordingly called uponthat gentleman. 

Councillor Didlum, who was received with loud cheers, said thatunfortunately a certain member of that Council seemed to think he had aright to oppose nearly everything that was brought forward. 

(The majority of the members of the Band glared malignantly atWeakling. )

He hoped that for once the individual he referred to would have thedecency to restrain himself, because the resolution he (Didlum) wasabout to have the honour of proposing was one that he believed noright-minded man--no matter what his politics or religiousopinions--could possibly object to; and he trusted that for the creditof the Council it would be entered on the records as an unopposedmotion. The resolution was as follows:

'That from this date all the meetings of this Council shall be openedwith prayer and closed with the singing of the Doxology. ' (Loudapplause. )

Councillor Rushton seconded the resolution, which was also supported byMr Grinder, who said that at a time like the present, when there wassich a lot of infiddles about who said that we all came from monkeys, the Council would be showing a good example to the working classes byadopting the resolution. 

Councillor Weakling said nothing, so the new rule was carried nem. Con. , and as there was no more business to be done it was put intooperation for the first time there and then. Mr Sweater conducting thesinging with a roll of paper--the plan of the drain of 'The Cave'--andeach member singing a different tune. 

Weakling withdrew during the singing, and afterwards, before the Banddispersed, it was agreed that a certain number of them were to meet theChief at the Cave, on the following evening to arrange the details ofthe proposed raid on the finances of the town in connection with thesale of the Electric Light Works. 

Chapter 40

Vive la System!

The alterations which the Corporation had undertaken to make in theKiosk on the Grand Parade provided employment for several carpentersand plasterers for about three weeks, and afterwards for severalpainters. This fact was sufficient to secure the working men'sunqualified approval of the action of the Council in letting the placeto Grinder, and Councillor Weakling's opposition--the reasons of whichthey did not take the trouble to inquire into or understand--they asheartily condemned. All they knew or cared was that he had tried toprevent the work being done, and that he had referred in insultingterms to the working men of the town. What right had he to call themhalf-starved, poverty-stricken, poor wretches? If it came to beingpoverty-stricken, according to all accounts, he wasn't any too well orfhisself. Some of those blokes who went swaggering about in frock-coatsand pot-'ats was just as 'ard up as anyone else if the truth was known. 

As for the Corporation workmen, it was quite right that their wagesshould be reduced. Why should they get more money than anyone else?

'It's us what's got to find the money, ' they said. 'We're theratepayers, and why should we have to pay them more wages than we getourselves? And why should they be paid for holidays any more than us?'

During the next few weeks the dearth of employment continued, for, ofcourse, the work at the Kiosk and the few others jobs that were beingdone did not make much difference to the general situation. Groups ofworkmen stood at the corners or walked aimlessly about the streets. Most of them no longer troubled to go to the different firms to ask forwork, they were usually told that they would be sent for if wanted. 

During this time Owen did his best to convert the other men to hisviews. He had accumulated a little library of Socialist books andpamphlets which he lent to those he hoped to influence. Some of themtook these books and promised, with the air of men who were conferringa great favour, that they would read them. As a rule, when theyreturned them it was with vague expressions of approval, but theyusually evinced a disinclination to discuss the contents in detailbecause, in nine instances out of ten, they had not attempted to readthem. As for those who did make a half-hearted effort to do so, in themajority of cases their minds were so rusty and stultified by longyears of disuse, that, although the pamphlets were generally written insuch simple language that a child might have understood, the argumentwas generally too obscure to be grasped by men whose minds were addledby the stories told them by their Liberal and Tory masters. Some, whenOwen offered to lend them some books or pamphlets refused to acceptthem, and others who did him the great favour of accepting them, afterwards boasted that they had used them as toilet paper. 

Owen frequently entered into long arguments with the other men, sayingthat it was the duty of the State to provide productive work for allthose who were willing to do it. Some few of them listened like menwho only vaguely understood, but were willing to be convinced. 

'Yes, mate. It's right enough what you say, ' they would remark. 'Something ought to be done. '

Others ridiculed this doctrine of State employment: It was all veryfine, but where was the money to come from? And then those who hadbeen disposed to agree with Owen could relapse into their old apathy. 

There were others who did not listen so quietly, but shouted with manycurses that it was the likes of such fellows as Owen who wereresponsible for all the depression in trade. All this talk aboutSocialism and State employment was frightening Capital out of thecountry. Those who had money were afraid to invest it in industries, or to have any work done for fear they would be robbed. When Owenquoted statistics to prove that as far as commerce and the quantityproduced of commodities of all kinds was concerned, the last year hadbeen a record one, they became more infuriated than ever, and talkedthreateningly of what they would like to do to those bloody Socialistswho were upsetting everything. 

One day Crass, who was one of these upholders of the existing system, scored off Owen finely. A little group of them were standing talkingin the Wage Slave Market near the Fountain. In the course of theargument, Owen made the remark that under existing conditions life wasnot worth living, and Crass said that if he really thought so, therewas no compulsion about it; if he wasn't satisfied--if he didn't wantto live--he could go and die. Why the hell didn't he go and make ahole in the water, or cut his bloody throat?

On this particular occasion the subject of the argument was--atfirst--the recent increase of the Borough Engineer's salary toseventeen pounds per week. Owen had said it was robbery, but themajority of the others expressed their approval of the increase. Theyasked Owen if he expected a man like that to work for nothing! It wasnot as if he were one of the likes of themselves. They said that, asfor it being robbery, Owen would be very glad to have the chance ofgetting it himself. Most of them seemed to think the fact that anyonewould be glad to have seventeen pounds a week, proved that it was rightfor them to pay that amount to the Borough Engineer!

Usually whenever Owen reflected upon the gross injustices, andinhumanity of the existing social disorder, he became convinced that itcould not possibly last; it was bound to fall to pieces because of itsown rottenness. It was not just, it was not common sense, andtherefore it could not endure. But always after one of thesearguments--or, rather, disputes--with his fellow workmen, he almostrelapsed into hopelessness and despondency, for then he realized howvast and how strong are the fortifications that surround the presentsystem; the great barriers and ramparts of invincible ignorance, apathyand self-contempt, which will have to be broken down before the systemof society of which they are the defences, can be swept away. 

At other times as he thought of this marvellous system, it presenteditself to him in such an aspect of almost comical absurdity that he wasforced to laugh and to wonder whether it really existed at all, or ifit were only an illusion of his own disordered mind. 

One of the things that the human race needed in order to exist wasshelter; so with much painful labour they had constructed a largenumber of houses. Thousands of these houses were now standingunoccupied, while millions of the people who had helped to build thehouses were either homeless or herding together in overcrowded hovels. 

These human beings had such a strange system of arranging their affairsthat if anyone were to go and burn down a lot of the houses he would beconferring a great boon upon those who had built them, because such anact would 'Make a lot more work!'

Another very comical thing was that thousands of people wore brokenboots and ragged clothes, while millions of pairs of boots andabundance of clothing, which they had helped to make, were locked up inwarehouses, and the System had the keys. 

Thousands of people lacked the necessaries of life. The necessaries oflife are all produced by work. The people who lacked begged to beallowed to work and create those things of which they stood in need. But the System prevented them from so doing. 

If anyone asked the System why it prevented these people from producingthe things of which they were in want, the System replied:

'Because they have already produced too much. The markets are glutted. The warehouses are filled and overflowing, and there is nothing morefor them to do. '

There was in existence a huge accumulation of everything necessary. Agreat number of the people whose labour had produced that vast storewere now living in want, but the System said that they could not bepermitted to partake of the things they had created. Then, after atime, when these people, being reduced to the last extreme of misery, cried out that they and their children were dying of hunger, the Systemgrudgingly unlocked the doors of the great warehouses, and taking out asmall part of the things that were stored within, distributed itamongst the famished workers, at the same time reminding them that itwas Charity, because all the things in the warehouses, although theyhad been made by the workers, were now the property of the people whodo nothing. 

And then the starving, bootless, ragged, stupid wretches fell down andworshipped the System, and offered up their children as livingsacrifices upon its altars, saying:

'This beautiful System is the only one possible, and the best thathuman wisdom can devise. May the System live for ever! Cursed bethose who seek to destroy the System!'

As the absurdity of the thing forced itself upon him, Owen, in spite ofthe unhappiness he felt at the sight of all the misery by which he wassurrounded, laughed aloud and said to himself that if he was sane, thenall these people must be mad. 

In the face of such colossal imbecility it was absurd to hope for anyimmediate improvement. The little already accomplished was the work ofa few self-sacrificing enthusiasts, battling against the opposition ofthose they sought to benefit, and the results of their labours were, inmany instances, as pearls cast before the swine who stood watching foropportunities to fall upon and rend their benefactors. 

There was only one hope. It was possible that the monopolists, encouraged by the extraordinary stupidity and apathy of the peoplewould proceed to lay upon them even greater burdens, until at last, goaded by suffering, and not having sufficient intelligence tounderstand any other remedy, these miserable wretches would turn upontheir oppressors and drown both them and their System in a sea of blood. 

Besides the work at the Kiosk, towards the end of March thingsgradually began to improve in other directions. Several firms began totake on a few hands. Several large empty houses that were relet had tobe renovated for their new tenants, and there was a fair amount ofinside work arising out of the annual spring-cleaning in other houses. There was not enough work to keep everyone employed, and most of thosewho were taken on as a rule only managed to make a few hours a week, but still it was better than absolute idleness, and there also began tobe talk of several large outside jobs that were to be done as soon asthe weather was settled. 

This bad weather, by the way, was a sort of boon to the defenders ofthe present system, who were hard-up for sensible arguments to explainthe cause of poverty. One of the principal causes was, of course, theweather, which was keeping everything back. There was not theslightest doubt that if only the weather would allow there would alwaysbe plenty of work, and poverty would be abolished. 

Rushton & Co. Had a fair share of what work there was, and Crass, Sawkins, Slyme and Owen were kept employed pretty regularly, althoughthey did not start until half past eight and left off at four. Atdifferent houses in various parts of the town they had ceilings to washoff and distemper, to strip the old paper from the walls, and torepaint and paper the rooms, and sometimes there were the venetianblinds to repair and repaint. Occasionally a few extra hands weretaken on for a few days, and discharged again as soon as the job theywere taken on to do was finished. 

The defenders of the existing system may possibly believe that theknowledge that they would be discharged directly the job was done was avery good incentive to industry, that they would naturally under thesecircumstances do their best to get the work done as quickly aspossible. But then it must be remembered that most of the defenders ofthe existing system are so constituted, that they can believe anythingprovided it is not true and sufficiently silly. 

All the same, it was a fact that the workmen did do their very best toget over this work in the shortest possible time, because although theyknew that to do so was contrary to their own interests, they also knewthat it would be very much more contrary to their interests not to doso. Their only chance of being kept on if other work came in was totear into it for all they were worth. Consequently, most of the workwas rushed and botched and slobbered over in about half the time thatit would have taken to do it properly. Rooms for which the customerspaid to have three coats of paint were scamped with one or two. WhatMisery did not know about scamping and faking the work, the mensuggested to and showed him in the hope of currying favour with him inorder that they might get the preference over others and be sent forwhen the next job came in. This is the principal incentive provided bythe present system, the incentive to cheat. These fellows cheated thecustomers of their money. They cheated themselves and their fellowworkmen of work, and their children of bread, but it was all for a goodcause--to make profit for their master. 

Harlow and Slyme did one job--a room that Rushton & Co. Had contractedto paint three coats. It was finished with two and the men clearedaway their paints. The next day, when Slyme wept there to paper theroom, the lady of the house said that the painting was not yetfinished--it was to have another coat. Slyme assured her that it hadalready had three, but, as the lady insisted, Slyme went to the shopand sought out Misery. Harlow had been stood off, as there was notanother job in just then, but fortunately he happened to be standing inthe street outside the shop, so they called him and then the three ofthem went round to the job and swore that the room had had three coats. The lady protested that it was not so. She had watched the progress ofthe work. Besides, it was impossible; they had only been there threedays. The first day they had not put any paint on at all; they haddone the ceiling and stripped the walls; the painting was not startedtill the second day. How then could it have had three coats? Miseryexplained the mystery: he said that for first coating they had an extraspecial very fast-drying paint--paint that dried so quickly that theywere able to give the work two coats in one day. For instance, one mandid the window, the other the door: when these were finished both mendid the skirting; by the time the skirting was finished the door andwindow were dry enough to second coat; and then, on the followingday--the finishing coat!

Of course, this extra special quick-drying paint was very expensive, but the firm did not mind that. They knew that most of their customerswished to have their work finished as quickly as possible, and theirstudy was to give satisfaction to the customers. This explanationsatisfied the lady--a poverty-stricken widow making a precarious livingby taking in lodgers--who was the more easily deceived because sheregarded Misery as a very holy man, having seen him preaching in thestreet on many occasions. 

There was another job at another boarding-house that Owen and Eastondid--two rooms which had to be painted three coats of white paint andone of enamel, making four coats altogether. That was what the firmhad contracted to do. As the old paint in these rooms was of a ratherdark shade it was absolutely necessary to give the work three coatsbefore enamelling it. Misery wanted them to let it go with two, butOwen pointed out that if they did so it would be such a ghastly messthat it would never pass. After thinking the matter over for a fewminutes, Misery told them to go on with the third coat of paint. Thenhe went downstairs and asked to see the lady of the house. Heexplained to her that, in consequence of the old paint being so dark, he found that it would be necessary, in order to make a good job of it, to give the work four coats before enamelling it. Of course, they hadagreed for only three, but as they always made a point of doing theirwork in a first-class manner rather than not make a good job, theywould give it the extra coat for nothing, but he was sure she would notwish them to do that. The lady said that she did not want them to workfor nothing, and she wanted it done properly. If it were necessary togive it an extra coat, they must do so and she would pay for it. Howmuch would it be? Misery told her. The lady was satisfied, and Miserywas in the seventh heaven. Then he went upstairs again and warned Owenand Easton to be sure to say, if they were asked, that the work had hadfour coats. 

It would not be reasonable to blame Misery or Rushton for not wishingto do good, honest work--there was no incentive. When they secured acontract, if they had thought first of making the very best possiblejob of it, they would not have made so much profit. The incentive wasnot to do the work as well as possible, but to do as little aspossible. The incentive was not to make good work, but to make goodprofit. 

The same rule applied to the workers. They could not justly be blamedfor not doing good work--there was no incentive. To do good workrequires time and pains. Most of them would have liked to take timeand pains, because all those who are capable of doing good work findpleasure and happiness in doing it, and have pride in it when done: butthere was no incentive, unless the certainty of getting the sack couldbe called an incentive, for it was a moral certainty that any man whowas caught taking time and pains with his work would be promptlypresented with the order of the boot. But there was plenty ofincentive to hurry and scamp and slobber and botch. 

There was another job at a lodging-house--two rooms to be painted andpapered. The landlord paid for the work, but the tenant had theprivilege of choosing the paper. She could have any pattern she likedso long as the cost did not exceed one shilling per roll, Rushton'sestimate being for paper of that price. Misery sent her severalpatterns of sixpenny papers, marked at a shilling, to choose from, butshe did not fancy any of them, and said that she would come to the shopto make her selection. So Hunter tore round to the shop in a greathurry to get there before her. In his haste to dismount, he fell offhis bicycle into the muddy road, and nearly smashed the plate-glasswindow with the handle-bar of the machine as he placed it against theshop front before going in. 

Without waiting to clean the mud off his clothes, he ordered Budd, thepimply-faced shopman, to get out rolls of all the sixpenny papers theyhad, and then they both set to work and altered the price marked uponthem from sixpence to a shilling. Then they got out a number ofshilling papers and altered the price marked upon them, changing itfrom a shilling to one and six. 

When the unfortunate woman arrived, Misery was waiting for her with abenign smile upon his long visage. He showed her all the sixpennyones, but she did not like any of them, so after a while Nimrodsuggested that perhaps she would like a paper of a little betterquality, and she could pay the trifling difference out of her ownpocket. Then he showed her the shilling papers that he had marked upto one and sixpence, and eventually the lady selected one of these andpaid the extra sixpence per roll herself, as Nimrod suggested. Therewere fifteen rolls of paper altogether--seven for one room and eightfor the other--so that in addition to the ordinary profit on the saleof the paper--about two hundred and seventy-five per cent. --the firmmade seven and sixpence on this transaction. They might have donebetter out of the job itself if Slyme had not been hanging the paperpiece-work, for, the two rooms being of the same pattern, he couldeasily have managed to do them with fourteen rolls; in fact, that wasall he did use, but he cut up and partly destroyed the one that wasover so that he could charge for hanging it. 

Owen was working there at the same time, for the painting of the roomswas not done before Slyme papered them; the finishing coat was put onafter the paper was hung. He noticed Slyme destroying the paper and, guessing the reason, asked him how he could reconcile such conduct asthat with his profession of religion. 

Slyme replied that the fact that he was a Christian did not imply thathe never did anything wrong: if he committed a sin, he was a Christianall the same, and it would be forgiven him for the sake of the Blood. As for this affair of the paper, it was a matter between himself andGod, and Owen had no right to set himself up as a Judge. 

In addition to all this work, there were a number of funerals. Crassand Slyme did very well out of it all, working all day white-washing orpainting, and sometimes part of the night painting venetian blinds orpolishing coffins and taking them home, to say nothing of the liftingin of the corpses and afterwards acting as bearers. 

As time went on, the number of small jobs increased, and as the daysgrew longer the men were allowed to put in a greater number of hours. Most of the firms had some work, but there was never enough to keep allthe men in the town employed at the same time. It worked like this:Every firm had a certain number of men who were regarded as the regularhands. When there was any work to do, they got the preference overstrangers or outsiders. When things were busy, outsiders were taken ontemporarily. When the work fell off, these casual hands were the firstto be 'stood still'. If it continued to fall off, the old hands werealso stood still in order of seniority, the older hands being preferredto strangers--so long, of course, as they were not old in the sense ofbeing aged or inefficient. 

This kind of thing usually continued all through the spring and summer. In good years the men of all trades, carpenters, bricklayers, plasterers, painters and so on, were able to keep almost regularly atwork, except in wet weather. 

The difference between a good and bad spring and summer is that in goodyears it is sometimes possible to make a little overtime, and theperiods of unemployment are shorter and less frequent than in badyears. It is rare even in good years for one of the casual hands to beemployed by one firm for more than one, two or three months without abreak. It is usual for them to put in a month with one firm, then afortnight with another, then perhaps six weeks somewhere else, andoften between there are two or three days or even weeks of enforcedidleness. This sort of thing goes on all through spring, summer andautumn. 

Chapter 41

The Easter Offering. The Beano Meeting

By the beginning of April, Rushton & Co. Were again working nine hoursa day, from seven in the morning till five-thirty at night, and afterEaster they started working full time from 6 A. M. Till 5. 30 P. M. , eleven and a half hours--or, rather, ten hours, for they had to losehalf an hour at breakfast and an hour at dinner. 

Just before Easter several of the men asked Hunter if they might beallowed to work on Good Friday and Easter Monday, as, they said, theyhad had enough holidays during the winter; they had no money to sparefor holiday-making, and they did not wish to lose two days' pay whenthere was work to be done. Hunter told them that there was notsufficient work in to justify him in doing as they requested: thingswere getting very slack again, and Mr Rushton had decided to cease workfrom Thursday night till Tuesday morning. They were thus preventedfrom working on Good Friday, but it is true that not more than oneworking man in fifty went to any religious service on that day or onany other day during the Easter festival. On the contrary, thisfestival was the occasion of much cursing and blaspheming on the partof those whose penniless, poverty-stricken condition it helped toaggravate by enforcing unprofitable idleness which they lacked themeans to enjoy. 

During these holidays some of the men did little jobs on their ownaccount and others put in the whole time--including Good Friday andEaster Sunday--gardening, digging and planting their plots of allotmentground. 

When Owen arrived home one evening during the week before Easter, Frankie gave him an envelope which he had brought home from school. Itcontained a printed leaflet:

 CHURCH OF THE WHITED SEPULCHRE, MUGSBOROUGH

 Easter 19--

Dear Sir (or Madam), In accordance with the usual custom we invite you to join with us inpresenting the Vicar, the Rev. Habbakuk Bosher, with an EasterOffering, as a token of affection and regard. 

 Yours faithfully, A. Cheeseman } W. Taylor } Churchwardens

Mr Bosher's income from various sources connected with the church wasover six hundred pounds a year, or about twelve pounds per week, but asthat sum was evidently insufficient, his admirers had adopted thisdevice for supplementing it. Frankie said all the boys had one ofthese letters and were going to ask their fathers for some money togive towards the Easter offering. Most of them expected to gettwopence. 

As the boy had evidently set his heart on doing the same as the otherchildren, Owen gave him the twopence, and they afterwards learned thatthe Easter Offering for that year was one hundred and twenty-sevenpounds, which was made up of the amounts collected from theparishioners by the children, the district visitors and the verger, thecollection at a special Service, and donations from the feeble-mindedold females elsewhere referred to. 

By the end of April nearly all the old hands were back at work, andseveral casual hands had also been taken on, the Semi-drunk being oneof the number. In addition to these, Misery had taken on a number ofwhat he called 'lightweights', men who were not really skilled workmen, but had picked up sufficient knowledge of the simpler parts of thetrade to be able to get over it passably. These were paid fivepence orfivepence-halfpenny, and were employed in preference to those who hadserved their time, because the latter wanted more money and thereforewere only employed when absolutely necessary. Besides the lightweightsthere were a few young fellows called improvers, who were also employedbecause they were cheap. 

Crass now acted as colourman, having been appointed possibly because heknew absolutely nothing about the laws of colour. As most of the workconsisted of small jobs, all the paint and distemper was mixed up atthe shop and sent out ready for use to the various jobs. 

Sawkins or some of the other lightweights generally carried the heavierlots of colour or scaffolding, but the smaller lots of colour or suchthings as a pair of steps or a painter's plank were usually sent by theboy, whose slender legs had become quite bowed since he had beenengaged helping the other philanthropists to make money for Mr Rushton. 

Crass's work as colourman was simplified, to a certain extent, by thegreat number of specially prepared paints and distempers in allcolours, supplied by the manufacturers ready for use. Most of thesenew-fangled concoctions were regarded with an eye of suspicion anddislike by the hands, and Philpot voiced the general opinion about themone day during a dinner-hour discussion when he said they might appearto be all right for a time, but they would probably not last, becausethey was mostly made of kimicles. 

One of these new-fashioned paints was called 'Petrifying Liquid', andwas used for first-coating decaying stone or plaster work. It was alsosupposed to be used for thinning up a certain kind of patent distemper, but when Misery found out that it was possible to thin the latter withwater, the use of 'Petrifying Liquid' for that purpose wasdiscontinued. This 'Petrifying Liquid' was a source of much merrimentto the hands. The name was applied to the tea that they made inbuckets on some of the jobs, and also to the four-ale that was suppliedby certain pubs. 

One of the new inventions was regarded with a certain amount ofindignation by the hands: it was a white enamel, and they objected toit for two reasons--one was because, as Philpot remarked, it dried soquickly that you had to work like greased lightning; you had to be allover the door directly you started it. 

The other reason was that, because it dried so quickly, it wasnecessary to keep closed the doors and windows of the room where it wasbeing used, and the smell was so awful that it brought on fits ofdizziness and sometimes vomiting. Needless to say, the fact that itcompelled those who used it to work quickly recommended the stuff toMisery. 

As for the smell, he did not care about that; he did not have to inhalethe fumes himself. 

It was just about this time that Crass, after due consultation withseveral of the others, including Philpot, Harlow, Bundy, Slyme, Eastonand the Semi-drunk, decided to call a meeting of the hands for thepurpose of considering the advisability of holding the usual Beanolater on in the summer. The meeting was held in the carpenter's shopdown at the yard one evening at six o'clock, which allowed time forthose interested to attend after leaving work. 

The hands sat on the benches or carpenter's stools, or reclined uponheaps of shavings. On a pair of tressels in the centre of the workshopstood a large oak coffin which Crass had just finished polishing. 

When all those who were expected to turn up had arrived, Payne, theforeman carpenter--the man who made the coffins--was voted to the chairon the proposition of Crass, seconded by Philpot, and then a solemnsilence ensued, which was broken at last by the chairman, who, in alengthy speech, explained the object of the meeting. Possibly with alaudable desire that there should be no mistake about it, he took thetrouble to explain several times, going over the same ground andrepeating the same words over and over again, whilst the audiencewaited in a deathlike and miserable silence for him to leave off. Payne, however, did not appear to have any intention of leaving off, for he continued, like a man in a trance, to repeat what he had saidbefore, seeming to be under the impression that he had to make aseparate explanation to each individual member of the audience. Atlast the crowd could stand it no longer, and began to shout 'Hear, hear' and to bang bits of wood and hammers on the floor and thebenches; and then, after a final repetition of the statement, that theobject of the meeting was to consider the advisability of holding anouting, or beanfeast, the chairman collapsed on to a carpenter's stooland wiped the sweat from his forehead. 

Crass then reminded the meeting that the last year's Beano had been anunqualified success, and for his part he would be very sorry if theydid not have one this year. Last year they had four brakes, and theywent to Tubberton Village. 

It was true that there was nothing much to see at Tubberton, but therewas one thing they could rely on getting there that they could not besure of getting for the same money anywhere else, and that was--a goodfeed. (Applause. ) Just for the sake of getting on with the business, he would propose that they decide to go to Tubberton, and that acommittee be appointed to make arrangements--about the dinner--with thelandlord of the Queen Elizabeth's Head at that place. 

Philpot seconded the motion, and Payne was about to call for a show ofhands when Harlow rose to a point of order. It appeared to him thatthey were getting on a bit too fast. The proper way to do thisbusiness was first to take the feeling of the meeting as to whetherthey wished to have a Beano at all, and then, if the meeting was infavour of it, they could decide where they were to go, and whether theywould have a whole day or only half a day. 

The Semi-drunk said that he didn't care a dreadful expression wherethey went: he was willing to abide by the decision of the majority. (Applause. ) It was a matter of indifference to him whether they had aday, or half a day, or two days; he was agreeable to anything. 

Easton suggested that a special saloon carriage might be engaged, andthey could go and visit Madame Tussaud's Waxworks. He had never beento that place and had often wished to see it. But Philpot objectedthat if they went there, Madame Tussaud's might be unwilling to letthem out again. 

Bundy endorsed the remarks that had fallen from Crass with reference toTubberton. He did not care where they went, they would never get sucha good spread for the money as they did last year at the QueenElizabeth. (Cheers. )

The chairman said that he remembered the last Beano very well. Theyhad half a day--left off work on Saturday at twelve instead of one--sothere was only one hour's wages lost--they went home, had a wash andchanged their clothes, and got up to the Cricketers, where the brakeswas waiting, at one. Then they had the two hours' drive to Tubberton, stopping on the way for drinks at the Blue Lion, the Warrior's Head, the Bird in Hand, the Dewdrop Inn and the World Turned Upside Down. (Applause. ) They arrived at the Queen Elizabeth at three-thirty, andthe dinner was ready; and it was one of the finest blow-outs he hadever had. (Hear, hear. ) There was soup, vegetables, roast beef, roastmutton, lamb and mint sauce, plum duff, Yorkshire, and a lot more. Thelandlord of the Elizabeth kept as good a drop of beer as anyone couldwish to drink, and as for the teetotallers, they could have tea, coffeeor ginger beer. 

Having thus made another start, Payne found it very difficult to leaveoff, and was proceeding to relate further details of the last Beanowhen Harlow again rose up from his heap of shavings and said he wishedto call the chairman to order. (Hear, hear. ) What the hell was theuse of all this discussion before they had even decided to have a Beanoat all! Was the meeting in favour of a Beano or not? That was thequestion. 

A prolonged and awkward silence followed. Everyone was veryuncomfortable, looking stolidly on the ground or staring straight infront of them. 

At last Easton broke the silence by suggesting that it would not be abad plan if someone was to make a motion that a Beano be held. Thiswas greeted with a general murmur of 'Hear, hear, ' followed by anotherawkward pause, and then the chairman asked Easton if he would move aresolution to that effect. After some hesitation, Easton agreed, andformally moved: 'That this meeting is in favour of a Beano. '

The Semi-drunk said that, in order to get on with the business, hewould second the resolution. But meantime, several arguments hadbroken out between the advocates of different places, and several menbegan to relate anecdotes of previous Beanos. Nearly everyone wasspeaking at once and it was some time before the chairman was able toput the resolution. Finding it impossible to make his voice heardabove the uproar, he began to hammer on the bench with a wooden mallet, and to shout requests for order, but this only served to increase thedin. Some of them looked at him curiously and wondered what was thematter with him, but the majority were so interested in their ownarguments that they did not notice him at all. 

Whilst the chairman was trying to get the attention of the meeting inorder to put the question, Bundy had become involved in an argumentwith several of the new hands who claimed to know of an even betterplace than the Queen Elizabeth, a pub called 'The New Found Out', atMirkfield, a few miles further on than Tubberton, and anotherindividual joined in the dispute, alleging that a house called 'TheThree Loggerheads' at Slushton-cum-Dryditch was the finest place for aBeano within a hundred miles of Mugsborough. He went there last yearwith Pushem and Driver's crowd, and they had roast beef, goose, jamtarts, mince pies, sardines, blancmange, calves' feet jelly and onepint for each man was included in the cost of the dinner. In themiddle of the discussion, they noticed that most of the others wereholding up their hands, so to show there was no ill feeling they heldup theirs also and then the chairman declared it was carriedunanimously. 

Bundy said he would like to ask the chairman to read out the resolutionwhich had just been passed, as he had not caught the words. 

The chairman replied that there was no written resolution. The motionwas just to express the feeling of this meeting as to whether there wasto be an outing or not. 

Bundy said he was only asking a civil question, a point of information:all he wanted to know was, what was the terms of the resolution? Wasthey in favour of the Beano or not?

The chairman responded that the meeting was unanimously in favour. (Applause. )

Harlow said that the next thing to be done was to decide upon the date. Crass suggested the last Saturday in August. That would give themplenty of time to pay in. 

Sawkins asked whether it was proposed to have a day or only half a day. He himself was in favour of the whole day. It would only mean losing amorning's work. It was hardly worth going at all if they only had halfthe day. 

The Semi-drunk remarked that he had just thought of a very good placeto go if they decided to have a change. Three years ago he was workingfor Dauber and Botchit and they went to 'The First In and the Last Out'at Bashford. It was a very small place, but there was a field whereyou could have a game of cricket or football, and the dinner was A1 atLloyds. There was also a skittle alley attached to the pub and nocharge was made for the use of it. There was a bit of a river there, and one of the chaps got so drunk that he went orf his onion and jumpedinto the water, and when they got him out the village policeman lockedhim up, and the next day he was took before the beak and fined twopounds or a month's hard labour for trying to commit suicide. 

Easton pointed out that there was another way to look at it: supposingthey decided to have the Beano, he supposed it would come to about sixshillings a head. If they had it at the end of August and startedpaying in now, say a tanner a week, they would have plenty of time tomake up the amount, but supposing the work fell off and some of themgot the push?

Crass said that in that case a man could either have his money back orhe could leave it, and continue his payments even if he were workingfor some other firm; the fact that he was off from Rushton's would notprevent him from going to the Beano. 

Harlow proposed that they decide to go to the Queen Elizabeth the sameas last year, and that they have half a day. 

Philpot said that, in order to get on with the business, he wouldsecond the resolution. 

Bundy suggested--as an amendment--that it should be a whole day, starting from the Cricketers at nine in the morning, and Sawkins saidthat, in order to get on with the business, he would second theamendment. 

One of the new hands said he wished to move another amendment. Heproposed to strike out the Queen Elizabeth and substitute the ThreeLoggerheads. 

The Chairman--after a pause--inquired if there were any seconder tothis, and the Semi-drunk said that, although he did not care much wherethey went, still, to get on with the business, he would second theamendment, although for his own part he would prefer to go to the'First In and Last Out' at Bashford. 

The new hand offered to withdraw his suggestion re the ThreeLoggerheads in favour of the Semi-drunks proposition, but the lattersaid it didn't matter; it could go as it was. 

As it was getting rather late, several men went home, and cries of 'Putthe question' began to be heard on all sides; the chairman accordinglywas proceeding to put Harlow's proposition when the new handinterrupted him by pointing out that it was his duty as chairman to putthe amendments first. This produced another long discussion, in thecourse of which a very tall, thin man who had a harsh, metallic voicegave a long rambling lecture about the rules of order and the conductof public meetings. He spoke very slowly and deliberately, using verylong words and dealing with the subject in an exhaustive manner. Aresolution was a resolution, and an amendment was an amendment; thenthere was what was called an amendment to an amendment; the procedureof the House of Commons differed very materially from that of the Houseof Lords--and so on. 

This man kept on talking for about ten minutes, and might havecontinued for ten hours if he had not been rudely interrupted byHarlow, who said that it seemed to him that they were likely to staythere all night if they went on like they were going. He wanted histea, and he would also like to get a few hours' sleep before having toresume work in the morning. He was getting about sick of all thistalk. (Hear, hear. ) In order to get on with the business, he wouldwithdraw his resolution if the others would withdraw their amendments. If they would agree to do this, he would then propose anotherresolution which--if carried--would meet all the requirements of thecase. (Applause. )

The man with the metallic voice observed that it was not necessary toask the consent of those who had moved amendments: if the originalproposition was withdrawed, all the amendments fell to the ground. 

'Last year, ' observed Crass, 'when we was goin' out of the room afterwe'd finished our dinner at the Queen Elizabeth, the landlord pointedto the table and said, "There's enough left over for you all to 'aveanother lot. "' (Cheers. )

Harlow said that he would move that it be held on the last Saturday inAugust; that it be for half a day, starting at one o'clock so that theycould work up till twelve, which would mean that they would only haveto lose one hour's pay: that they go to the same place as lastyear--the Queen Elizabeth. (Hear, hear. ) That the same committee thatacted last year--Crass and Bundy--be appointed to make all thearrangements and collect the subscriptions. (Applause. )

The tall man observed that this was what was called a compoundresolution, and was proceeding to explain further when the chairmanexclaimed that it did not matter a dam' what it was called--wouldanyone second it? The Semi-drunk said that he would--in order to geton with the business. 

Bundy moved, and Sawkins seconded, as an amendment, that it should be awhole day. 

The new hand moved to substitute the Loggerheads for the QueenElizabeth. 

Easton proposed to substitute Madame Tussaud's Waxworks for the QueenElizabeth. He said he moved this just to test the feeling of themeeting. 

Harlow pointed out that it would cost at least a pound a head to defraythe expenses of such a trip. The railway fares, tram fares in London, meals--for it would be necessary to have a whole day--and otherincidental expenses; to say nothing of the loss of wages. It would notbe possible for any of them to save the necessary amount during thenext four months. (Hear, hear. )

Philpot repeated his warning as to the danger of visiting MadameTussaud's. He was certain that if she once got them in there she wouldnever let them out again. He had no desire to pass the rest of hislife as an image in a museum. 

One of the new hands--a man with a red tie--said that they would lookwell, after having been soaked for a month or two in petrifying liquid, chained up in the Chamber of Horrors with labels round theirnecks--'Specimens of Liberal and Conservative upholders of theCapitalist System, 20 century'. 

Crass protested against the introduction of politics into that meeting. (Hear, hear. ) The remarks of the last speakers were most uncalled-for. 

Easton said that he would withdraw his amendment. 

Acting under the directions of the man with the metallic voice, thechairman now proceeded to put the amendment to the vote. Bundy'sproposal that it should be a whole day was defeated, only himself, Sawkins and the Semi-drunk being in favour. The motion to substitutethe Loggerheads for the Queen Elizabeth was also defeated, and thecompound resolution proposed by Harlow was then carried nem. Con. 

Philpot now proposed a hearty vote of thanks to the chairman for thevery able manner in which he had conducted the meeting. When this hadbeen unanimously agreed to, the Semi-drunk moved a similar tribute ofgratitude to Crass for his services to the cause and the meetingdispersed. 

Chapter 42

June

During the early part of May the weather was exceptionally bad, withbitterly cold winds. Rain fell nearly every day, covering the roadswith a slush that penetrated the rotten leather of the cheap orsecond-hand boots worn by the workmen. This weather had the effect ofstopping nearly all outside work, and also caused a lot of illness, forthose who were so fortunate as to have inside jobs frequently got wetthrough on their way to work in the morning and had to work all day indamp clothing, and with their boots saturated with water. It was alsoa source of trouble to those of the men who had allotments, because ifit had been fine they would have been able to do something to theirgardens while they were out of work. 

Newman had not succeeded in getting a job at the trade since he cameout of prison, but he tried to make a little money by hawking bananas. Philpot--when he was at work--used often to buy a tanner's or a bob'sworth from him and give them to Mrs Linden's children. On SaturdaysOld Joe used to waylay these children and buy them bags of cakes at thebakers. One week when he knew that Mrs Linden had not had much work todo, he devised a very cunning scheme to help her. He had been workingwith Slyme, who was papering a large boarded ceiling in a shop. It hadto be covered with unbleached calico before it could be papered andwhen the work was done there were a number of narrow pieces of calicoleft over. These he collected and tore into strips about six incheswide which he took round to Mrs Linden, and asked her to sew themtogether, end to end, so as to make one long strip: then this longstrip had to be cut into four pieces of equal length and the edges sewntogether in such a manner that it would form a long tube. Philpot toldher that it was required for some work that Rushton's were doing, andsaid he had undertaken to get the sewing done. The firm would have topay for it, so she could charge a good price. 

'You see, ' he said with a wink, 'this is one of those jobs where wegets a chance to get some of our own back. '

Mary thought it was rather a strange sort of job, but she did asPhilpot directed and when he came for the stuff and asked how much itwas she said threepence: it had only taken about half an hour. Philpotridiculed this: it was not nearly enough. THEY were not supposed toknow how long it took: it ought to be a bob at the very least. So, after some hesitation she made out a bill for that amount on ahalf-sheet of note-paper. He brought her the money the next Saturdayafternoon and went off chuckling to himself over the success of thescheme. It did not occur to him until the next day that he might justas well have got her to make him an apron or two: and when he did thinkof this he said that after all it didn't matter, because if he had donethat it would have been necessary to buy new calico, and anyhow, itcould be done some other time. 

Newman did not make his fortune out of the bananas--seldom more thantwo shillings a day--and consequently he was very glad when Philpotcalled at his house one evening and told him there was a chance of ajob at Rushton's. Newman accordingly went to the yard the nextmorning, taking his apron and blouse and his bag of tools with him, ready to start work. He got there at about quarter to six and waswaiting outside when Hunter arrived. The latter was secretly very gladto see him, for there was a rush of work in and they were short of men. He did not let this appear, of course, but hesitated for a few minuteswhen Newman repeated the usual formula: 'Any chance of a job, sir?'

'We wasn't at all satisfied with you last time you was on, you know, 'said Misery. 'Still, I don't mind giving you another chance. But ifyou want to hold your job you'll have to move yourself a bit quickerthan you did before. '

Towards the end of the month things began to improve all round. Theweather became finer and more settled. As time went on the improvementwas maintained and nearly everyone was employed. Rushton's were so busythat they took on several other old hands who had been sacked theprevious year for being too slow. 

Thanks to the influence of Crass, Easton was now regarded as one of theregular hands. He had recently resumed the practice of spending someof his evenings at the Cricketers. It is probable that even if it hadnot been for his friendship with Crass, he would still have continuedto frequent the public house, for things were not very comfortable athome. Somehow or other, Ruth and he seemed to be always quarrelling, and he was satisfied that it was not always his fault. Sometimes, after the day's work was over he would go home resolved to be goodfriends with her: he would plan on his way homewards to suggest to herthat they should have their tea and then go out for a walk with thechild. Once or twice she agreed, but on each occasion, they quarrelledbefore they got home again. So after a time he gave up trying to befriends with her and went out by himself every evening as soon as hehad had his tea. 

Mary Linden, who was still lodging with them, could not help perceivingtheir unhappiness: she frequently noticed that Ruth's eyes were red andswollen as if with crying, and she gently sought to gain herconfidence, but without success. On one occasion when Mary was tryingto advise her, Ruth burst out into a terrible fit of weeping, but shewould not say what was the cause--except that her head was aching--shewas not well, that was all. 

Sometimes Easton passed the evening at the Cricketers but frequently hewent over to the allotments, where Harlow had a plot of ground. Harlowused to get up about four o'clock in the morning and put in an hour orso at his garden before going to work; and every evening as soon as hehad finished tea he used to go there again and work till it was dark. Sometimes he did not go home to tea at all, but went straight from workto the garden, and his children used to bring his tea to him there in aglass bottle, with something to eat in a little basket. He had fourchildren, none of whom were yet old enough to go to work, and as may beimagined, he found it a pretty hard struggle to live. He was not ateetotaller, but as he often remarked, 'what the publicans got from himwouldn't make them very fat', for he often went for weeks togetherwithout tasting the stuff, except a glass or two with the Sundaydinner, which he did not regard as an unnecessary expense, because itwas almost as cheap as tea or coffee. 

Fortunately his wife was a good needlewoman, and as sober andindustrious as himself; by dint of slaving incessantly from morningtill night she managed to keep her home fairly comfortable and thechildren clean and decently dressed; they always looked respectable, although they did not always have enough proper food to eat. Theylooked so respectable that none of the 'visiting ladies' ever regardedthem as deserving cases. 

Harlow paid fifteen shillings a year for his plot of ground, andalthough it meant a lot of hard work it was also a source of pleasureand some profit. He generally made a few shillings out of the flowers, besides having enough potatoes and other vegetables to last them nearlyall the year. 

Sometimes Easton went over to the allotments and lent Harlow a handwith this gardening work, but whether he went there or to theCricketers, he usually returned home about half past nine, and thenwent straight to bed, often without speaking a single word to Ruth, whofor her part seldom spoke to him except to answer something he said, orto ask some necessary question. At first, Easton used to think that itwas all because of the way he had behaved to her in the public house, but when he apologized--as he did several times--and begged her toforgive him and forget about it, she always said it was all right;there was nothing to forgive. Then, after a time, he began to think itwas on account of their poverty and the loss of their home, for nearlyall their furniture had been sold during the last winter. But wheneverhe talked of trying to buy some more things to make the placecomfortable again, she did not appear to take any interest: the housewas neat enough as it was: they could manage very well, she said, indifferently. 

One evening, about the middle of June, when he had been over to theallotments, Easton brought her home a bunch of flowers that Harlow hadgiven him--some red and white roses and some pansies. When he came in, Ruth was packing his food basket for the next day. The baby was asleepin its cot on the floor near the window. Although it was nearly nineo'clock the lamp had not yet been lighted and the mournful twilightthat entered the room through the open window increased the desolationof its appearance. The fire had burnt itself out and the grate wasfilled with ashes. On the hearth was an old rug made of jute that hadonce been printed in bright colours which had faded away till the wholesurface had become almost uniformly drab, showing scarcely any trace ofthe original pattern. The rest of the floor was bare except for two orthree small pieces of old carpet that Ruth had bought for a few penceat different times at some inferior second-hand shop. The chairs andthe table were almost the only things that were left of the originalfurniture of the room, and except for three or four plates of differentpatterns and sizes and a few cups and saucers, the shelves of thedresser were bare. 

The stillness of the atmosphere was disturbed only by the occasionalsound of the wheels of a passing vehicle and the strangely distinctvoices of some children who were playing in the street. 

'I've brought you these, ' said Easton, offering her the flowers. 'Ithought you'd like them. I got them from Harlow. You know I've beenhelping him a little with his garden. '

At first he thought she did not want to take them. She was standing atthe table with her back to the window, so that he was unable to see theexpression of her face, and she hesitated for a moment before shefaltered out some words of thanks and took the flowers, which she putdown on the table almost as soon as she touched them. 

Offended at what he considered her contemptuous indifference, Eastonmade no further attempt at conversation but went into the scullery towash his hands, and then went up to bed. 

Downstairs, for a long time after he was gone, Ruth sat alone by thefireless grate, in the silence and the gathering shadows, holding thebunch of flowers in her hand, living over again the events of the lastyear, and consumed with an agony of remorse. 

The presence of Mary Linden and the two children in the house probablysaved Ruth from being more unhappy than she was. Little Elsie had madean arrangement with her to be allowed to take the baby out for walks, and in return Ruth did Elsie's housework. As for Mary, she had notmuch time to do anything but sew, almost the only relaxation she knewbeing when she took the work home, and on Sunday, which she usuallydevoted to a general clean-up of the room, and to mending thechildren's clothes. Sometimes on Sunday evening she used to go withRuth and the children to see Mrs Owen, who, although she was not illenough to stay in bed, seldom went out of the house. She had neverreally recovered from the attack of illness which was brought on by herwork at the boarding house. The doctor had been to see her once ortwice and had prescribed--rest. She was to lie down as much aspossible, not to do any heavy work--not to carry or lift any heavyarticles, scrub floors, make beds, or anything of that sort: and shewas to take plenty of nourishing food, beef tea, chicken, a little wineand so on. He did not suggest a trip round the world in a steam yachtor a visit to Switzerland--perhaps he thought they might not be able toafford it. Sometimes she was so ill that she had to observe one atleast of the doctor's instructions--to lie down: and then she wouldworry and fret because she was not able to do the housework and becauseOwen had to prepare his own tea when he came home at night. On one ofthese occasions it would have been necessary for Owen to stay at homefrom work if it had not been for Mrs Easton, who came for several daysin succession to look after her and attend to the house. 

Fortunately, Owen's health was better since the weather had becomewarmer. For a long time after the attack of haemorrhage he had whilewriting the show-card he used to dread going to sleep at night for fearit should recur. He had heard of people dying in their sleep from thatcause. But this terror gradually left him. Nora knew nothing of whatoccurred that night: to have told her would have done no good, but onthe contrary would have caused her a lot of useless anxiety. Sometimeshe doubted whether it was right not to tell her, but as time went byand his health continued to improve he was glad he had said nothingabout it. 

Frankie had lately resumed his athletic exercises with the flat iron:his strength was returning since Owen had been working regularly, because he had been having his porridge and milk again and also someParrish's Food which a chemist at Windley was selling large bottles offor a shilling. He used to have what he called a 'party' two or threetimes a week with Elsie, Charley and Easton's baby as the guests. Sometimes, if Mrs Owen were not well, Elsie used to stay in with herafter tea and do some housework while the boys went out to play, butmore frequently the four children used to go together to the park toplay or sail boats on the lake. Once one of the boats was becalmedabout a couple of yards from shore and while trying to reach it with astick Frankie fell into the water, and when Charley tried to drag himout he fell in also. Elsie put the baby down on the bank and seizedhold of Charley and while she was trying to get him out, the baby beganrolling down, and would probably have tumbled in as well if a man whohappened to be passing by had not rushed up in time to prevent it. Fortunately the water at that place was only about two feet deep, sothe boys were not much the worse for their ducking. They returned homewet through, smothered with mud, and feeling very important, like boyswho had distinguished themselves. 

After this, whenever she could manage to spare the time, Ruth Eastonused to go with the children to the park. There was a kind ofsummer-house near the shore of the lake, only a few feet away from thewater's edge, surrounded and shaded by trees, whose branches archedover the path and drooped down to the surface of the water. While thechildren played Ruth used to sit in this arbour and sew, but often herwork was neglected and forgotten as she gazed pensively at the water, which just there looked very still, and dark, and deep, for it wassheltered from the wind and over-shadowed by the trees that lined thebanks at the end of the lake. 

Sometimes, if it happened to be raining, instead of going out thechildren used to have some games in the house. On one such occasionFrankie produced the flat iron and went through the exercise, andCharley had a go as well. But although he was slightly older andtaller than Frankie he could not lift the iron so often or hold it outso long as the other, a failure that Frankie attributed to the factthat Charley had too much tea and bread and butter instead of porridgeand milk and Parrish's Food. Charley was so upset about his lack ofstrength that he arranged with Frankie to come home with him the nextday after school to see his mother about it. Mrs Linden had a flatiron, so they gave a demonstration of their respective powers beforeher. Mrs Easton being also present, by request, because Frankie saidthat the diet in question was suitable for babies as well as bigchildren. He had been brought up on it ever since he could remember, and it was almost as cheap as bread and butter and tea. 

The result of the exhibition was that Mrs Linden promised to makeporridge for Charley and Elsie whenever she could spare the time, andMrs Easton said she would try it for the baby also. 

Chapter 43

The Good Old Summer-time

All through the summer the crowd of ragged-trousered philanthropistscontinued to toil and sweat at their noble and unselfish task of makingmoney for Mr Rushton. 

Painting the outsides of houses and shops, washing off and distemperingceilings, stripping old paper off walls, painting and papering roomsand staircases, building new rooms or other additions to old houses orbusiness premises, digging up old drains, repairing leaky roofs andbroken windows. 

Their zeal and enthusiasm in the good cause was unbounded. They weresupposed to start work at six o'clock, but most of them were usually tobe found waiting outside the job at about a quarter to that hour, sitting on the kerbstones or the doorstep. 

Their operations extended all over the town: at all hours of the daythey were to be seen either going or returning from 'jobs', carryingladders, planks, pots of paint, pails of whitewash, earthenware, chimney pots, drainpipes, lengths of guttering, closet pans, grates, bundles of wallpaper, buckets of paste, sacks of cement, and loads ofbricks and mortar. Quite a common spectacle--for gods and men--was aprocession consisting of a handcart loaded up with such materials beingpushed or dragged through the public streets by about half a dozen ofthese Imperialists in broken boots and with battered, stained, discoloured bowler hats, or caps splashed with paint and whitewash;their stand-up collars dirty, limp and crumpled, and their rottensecond-hand misfit clothing saturated with sweat and plastered withmortar. 

Even the assistants in the grocers' and drapers' shops laughed andridiculed and pointed the finger of scorn at them as they passed. 

The superior classes--those who do nothing--regarded them as a sort oflower animals. A letter appeared in the Obscurer one week from one ofthese well-dressed loafers, complaining of the annoyance caused to thebetter-class visitors by workmen walking on the pavement as they passedalong the Grand Parade in the evening on their way home from work, andsuggesting that they should walk in the roadway. When they heard ofthe letter a lot of the workmen adopted the suggestion and walked inthe road so as to avoid contaminating the idlers. 

This letter was followed by others of a somewhat similar kind, and oneor two written in a patronizing strain in defence of the workingclasses by persons who evidently knew nothing about them. There wasalso a letter from an individual who signed himself 'Morpheus'complaining that he was often awakened out of his beauty sleep in themiddle of the night by the clattering noise of the workmen's boots asthey passed his house on their way to work in the morning. 'Morpheus'wrote that not only did they make a dreadful noise with their horribleiron-clad boots, but they were in the habit of coughing and spitting agreat deal, which was very unpleasant to hear, and they conversed inloud tones. Sometimes their conversation was not at all edifying, forit consisted largely of bad language, which 'Morpheus' assumed to beattributable to the fact that they were out of temper because they hadto rise so early. 

As a rule they worked till half-past five in the evening, and by thetime they reached home it was six o'clock. When they had taken theirevening meal and had a wash it was nearly eight: about nine most ofthem went to bed so as to be able to get up about half past four thenext morning to make a cup of tea before leaving home at half past fiveto go to work again. Frequently it happened that they had to leavehome earlier than this, because their 'job' was more than half anhour's walk away. It did not matter how far away the 'job' was fromthe shop, the men had to walk to and fro in their own time, for TradesUnion rules were a dead letter in Mugsborough. There were no tramfares or train fares or walking time allowed for the likes of them. 

Ninety-nine out of every hundred of them did not believe in such thingsas those: they had much more sense than to join Trades Unions: on thecontrary, they believed in placing themselves entirely at the mercy oftheir good, kind Liberal and Tory masters. 

Very frequently it happened, when only a few men were working together, that it was not convenient to make tea for breakfast or dinner, andthen some of them brought tea with them ready made in bottles and drankit cold; but most of them went to the nearest pub and ate their foodthere with a glass of beer. Even those who would rather have had teaor coffee had beer, because if they went to a temperance restaurant orcoffee tavern it generally happened that they were not treated verycivilly unless they bought something to eat as well as to drink, andthe tea at such places was really dearer than beer, and the latter wascertainly quite as good to drink as the stewed tea or the liquid mudthat was sold as coffee at cheap 'Workmen's' Eating Houses. 

There were some who were--as they thought--exceptionally lucky: thefirms they worked for were busy enough to let them work two hours'overtime every night--till half past seven--without stopping for tea. Most of these arrived home about eight, completely flattened out. Thenthey had some tea and a wash and before they knew where they were itwas about half past nine. Then they went to sleep again till half pastfour or five the next morning. 

They were usually so tired when they got home at night that they neverhad any inclination for study or any kind of self-improvement, even ifthey had had the time. They had plenty of time to study during thewinter: and their favourite subject then was, how to preservethemselves from starving to death. 

This overtime, however, was the exception, for although in former yearsit had been the almost invariable rule to work till half past seven insummer, most of the firms now made a practice of ceasing work atfive-thirty. The revolution which had taken place in this matter was afavourite topic of conversation amongst the men, who spoke regretfullyof the glorious past, when things were busy, and they used to workfifteen, sixteen and even eighteen hours a day. But nowadays therewere nearly as many chaps out of work in the summer as in the winter. They used to discuss the causes of the change. One was, of course, thefact that there was not so much building going on as formerly, andanother was the speeding up and slave-driving, and the manner in whichthe work was now done, or rather scamped. As old Philpot said, hecould remember the time, when he was a nipper, when such a 'job' asthat at 'The Cave' would have lasted at least six months, and theywould have had more hands on it too! But it would have been doneproperly, not messed up like that was: all the woodwork would have beenrubbed down with pumice stone and water: all the knots cut out and theholes properly filled up, and the work properly rubbed down withglass-paper between every coat. But nowadays the only place you'd seea bit of pumice stone was in a glass case in a museum, with a label onit. 

 'Pumice Stone: formerly used by house-painters. '

Most of them spoke of those bygone times with poignant regret, butthere were a few--generally fellows who had been contaminated bycontact with Socialists or whose characters had been warped anddegraded by the perusal of Socialist literature--who said that they didnot desire to work overtime at all--ten hours a day were quite enoughfor them--in fact they would rather do only eight. What they wanted, they said, was not more work, but more grub, more clothes, moreleisure, more pleasure and better homes. They wanted to be able to gofor country walks or bicycle rides, to go out fishing or to go to theseaside and bathe and lie on the beach and so forth. But these wereonly a very few; there were not many so selfish as this. The majoritydesired nothing but to be allowed to work, and as for their children, why, 'what was good enough for themselves oughter be good enough forthe kids'. 

They often said that such things as leisure, culture, pleasure and thebenefits of civilization were never intended for 'the likes of us'. 

They did not--all--actually say this, but that was what their conductamounted to; for they not only refused to help to bring about a betterstate of things for their children, but they ridiculed and opposed andcursed and abused those who were trying to do it for them. The foulestwords that came out of their mouths were directed against the men oftheir own class in the House of Commons--the Labour Members--andespecially the Socialists, whom they spoke of as fellows who were toobloody lazy to work for a living, and who wanted the working classes tokeep them. 

Some of them said that they did not believe in helping their childrento become anything better than their parents had been because in suchcases the children, when they grew up, 'looked down' upon and wereashamed of their fathers and mothers! They seemed to think that ifthey loved and did their duty to their children, the probability wasthat the children would prove ungrateful: as if even if that were true, it would be any excuse for their indifference. 

Another cause of the shortage of work was the intrusion into the tradeof so many outsiders: fellows like Sawkins and the other lightweights. Whatever other causes there were, there could be no doubt that thehurrying and scamping was a very real one. Every 'job' had to be doneat once! as if it were a matter of life or death! It must be finishedby a certain time. If the 'job' was at an empty house, Misery's yarnwas that it was let! the people were coming in at the end of the week!therefore everything must be finished by Wednesday night. All theceilings had to be washed off, the walls stripped and repapered, andtwo coats of paint inside and outside the house. New drains were to beput in, and all broken windows and locks and broken plaster repaired. A number of men--usually about half as many as there should havebeen--would be sent to do the work, and one man was put in charge ofthe 'job'. These sub-foremen or 'coddies' knew that if they 'madetheir jobs pay' they would be put in charge of others and be kept on inpreference to other men as long as the firm had any work; so theyhelped Misery to scheme and scamp the work and watched and drove themen under their charge; and these latter poor wretches, knowing thattheir only chance of retaining their employment was to 'tear into it', tore into it like so many maniacs. Instead of cleaning any parts ofthe woodwork that were greasy or very dirty, they brushed them overwith a coat of spirit varnish before painting to make sure that thepaint would dry: places where the plaster of the walls was damaged wererepaired with what was humorously called 'garden cement'--which was thetechnical term for dirt out of the garden--and the surface was skimmedover with proper material. Ceilings that were not very dirty were notwashed off, but dusted, and lightly gone over with a thin coat ofwhitewash. The old paper was often left upon the wails of rooms thatwere supposed to be stripped before being repapered, and to concealthis the joints of the old paper were rubbed down so that they shouldnot be perceptible through the new paper. As far as possible, Miseryand the sub-foreman avoided doing the work the customers paid for, andeven what little they did was hurried over anyhow. 

A reign of terror--the terror of the sack--prevailed on all the 'jobs', which were carried on to the accompaniment of a series of alarums andexcursions: no man felt safe for a moment: at the most unexpected timesMisery would arrive and rush like a whirlwind all over the 'job'. Ifhe happened to find a man having a spell the culprit was immediatelydischarged, but he did not get the opportunity of doing this very oftenfor everybody was too terrified to leave off working even for a fewminutes' rest. 

From the moment of Hunter's arrival until his departure, a state ofpanic, hurry, scurry and turmoil reigned. His strident voice rangthrough the house as he bellowed out to them to 'Rouse themselves! Getit done! Smear it on anyhow! Tar it over! We've got another job tostart when you've done this!'

Occasionally, just to keep the others up to concert pitch, he used tosack one of the men for being too slow. They all trembled before himand ran about whenever he spoke to or called them, because they knewthat there were always a lot of other men out of work who would bewilling and eager to fill their places if they got the sack. 

Although it was now summer, and the Distress Committee and all theother committees had suspended operations, there was still always alarge number of men hanging about the vicinity of the Fountain on theParade--The Wage Slave Market. When men finished up for the firm theywere working for they usually made for that place. Any master in wantof a wage slave for a few hours, days or weeks could always buy onethere. The men knew this and they also knew that if they got the sackfrom one firm it was no easy matter to get another job, and that waswhy they were terrified. 

When Misery was gone--to repeat the same performance at some otherjob--the sub-foreman would have a crawl round to see how the chaps weregetting on: to find out if they had used up all their paint yet, or tobring them some putty so that they should not have to leave their workto go to get anything themselves: and then very often Rushton himselfwould come and stalk quietly about the house or stand silently behindthe men, watching them as they worked. He seldom spoke to anyone, butjust stood there like a graven image, or walked about like a dumbanimal--a pig, as the men used to say. This individual had a veryexalted idea of his own importance and dignity. One man got the sackfor presuming to stop him in the street to ask some questions aboutsome work that was being done. 

Misery went round to all the jobs the next day and told all the'coddies' to tell all the hands that they were never to speak to MrRushton if they met him in the street, and the following Saturday theman who had so offended was given his back day, ostensibly becausethere was nothing for him to do, but really for the reason stated above. 

There was one job, the outside of a large house that stood on elevatedground overlooking the town. The men who were working there were evenmore than usually uncomfortable, for it was said that Rushton used tosit in his office and watch them through a telescope. 

Sometimes, when it was really necessary to get a job done by a certaintime, they had to work late, perhaps till eight or nine o'clock. Notime was allowed for tea, but some of them brought sufficient food withthem in the morning to enable them to have a little about six o'clockin the evening. Others arranged for their children to bring them sometea from home. As a rule, they partook of this without stopping work:they had it on the floor beside them and ate and drank and worked atthe same time--a paint-brushful of white lead in one hand, and a pieceof bread and margarine in the other. On some jobs, if the 'coddy'happened to be a decent sort, they posted a sentry to look out forHunter or Rushton while the others knocked off for a few minutes tosnatch a mouthful of grub; but it was not safe always to do this, forthere was often some crawling sneak with an ambition to become a'coddy' who would not scruple to curry favour with Misery by reportingthe crime. 

As an additional precaution against the possibility of any of the menidling or wasting their time, each one was given a time-sheet on whichhe was required to account for every minute of the day. The form ofthese sheets vary slightly with different firms: that of Rushton & Co. , was as shown. 

 TIME SHEET OF WORK DONE BY IN THE EMPLOY OF RUSHTON & CO BUILDERS & DECORATORS : MUGSBOROUGH

 NO SMOKING OR INTOXICANTS ALLOWED DURING WORKING HOURS

 EACH PIECE OF WORK MUST BE FULLY DESCRIBED, WHAT IT WAS, AND HOW LONG IT TOOK TO DO. 

 -----+---------------+-----------+-----------+-------+------------ | | Time When | Time When | | | Where Working | Started | Finished | Hours | What Doing -----+---------------+-----------+-----------+-------+------------ Sat | | | | | -----+---------------+-----------+-----------+-------+------------ Mon | | | | | -----+---------------+-----------+-----------+-------+------------ Tues | | | | | -----+---------------+-----------+-----------+-------+------------ Wed | | | | | -----+---------------+-----------+-----------+-------+------------ Thur | | | | | -----+---------------+-----------+-----------+-------+------------ Fri | | | | | -----+---------------+-----------+-----------+-------+------------ | | Total Hours | | -----+---------------+-----------+-----------+-------+------------

One Monday morning Misery gave each of the sub-foremen an envelopecontaining one of the firm's memorandum forms. Crass opened his andfound the following:

Crass

When you are on a job with men under you, check and initial theirtime-sheets every night. 

If they are called away and sent to some other job, or stood off, checkand initial their time-sheets as they leave your job. 

Any man coming on your job during the day, you must take note of theexact time of his arrival, and see that his sheet is charged right. 

Any man who is slow or lazy, or any man that you notice talking morethan is necessary during working hours, you must report him to MrHunter. We expect you and the other foremen to help us to carry outthese rules, AND ANY INFORMATION GIVEN US ABOUT ANY MAN IS TREATED INCONFIDENCE. 

Rushton & Co. 

Note: This applies to all men of all trades who come on the jobs ofwhich you are the foreman. 

Every week the time-sheets were scrutinized, and every now and then aman would be 'had up on the carpet' in the office before Rushton andMisery, and interrogated as to why he had taken fifteen hours to do tenhours work? In the event of the accused being unable to give asatisfactory explanation of his conduct he was usually sacked on thespot. 

Misery was frequently called 'up on the carpet' himself. 

If he made a mistake in figuring out a 'job', and gave in too high atender for it, so that the firm did not get the work, Rushton grumbled. If the price was so low that there was not enough profit, Rushton wasvery unpleasant about it, and whenever it happened that there was notonly no profit but an actual loss, Rushton created such a terribledisturbance that Misery was nearly frightened to death and used to geton his bicycle and rush off to the nearest 'job' and howl and bellow atthe 'chaps' to get it done. 

All the time the capabilities of the men--especially with regard tospeed--were carefully watched and noted: and whenever there was aslackness of work and it was necessary to discharge some hands thosethat were slow or took too much pains were weeded out: this of coursewas known to the men and it had the desired effect upon them. 

In justice to Rushton and Hunter, it must be remembered that there wasa certain amount of excuse for all this driving and cheating, becausethey had to compete with all the other firms, who conducted theirbusiness in precisely the same way. It was not their fault, but thefault of the system. 

A dozen firms tendered for every 'job', and of course the lowest tenderusually obtained the work. Knowing this, they all cut the price downto the lowest possible figure and the workmen had to suffer. 

The trouble was that there were too many 'masters'. It would have beenfar better for the workmen if nine out of every ten of the employershad never started business. Then the others would have been able toget a better price for their work, and the men might have had betterwages and conditions. The hands, however, made no such allowances orexcuses as these for Misery and Rushton. They never thought or spokeof them except with hatred and curses. But whenever either of themcame to the 'job' the 'coddies' cringed and grovelled before them, greeting them with disgustingly servile salutations, plentifullyinterspersed with the word 'Sir', greetings which were frequentlyeither ignored altogether or answered with an inarticulate grunt. Theysaid 'Sir' at nearly every second word: it made one feel sick to hearthem because it was not courtesy: they were never courteous to eachother, it was simply abject servility and self-contempt. 

One of the results of all the frenzied hurrying was that every now andthen there was an accident: somebody got hurt: and it was strange thataccidents were not more frequent, considering the risk, that weretaken. When they happened to be working on ladders in busy streetsthey were not often allowed to have anyone to stand at the foot, andthe consequence was that all sorts and conditions of people came intoviolent collision with the bottoms of the ladders. Small boys playingin the reckless manner characteristic of their years rushed up againstthem. Errand boys, absorbed in the perusal of penny instalments of theadventures of Claude Duval, and carrying large baskets ofgreen-groceries, wandered into them. Blind men fell foul of them. Adventurous schoolboys climbed up them. People with large feet becameentangled in them. Fat persons of both sexes who thought it unlucky towalk underneath, tried to negotiate the narrow strip of pavementbetween the foot of the ladder and the kerb, and in their passageknocked up against the ladder and sometimes fell into the road. Nursemaids wheeling perambulators--lolling over the handle, which theyusually held with their left hands, the right holding a copy of OrangeBlossoms or some halfpenny paper, and so interested in the story of theMarquis of Lymejuice--a young man of noble presence and fabulouswealth, with a drooping golden moustache and very long legs, who, notwithstanding the diabolical machinations of Lady Sibyl Malvoise, wholoves him as well as a woman with a name like that is capable of lovinganyone, is determined to wed none other than the scullery-maid at theVillage Inn--inevitably bashed the perambulators into the ladders. Even when the girls were not reading they nearly always ran into theladders, which seemed to possess a magnetic attraction forperambulators and go-carts of all kinds, whether propelled by nurses ormothers. Sometimes they would advance very cautiously towards theladder: then, when they got very near, hesitate a little whether to gounder or run the risk of falling into the street by essaying the narrowpassage: then they would get very close up to the foot of the ladder, and dodge and dance about, and give the cart little pushes from side toside, until at last the magnetic influence exerted itself and theperambulator crashed into the ladder, perhaps at the very moment thatthe man at the top was stretching out to do some part of the workalmost beyond his reach. 

Once Harlow had just started painting some rainpipes from the top of a40-ft ladder when one of several small boys who were playing in thestreet ran violently against the foot. Harlow was so startled that hedropped his brushes and clutched wildly at the ladder, which turnedcompletely round and slid about six feet along the parapet into theangle of the wall, with Harlow hanging beneath by his hands. The paintpot was hanging by a hook from one of the rungs, and the jerk scatteredthe brown paint it contained all over Harlow and all over the brickworkof the front of the house. He managed to descend safely by claspinghis legs round the sides of the ladder and sliding down. When Miserycame there was a row about what he called carelessness. And the nextday Harlow had to wear his Sunday trousers to work. 

On another occasion they were painting the outside of a house called'Gothic Lodge'. At one corner it had a tower surmounted by a spire orsteeple, and this steeple terminated with an ornamental wrought-ironpinnacle which had to be painted. The ladder they had was not quitelong enough, and besides that, as it had to stand in a sort of acourtyard at the base of the tower, it was impossible to slant itsufficiently: instead of lying along the roof of the steeple, it wassticking up in the air. 

When Easton went up to paint the pinnacle he had to stand on almost thevery top rung of the ladder, to be exact, the third from the top, andlean over to steady himself by holding on to the pinnacle with his lefthand while he used the brush with his right. As it was only abouttwenty minutes' work there were two men to hold the foot of the ladder. 

It was cheaper to do it this way than to rig up a proper scaffold, which would have entailed perhaps two hours' work for two or three men. Of course it was very dangerous, but that did not matter at all, because even if the man fell it would make no difference to thefirm--all the men were insured and somehow or other, although theyfrequently had narrow escapes, they did not often come to grief. 

On this occasion, just as Easton was finishing he felt the pinnaclethat he was holding on to give way, and he got such a fright that hisheart nearly stopped beating. He let go his hold and steadied himselfon the ladder as well as he was able, and when he had descended threeor four steps--into comparative safety--he remained clingingconvulsively to the ladder and feeling so limp that he was unable to godown any further for several minutes. When he arrived at the bottomand the others noticed how white and trembling he was, he told themabout the pinnacle being loose, and the 'coddy' coming along just then, they told him about it, and suggested that it should be repaired, asotherwise it might fall down and hurt someone: but the 'coddy' wasafraid that if they reported it they might be blamed for breaking it, and the owner might expect the firm to put it right for nothing, sothey decided to say nothing about it. The pinnacle is stilt on theapex of the steeple waiting for a sufficiently strong wind to blow itdown on somebody's head. 

When the other men heard of Easton's 'narrow shave', most of them saidthat it would have served him bloody well right if he had fallen andbroken his neck: he should have refused to go up at all without aproper scaffold. That was what THEY would have done. If Misery or thecoddy had ordered any of THEM to go up and paint the pinnacle off thatladder, they would have chucked their tools down and demanded theirha'pence!

That was what they said, but somehow or other it never happened thatany of them ever 'chucked their tools down' at all, although suchdangerous jobs were of very frequent occurrence. 

The scamping business was not confined to houses or properties of aninferior class: it was the general rule. Large good-class houses, villas and mansions, the residences of wealthy people, were done inexactly the same way. Generally in such places costly and beautifulmaterials were spoilt in the using. 

There was a large mansion where the interior woodwork--the doors, windows and staircase--had to be finished in white enamel. It wasrather an old house and the woodwork needed rubbing down and filling upbefore being repainted, but of course there was not time for that, sothey painted it without properly preparing it and when it was enamelledthe rough, uneven surface of the wood looked horrible: but the ownerappeared quite satisfied because it was nice and shiny. Thedining-room of the same house was papered with a beautiful andexpensive plush paper. The ground of this wall-hanging was made toimitate crimson watered silk, and it was covered with a raised patternin plush of the same colour. The price marked on the back of thispaper in the pattern book was eighteen shillings a roll. Slyme waspaid sixpence a roll for hanging it: the room took ten rolls, so itcost nine pounds for the paper and five shillings to hang it! To fixsuch a paper as this properly the walls should first be done with aplain lining paper of the same colour as the ground of the wallpaperitself, because unless the paperhanger 'lapps' the joints--which shouldnot be done--they are apt to open a little as the paper dries and toshow the white wall underneath--Slyme suggested this lining to Misery, who would not entertain the idea for a moment--they had gone to quiteenough expense as it was, stripping the old paper off!

So Slyme went ahead, and as he had to make his wages, he could notspend a great deal of time over it. Some of the joints were 'lapped'and some were butted, and two or three weeks after the owner of thehouse moved in, as the paper became more dry, the joints began to openand to show the white plaster of the wall, and then Owen had to gothere with a small pot of crimson paint and a little brush, and touchout the white line. 

While he was doing this he noticed and touched up a number of otherfaults; places where Slyme--in his haste to get the work done--hadslobbered and smeared the face of the paper with fingermarks and paste. 

The same ghastly mess was made of several other 'jobs' besides thisone, and presently they adopted the plan of painting strips of colouron the wall in the places where the joints would come, so that if theyopened the white wall would not show: but it was found that the pasteon the back of the paper dragged the paint off the wall, and when thejoints opened the white streaks showed all the same, so Miseryabandoned all attempts to prevent joints showing, and if a customercomplained, he sent someone to 'touch it up': but the lining paper wasnever used, unless the customer or the architect knew enough about thework to insist upon it. 

In other parts of the same house the ceilings, the friezes, and thedados, were covered with 'embossed' or 'relief' papers. These hangingsrequire very careful handling, for the raised parts are easily damaged;but the men who fixed them were not allowed to take the pains and timenecessary to make good work: consequently in many places--especially atthe joints--the pattern was flattened out and obliterated. 

The ceiling of the drawing-room was done with a very thick high-reliefpaper that was made in sheets about two feet square. These squareswere not very true in shape: they had evidently warped in drying aftermanufacture: to make them match anything like properly would needconsiderable time and care. But the men were not allowed to take thenecessary time. The result was that when it was finished it presenteda sort of 'higgledy-piggledy' appearance. But it didn't matter:nothing seemed to matter except to get it done. One would think fromthe way the hands were driven and chivvied and hurried over the workthat they were being paid five or six shillings an hour instead of asmany pence. 

'Get it done!' shouted Misery from morning till night. 'For God's sakeget it done! Haven't you finished yet? We're losing money over this"job"! If you chaps don't wake up and move a bit quicker, I shall seeif I can't get somebody else who will. '

These costly embossed decorations were usually finished in white; butinstead of carefully coating them with specially prepared paint ofpatent distemper, which would need two or three coats, they slobberedone thick coat of common whitewash on to it with ordinary whitewashbrushes. 

This was a most economical way to get over it, because it made itunnecessary to stop up the joints beforehand--the whitewash filled upall the cracks: and it also filled up the hollow parts, the crevicesand interstices of the ornament, destroying the sharp outlines of thebeautiful designs and reducing the whole to a lumpy, formless mass. Butthat did not matter either, so long as they got it done. 

The architect didn't notice it, because he knew that the more Rushton &Co. Made out of the 'job', the more he himself would make. 

The man who had to pay for the work didn't notice it; he had thefullest confidence in the architect. 

At the risk of wearying the long-suffering reader, mention must be madeof an affair that happened at this particular 'job'. 

The windows were all fitted with venetian blinds. The gentleman forwhom all the work was being done had only just purchased the house, buthe preferred roller blinds: he had had roller blinds in his formerresidence--which he had just sold--and as these roller blinds wereabout the right size, he decided to have them fitted to the windows ofhis new house: so he instructed Mr Rushton to have all the venetianblinds taken down and stored away up in the loft under the roof. MrRushton promised to have this done; but they were not ALL put awayunder the roof: he had four of them taken to his own place and fittedup in the conservatory. They were a little too large, so they had tobe narrowed before they were fixed. 

The sequel was rather interesting, for it happened that when thegentleman attempted to take the roller blinds from his old house, theperson to whom he had sold it refused to allow them to be removed;claiming that when he bought the house, he bought the blinds also. There was a little dispute, but eventually it was settled that way andthe gentleman decided that he would have the venetian blinds in his newhouse after all, and instructed the people who moved his furniture totake the venetians down again from under the roof, and refix them, andthen, of course, it was discovered that four of the blinds weremissing. Mr Rushton was sent for, and he said that he couldn'tunderstand it at all! The only possible explanation that he couldthink of was that some of his workmen must have stolen them! He wouldmake inquiries, and endeavour to discover the culprits, but in anycase, as this had happened while things were in his charge, if he didnot succeed in recovering them, he would replace them. 

As the blinds had been narrowed to fit the conservatory he had to havefour new ones made. 

The customer was of course quite satisfied, although very sorry for MrRushton. They had a little chat about it. Rushton told the gentlemanthat he would be astonished if he knew all the facts: the difficultiesone has to contend with in dealing with working men: one has to watchthem continually! directly one's back is turned they leave off working!They come late in the morning, and go home before the proper time atnight, and then unless one actually happens to catch them--they chargethe full number of hours on their time sheets! Every now and thensomething would be missing, and of course Nobody knew anything aboutit. Sometimes one would go unexpectedly to a 'job' and find a lot ofthem drunk. Of course one tried to cope with these evils by means ofrules and restrictions and organization, but it was very difficult--onecould not be everywhere or have eyes at the back of one's head. Thegentleman said that he had some idea of what it was like: he had hadsomething to do with the lower orders himself at one time and another, and he knew they needed a lot of watching. 

Rushton felt rather sick over this affair, but he consoled himself byreflecting that he had got clear away with several valuable rose treesand other plants which he had stolen out of the garden, and that aladder which had been discovered in the hayloft over the stable andtaken--by his instructions--to the 'yard' when the 'job' was finishedhad not been missed. 

Another circumstance which helped to compensate for the blinds was thatthe brass fittings throughout the house, finger-plates, sash-lifts andlocks, bolts and door handles, which were supposed to be all new andwhich the customer had paid a good price for--were really all the oldones which Misery had had re-lacquered and refixed. 

There was nothing unusual about this affair of the blinds, for Rushtonand Misery robbed everybody. They made a practice of annexing everything they could lay their hands upon, provided it could be donewithout danger to themselves. They never did anything of a heroic ordare-devil character: they had not the courage to break into banks orjewellers' shops in the middle of the night, or to go out pickingpockets: all their robberies were of the sneak-thief order. 

At one house that they 'did up' Misery made a big haul. He had to getup into the loft under the roof to see what was the matter with thewater tank. When he got up there he found a very fine hall gas lampmade of wrought brass and copper with stained and painted glass sides. Although covered with dust, it was otherwise in perfect condition, soMisery had it taken to his own house and cleaned up and fixed in thehail. 

In the same loft there were a lot of old brass picture rods and otherfittings, and three very good planks, each about ten feet in length;these latter had been placed across the rafters so that one could walkeasily and safely over to the tank. But Misery thought they would bevery useful to the firm for whitewashing ceilings and other work, so hehad them taken to the yard along with the old brass, which was worthabout fourpence a pound. 

There was another house that had to be painted inside: the people whoused to live there had only just left: they had moved to some othertown, and the house had been re-let before they vacated it. The newtenant had agreed with the agent that the house was to be renovatedthroughout before he took possession. 

The day after the old tenants moved away, the agent gave Rushton thekey so that he could go to see what was to be done and give an estimatefor the work. 

While Rushton and Misery were looking over the house they discovered alarge barometer hanging on the wall behind the front door: it had beenoverlooked by those who removed the furniture. Before returning thekey to the agent, Rushton sent one of his men to the house for thebarometer, which he kept in his office for a few weeks to see if therewould be any inquiries about it. If there had been, it would have beeneasy to say that he had brought it there for safety--to take care oftill he could find the owner. The people to whom it belonged thoughtthe thing had been lost or stolen in transit, and afterwards one of theworkmen who had assisted to pack and remove the furniture was dismissedfrom his employment on suspicion of having had something to do with itsdisappearance. No one ever thought of Rushton in connection with thematter, so after about a month he had it taken to his own dwelling andhung up in the hall near the carved oak marble-topped console tablethat he had sneaked last summer from 596 Grand Parade. 

And there it hangs unto this day: and close behind it, supported bycords of crimson silk, is a beautiful bevelled-edged card about a footsquare, and upon this card is written, in letters of gold: 'Christ isthe head of this house; the unseen Guest at every meal, the silentListener to every conversation. '

And on the other side of the barometer is another card of the same kindand size which says: 'As for me and my house we will serve the Lord. '

From another place they stole two large brass chandeliers. This househad been empty for a very long time, and its owner--who did not residein the town--wished to sell it. The agent, to improve the chances of asale, decided to have the house overhauled and redecorated. Rushton &Co. 's tender being the lowest, they got the work. The chandeliers inthe drawing-room and the dining-room were of massive brass, but theywere all blackened and tarnished. Misery suggested to the agent thatthey could be cleaned and relacquered, which would make them equal tonew: in fact, they would be better than new ones, for such things asthese were not made now, and for once Misery was telling the truth. The agent agreed and the work was done: it was an extra, of course, andas the firm got twice as much for the job as they paid for having itdone, they were almost satisfied. 

When this and all the other work was finished they sent in theiraccount and were paid. 

Some months afterwards the house was sold, and Nimrod interviewed thenew proprietor with the object of securing the order for any work thathe might want done. He was successful. The papers on the walls ofseveral of the rooms were not to the new owner's taste, and, of course, the woodwork would have to be re-painted to harmonize with the newpaper. There was a lot of other work besides this: a new conservatoryto build, a more modern bath and heating apparatus to be put in, andthe electric light to be installed, the new people having an objectionto the use of gas. 

The specifications were prepared by an architect, and Rushton securedthe work. When the chandeliers were taken down, the men, instructed byMisery, put them on a handcart, and covered them over with sacks anddust-sheets and took them to the front shop, where they were placed forsale with the other stock. 

When all the work at the house was finished, it occurred to Rushton andNimrod that when the architect came to examine and pass the work beforegiving them the certificate that would enable them to present theiraccount, he might remember the chandeliers and inquire what had becomeof them. So they were again placed on the handcart, covered with sacksand dust-sheets, taken back to the house and put up in the loft underthe roof so that, if he asked for them, there they were. 

The architect came, looked ever the house, passed the work, and gavehis certificate; he never mentioned or thought of the chandeliers. Theowner of the house was present and asked for Rushton's bill, for whichhe at once gave them a cheque and Rushton and Misery almost grovelledand wallowed on the ground before him. Throughout the whole interviewthe architect and the 'gentleman' had kept their hats on, but Rushtonand Nimrod had been respectfully uncovered all the time, and as theyfollowed the other two about the house their bearing had beenexpressive of the most abject servility. 

When the architect and the owner were gone the two chandeliers weretaken down again from under the roof, and put upon a handcart, coveredover with sacks and dust-sheets and taken back to the shop and againplaced for sale with the other stock. 

These are only a few of the petty thefts committed by these people. Togive anything approaching a full account of all the rest would requirea separate volume. 

As a result of all the hurrying and scamping, every now and again themen found that they had worked themselves out of a job. 

Several times during the summer the firm had scarcely anything to do, and nearly everybody had to stand off for a few days or weeks. 

When Newman got his first start in the early part of the year he hadonly been working for about a fortnight when--with several others--hewas 'stood off'. Fortunately, however, the day after he left Rushtons, he was lucky enough to get a start for another firm, Driver andBotchit, where he worked for nearly a month, and then he was againgiven a job at Rushton's, who happened to be busy again. 

He did not have to lose much time, for he 'finished up' for Driver andBotchit on a Thursday night and on the Friday he interviewed Misery, who told him they were about to commence a fresh 'jab' on the followingMonday morning at six o'clock, and that he could start with them. Sothis time Newman was only out of work the Friday and Saturday, whichwas another stroke of luck, because it often happens that a man has tolose a week or more after 'finishing up' for one firm before he getsanother 'job'. 

All through the summer Crass continued to be the general 'colour-man', most of his time being spent at the shop mixing up colours for all thedifferent 'jobs'. He also acted as a sort of lieutenant to Hunter, who, as the reader has already been informed, was not a practicalpainter. When there was a price to be given for some painting work, Misery sometimes took Crass with him to look over it and help him toestimate the amount of time and material it would take. Crass was thusin a position of more than ordinary importance, not only being superiorto the 'hands', but also ranking above the other sub-foremen who hadcharge of the 'jobs'. 

It was Crass and these sub-foremen who were to blame for most of thescamping and driving, because if it had not been for them neitherRushton nor Hunter would have known how to scheme the work. 

Of course, Hunter and Rushton wanted to drive and scamp, but not beingpractical men they would not have known how if it had not been forCrass and the others, who put them up to all the tricks of the trade. 

Crass knew that when the men stayed till half past seven they were inthe habit of ceasing work for a few minutes to eat a mouthful of grubabout six o'clock, so he suggested to Misery that as it was notpossible to stop this, it would be a good plan to make the men stopwork altogether from half past five till six, and lose half an hour'spay; and to make up the time, instead of leaving off at seven-thirty, they could work till eight. 

Misery had known of and winked at the former practice, for he knew thatthe men could not work all that time without something to eat, butCrass's suggestion seemed a much better way, and it was adopted. 

When the other masters in Mugsborough heard of this great reform theyall followed suit, and it became the rule in that town, whenever it wasnecessary to work overtime, for the men to stay till eight instead ofhalf past seven as formerly, and they got no more pay than before. 

Previous to this summer it had been the almost invariable rule to havetwo men in each room that was being painted, but Crass pointed out toMisery that under such circumstances they wasted time talking to eachother, and they also acted as a check on one another: each of themregulated the amount of work he did by the amount the other did, and ifthe 'job' took too long it was always difficult to decide which of thetwo was to blame: but if they were made to work alone, each of themwould be on his mettle; he would not know how much the others weredoing, and the fear of being considered slow in comparison with otherswould make them all tear into it all they could. 

Misery thought this a very good idea, so the solitary system wasintroduced, and as far as practicable, one room, one man became therule. 

They even tried to make the men distemper large ceilings single-handed, and succeeded in one or two cases, but after several ceilings had beenspoilt and had to be washed off and done over again, they gave that up:but nearly all the other work was now arranged on the 'solitarysystem', and it worked splendidly: each man was constantly in a stateof panic as to whether the others were doing more work than himself. 

Another suggestion that Crass made to Misery was that the sub-foremenshould be instructed never to send a man into a room to prepare it forpainting. 

'If you sends a man into a room to get it ready, ' said Crass, ''e makesa meal of it! 'E spends as much time messin' about rubbin' down andstoppin' up as it would take to paint it. But, ' he added, with acunning leer, 'give 'em a bit of putty and a little bit of glass-paper, and the paint at the stand, and then 'e gits it in 'is mind as 'e'sgoing in there to paint it! And 'e doesn't mess about much over thepreparing of it'. 

These and many other suggestions--all sorts of devices for scamping andgetting over the work--were schemed out by Crass and the othersub-foremen, who put them into practice and showed them to Misery andRushton in the hope of currying favour with them and being 'kept on'. And between the lot of them they made life a veritable hell forthemselves, and the hands, and everybody else around them. And themainspring of it all was--the greed and selfishness of one man, whodesired to accumulate money! For this was the only object of all thedriving and bullying and hatred and cursing and unhappiness--to makemoney for Rushton, who evidently considered himself a deserving case. 

It is sad and discreditable, but nevertheless true, that some of themore selfish of the philanthropists often became weary of well-doing, and lost all enthusiasm in the good cause. At such times they used tosay that they were 'Bloody well fed up' with the whole business and'Tired of tearing their bloody guts out for the benefit of otherpeople' and every now and then some of these fellows would 'chuck up'work, and go on the booze, sometimes stopping away for two or threedays or a week at a time. And then, when it was all over, they cameback, very penitent, to ask for another 'start', but they generallyfound that their places had been filled. 

If they happened to be good 'sloggers'--men who made a practice of'tearing their guts out' when they did work--they were usuallyforgiven, and after being admonished by Misery, permitted to resumework, with the understanding that if ever it occurred again they wouldget the 'infernal'--which means the final and irrevocable--sack. 

There was once a job at a shop that had been a high-class restaurantkept by a renowned Italian chef. It had been known as

 'MACARONI'S ROYAL ITALIAN CAFE'

Situated on the Grand Parade, it was a favourite resort of the 'Elite', who frequented it for afternoon tea and coffee and for little suppersafter the theatre. 

It had plate-glass windows, resplendent with gilding, marble-toppedtables with snow white covers, vases of flowers, and all the otherappurtenances of glittering cut glass and silver. The obsequiouswaiters were in evening dress, the walls were covered with loftyplate-glass mirrors in carved and gilded frames, and at certain hoursof the day and night an orchestra consisting of two violins and a harpdiscoursed selections of classic music. 

But of late years the business had not been paying, and finally theproprietor went bankrupt and was sold out. The place was shut up forseveral months before the shop was let to a firm of dealers in fancyarticles, and the other part was transformed into flats. 

Rushton had the contract for the work. When the men went there to 'doit up' they found the interior of the house in a state of indescribablefilth: the ceilings discoloured with smoke and hung with cobwebs, thewallpapers smeared and black with grease, the handrails and the newelposts of the staircase were clammy with filth, and the edges of thedoors near the handles were blackened with greasy dirt andfinger-marks. The tops of the skirtings, the mouldings of the doors, the sashes of the windows and the corners of the floors were thick withthe accumulated dust of years. 

In one of the upper rooms which had evidently been used as a nursery orplayroom for the children of the renowned chef, the wallpaper for abouttwo feet above the skirting was blackened with grease and ornamentedwith childish drawings made with burnt sticks and blacklead pencils, the door being covered with similar artistic efforts, to say nothing ofsome rude attempts at carving, evidently executed with an axe or ahammer. But all this filth was nothing compared with the unspeakablecondition of the kitchen and scullery, a detailed description of whichwould cause the blood of the reader to curdle, and each particular hairof his head to stand on end. 

Let it suffice to say that the walls, the ceiling, the floor, thepaintwork, the gas-stove, the kitchen range, the dresser and everythingelse were uniformly absolutely and literally--black. And the black wascomposed of soot and grease. 

In front of the window there was a fixture--a kind of bench or table, deeply scored with marks of knives like a butcher's block. The sill ofthe window was about six inches lower than the top of the table, sothat between the glass of the lower sash of the window, which hadevidently never been raised, and the back of the table, there was along narrow cavity or trough, about six inches deep, four inches wideand as long as the width of the window, the sill forming the bottom ofthe cavity. 

This trough was filled with all manner of abominations: fragments offat and decomposed meat, legs of rabbits and fowls, vegetable matter, broken knives and forks, and hair: and the glass of the window wascaked with filth of the same description. 

This job was the cause of the sacking of the Semi-drunk and another mannamed Bill Bates, who were sent into the kitchen to clean it down andprepare it for painting and distempering. 

They commenced to do it, but it made them feel so ill that they wentout and had a pint each, and after that they made another start at it. But it was not long before they felt that it was imperatively necessaryto have another drink. So they went over to the pub, and this timethey had two pints each. Bill paid for the first two and then theSemi-drunk refused to return to work unless Bill would consent to haveanother pint with him before going back. When they had drunk the twopints, they decided--in order to save themselves the trouble and riskof coming away from the job--to take a couple of quarts back with themin two bottles, which the landlord of the pub lent them, chargingtwopence on each bottle, to be refunded when they were returned. 

When they got back to the job they found the 'coddy' in the kitchen, looking for them and he began to talk and grumble, but the Semi-drunksoon shut him up: he told him he could either have a drink out of oneof the bottles or a punch in the bloody nose--whichever he liked! Orif he did not fancy either of these alternatives, he could go to hell!

As the 'coddy' was a sensible man he took the beer and advised them topull themselves together and try to get some work done before Miserycame, which they promised to do. 

When the 'coddy' was gone they made another attempt at the work. Miserycame a little while afterwards and began shouting at them because hesaid he could not see what they had done. It looked as if they hadbeen asleep all the morning: Here it was nearly ten o'clock, and as faras he could see, they had done Nothing!

When he was gone they drank the rest of the beer and then they began tofeel inclined to laugh. What did they care for Hunter or Rushtoneither? To hell with both of 'em! They left off scraping andscrubbing, and began throwing buckets of water over the dresser and thewalls, laughing uproariously all the time. 

'We'll show the b--s how to wash down paintwork!' shouted theSemi-drunk, as he stood in the middle of the room and hurled a pailfulof water over the door of the cupboard. 'Bring us another bucket ofwater, Bill. '

Bill was out in the scullery filling his pail under the tap, andlaughing so much that he could scarcely stand. As soon as it was fullhe passed it to the Semi-drunk, who threw it bodily, pail and all, onto the bench in front of the window, smashing one of the panes ofglass. The water poured off the table and all over the floor. 

Bill brought the next pailful in and threw it at the kitchen door, splitting one of the panels from top to bottom, and then they threwabout half a dozen more pailfuls over the dresser. 

'We'll show the b--rs how to clean paintwork, ' they shouted, as theyhurled the buckets at the walls and doors. 

By this time the floor was deluged with water, which mingled with thefilth and formed a sea of mud. 

They left the two taps running in the scullery and as the waste pipe ofthe sink was choked up with dirt, the sink filled up and overflowedlike a miniature Niagara. 

The water ran out under the doors into the back-yard, and along thepassage out to the front door. But Bill Bates and the Semi-drunkremained in the kitchen, smashing the pails at the walls and doors andthe dresser, and cursing and laughing hysterically. 

They had just filled the two buckets and were bringing them into thekitchen when they heard Hunter's voice in the passage, shouting outinquiries as to where all that water came from. Then they heard himadvancing towards them and they stood waiting for him with the pails intheir hands, and directly he opened the door and put his head into theroom they let fly the two pails at him. Unfortunately, they were toodrunk and excited to aim straight. One pail struck the middle rail ofthe door and the other the wall by the side of it. 

Misery hastily shut the door again and ran upstairs, and presently the'coddy' came down and called out to them from the passage. 

They went out to see what he wanted, and he told them that Misery hadgone to the office to get their wages ready: they were to make outtheir time sheets and go for their money at once. Misery had said thatif they were not there in ten minutes he would have the pair of themlocked up. 

The Semi-drunk said that nothing would suit them better than to haveall their pieces at once--they had spent all their money and wantedanother drink. Bill Bates concurred, so they borrowed a piece ofblacklead pencil from the 'coddy' and made out their time sheets, tookoff their aprons, put them into their tool bags, and went to the officefor their money, which Misery passed out to them through the trap-door. 

The news of this exploit spread all over the town during that day andevening, and although it was in July, the next morning at six o'clockthere were half a dozen men waiting at the yard to ask Misery if therewas 'any chance of a job'. 

Bill Bates and the Semi-drunk had had their spree and had got the sackfor it and most of the chaps said it served them right. Such conductas that was going too far. 

Most of them would have said the same thing no matter what thecircumstances might have been. They had very little sympathy for eachother at any time. 

Often, when, for instance, one man was sent away from one 'job' toanother, the others would go into his room and look at the work he hadbeen doing, and pick out all the faults they could find and show themto each other, making all sorts of ill-natured remarks about the absentone meanwhile. 'Jist run yer nose over that door, Jim, ' one would sayin a tone of disgust. 'Wotcher think of it? Did yer ever see sich amess in yer life? Calls hisself a painter!' And the other man wouldshake his head sadly and say that although the one who had done it hadnever been up to much as a workman, he could do it a bit better thanthat if he liked, but the fact was that he never gave himself time todo anything properly: he was always tearing his bloody guts out! Why, he'd only been in this room about four hours from start to finish! Heought to have a watering cart to follow him about, because he worked atsuch a hell of a rate you couldn't see him for dust! And then thefirst man would reply that other people could do as they liked, but forhis part, HE was not going to tear his guts out for nobody!

The second man would applaud these sentiments and say that he wasn'tgoing to tear his out either: and then they would both go back to theirrespective rooms and tear into the work for all they were worth, makingthe same sort of 'job' as the one they had been criticizing, andafterwards, when the other's back was turned, each of them in turnwould sneak into the other's room and criticize it and point out thefaults to anyone else who happened to be near at hand. 

Harlow was working at the place that had been Macaroni's Cafe when oneday a note was sent to him from Hunter at the shop. It was written ona scrap of wallpaper, and worded in the usual manner of such notes--asif the writer had studied how to avoid all suspicion of being undulycivil:

 Harlow go to the yard at once take your tools with you. Crass will tell you where you have to go. J. H. 

They were just finishing their dinners when the boy brought this note;and after reading it aloud for the benefit of the others, Harlowremarked that it was worded in much the same way in which one wouldspeak to a dog. The others said nothing; but after he was gone theother men--who all considered that it was ridiculous for the 'likes ofus' to expect or wish to be treated with common civility--laughed aboutit, and said that Harlow was beginning to think he was Somebody: theysupposed it was through readin' all those books what Owen was alwayslendin' 'im. And then one of them got a piece of paper and wrote anote to be given to Harlow at the first opportunity. This note wasproperly worded, written in a manner suitable for a gentleman like him, neatly folded and addressed:

 Mr Harlow Esq. , c/o Macaroni's Royal Cafe till called for. 

 Mister Harlow, Dear Sir: Wood you kinely oblige me bi cummin to the paint shop as soon as you can make it convenient as there is a sealin' to be wate-woshed hoppin this is not trubbling you to much

 I remane Yours respeckfully Pontius Pilate. 

This note was read out for the amusement of the company and afterwardsstored away in the writer's pocket till such a time as an opportunityshould occur of giving it to Harlow. 

As the writer of the note was on his way back to his room to resumework he was accosted by a man who had gone into Harlow's room tocriticize it, and had succeeded in finding several faults which hepointed out to the other, and of course they were both very muchdisgusted with Harlow. 

'I can't think why the coddy keeps him on the job, ' said the first man. 'Between you and me, if I had charge of a job, and Misery sent Harlowthere--I'd send 'im back to the shop. '

'Same as you, ' agreed the other as he went back to tear into his ownroom. 'Same as you, old man: I shouldn't 'ave 'im neither. '

It must not be supposed from this that either of these two men were onexceptionally bad terms with Harlow; they were just as good friendswith him--to his face--as they were with each other--to each other'sfaces--and it was just their way: that was all. 

If it had been one or both of these two who had gone away instead ofHarlow, just the same things would have been said about them by theothers who remained--it was merely their usual way of speaking abouteach other behind each other's backs. 

It was always the same: if any one of them made a mistake or had anaccident or got into any trouble he seldom or never got any sympathyfrom his fellow workmen. On the contrary, most of them at such timesseemed rather pleased than otherwise. 

There was a poor devil--a stranger in the town; he came fromLondon--who got the sack for breaking some glass. He had been sent to'burn off' some old paint of the woodwork of a window. He was not veryskilful in the use of the burning-off lamp, because on the firm when hehad been working in London it was a job that the ordinary hands wereseldom or never called upon to do. There were one or two men who didit all. For that matter, not many of Rushton's men were very skilfulat it either. It was a job everybody tried to get out of, becausenearly always the lamp went wrong and there was a row about the timethe work took. So they worked this job on to the stranger. 

This man had been out of work for a long time before he got a start atRushton's, and he was very anxious not to lose the job, because he hada wife and family in London. When the 'coddy' told him to go and burnoff this window he did not like to say that he was not used to thework: he hoped to be able to do it. But he was very nervous, and theend was that although he managed to do the burning off all right, justas he was finishing he accidentally allowed the flame of the lamp tocome into contact with a large pane of glass and broke it. 

They sent to the shop for a new pane of glass, and the man stayed latethat night and put it in in his own time, thus bearing half the cost ofrepairing it. 

Things were not very busy just then, and on the following Saturday twoof the hands were 'stood off'. The stranger was one of them, andnearly everybody was very pleased. At mealtimes the story of thebroken window was repeatedly told amid jeering laughter. It reallyseemed as if a certain amount of indignation was felt that astranger--especially such an inferior person as this chap who did notknow how to use a lamp--should have had the cheek to try to earn hisliving at all! One thing was very certain--they said, gleefully--hewould never get another job at Rushton's: that was one good thing. 

And yet they all knew that this accident might have happened to any oneof them. 

Once a couple of men got the sack because a ceiling they distemperedhad to be washed off and done again. It was not really the men's faultat all: it was a ceiling that needed special treatment and they had notbeen allowed to do it properly. 

But all the same, when they got the sack most of the others laughed andsneered and were glad. Perhaps because they thought that the fact thatthese two unfortunates had been disgraced, increased their own chancesof being 'kept on'. And so it was with nearly everything. With a fewexceptions, they had an immense amount of respect for Rushton andHunter, and very little respect or sympathy for each other. 

Exactly the same lack of feeling for each other prevailed amongst themembers of all the different trades. Everybody seemed glad if anybodygot into trouble for any reason whatever. 

There was a garden gate that had been made at the carpenter's shop: itwas not very well put together, and for the usual reason; the man hadnot been allowed the time to do it properly. After it was fixed, oneof his shopmates wrote upon it with lead pencil in big letters: 'Thisis good work for a joiner. Order one ton of putty. '

But to hear them talking in the pub of a Saturday afternoon just afterpay-time one would think them the best friends and mates and the mostindependent spirits in the world, fellows whom it would be verydangerous to trifle with, and who would stick up for each other throughthick and thin. All sorts of stories were related of the wonderfulthings they had done and said; of jobs they had 'chucked up', andmasters they had 'told off': of pails of whitewash thrown overoffending employers, and of horrible assaults and batteries committedupon the same. But strange to say, for some reason or other, it seldomhappened that a third party ever witnessed any of these prodigies. Itseemed as if a chivalrous desire to spare the feelings of their victimshad always prevented them from doing or saying anything to them in thepresence of witnesses. 

When he had drunk a few pints, Crass was a very good hand at thesestories. Here is one that he told in the bar of the Cricketers on theSaturday afternoon of the same week that Bill Bates and the Semi-drunkgot the sack. The Cricketers was only a few minutes walk from the shopand at pay-time a number of the men used to go in there to take a drinkbefore going home. 

'Last Thursday night about five o'clock, 'Unter comes inter thepaint-shop an' ses to me, "I wants a pail o' wash made up tonight, Crass, " 'e ses, "ready for fust thing in the mornin', " 'e ses. "Oh, " Ises, lookin' 'im straight in the bloody eye, "Oh, yer do, doyer?"--just like that. "Yes, " 'e ses. "Well, you can bloody well makeit yerself!" I ses, "'cos I ain't agoin' to, " I ses--just like that. "Wot the 'ell do yer mean, " I ses, "by comin' 'ere at this time o'night with a order like that?" I ses. You'd a larfed, ' continuedCrass, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand after takinganother drink out of his glass, and looking round to note the effect ofthe story, 'you'd a larfed if you'd bin there. 'E was fairlyflabbergasted! And wen I said that to 'im I see 'is jaw drop! An'then 'e started apoligizing and said as 'e 'adn't meant no offence, butI told 'im bloody straight not to come no more of it. "You bring thehorder at a reasonable time, " I ses--just like that--"and I'll attendto it, " I ses, "but not otherwise, " I ses. '

As he concluded this story, Crass drained his glass and gazed roundupon the audience, who were full of admiration. They looked at eachother and at Crass and nodded their heads approvingly. Yes, undoubtedly, that was the proper way to deal with such bounders asNimrod; take up a strong attitude, an' let 'em see as you'll stand nononsense!

'Yer don't blame me, do yer?' continued Crass. 'Why should we put upwith a lot of old buck from the likes of 'im! We're not a lot ofbloody Chinamen, are we?'

So far from blaming him, they all assured him that they would haveacted in precisely the same way under similar circumstances. 

'For my part, I'm a bloke like this, ' said a tall man with a very loudvoice--a chap who nearly fell down dead every time Rushton or Miserylooked at him. 'I'm a bloke like this 'ere: I never stands no cheekfrom no gaffers! If a guv'nor ses two bloody words to me, I downs metools and I ses to 'im, "Wot! Don't I suit yer, guv'ner? Ain't I doneenuff for yer? Werry good! Gimmie me bleedin' a'pence. "'

'Quite right too, ' said everybody. That was the way to serve 'em. Ifonly everyone would do the same as the tall man--who had just paid foranother round of drinks--things would be a lot more comfortable thanthey was. 

'Last summer I was workin' for ole Buncer, ' said a little man with acutaway coat several sizes too large for him. 'I was workin' for oleBuncer, over at Windley, an' you all knows as 'e don't arf lower it. Well, one day, when I knowed 'e was on the drunk, I 'ad to first coat aroom out--white; so thinks I to meself, "If I buck up I shall be ableto get this lot done by about four o'clock, an' then I can clear orf'ome. 'Cos I reckoned as 'e'd be about flattened out by that time, an'you know 'e ain't got no foreman. So I tears into it an' gets this'ere room done about a quarter past four, an' I'd just got me thingsput away for the night w'en 'oo should come fallin' up the bloodystairs but ole Buncer, drunk as a howl! An' no sooner 'e gits interthe room than 'e starts yappin' an' rampin'. " "Is this 'ere hallyou've done?" 'e shouts out. "Wotcher bin up to hall day?" 'e ses, an''e keeps on shouting' an' swearin' till at last I couldn't stand it nolonger, 'cos you can guess I wasn't in a very good temper with 'imcomin' along jist then w'en I thought I was goin' to get orf a bitearly--so w'en 'e kept on shoutin' I never made no answer to 'im, butups with me fist an' I gives 'im a slosh in the dial an' stopped 'isclock! Then I chucked the pot o' w'ite paint hover 'im, an' kicked 'imdown the bloody stairs. '

'Serve 'im blooming well right, too, ' said Crass as he took a freshglass of beer from one of the others, who had just 'stood' anotherround. 

'What did the b--r say to that?' inquired the tall man. 

'Not a bloody word!' replied the little man, ''E picked 'isself up, andcalled a keb wot was passin' an' got inter it an' went 'ome; an' Inever seen no more of 'im until about 'arf-past eleven the next day, w'en I was second-coatin' the room, an' 'e comes up with a noo suit o'clothes on, an' arsts me if I'd like to come hover to the pub an' 'avea drink? So we goes hover, an' 'e calls for a w'iskey an' soda forisself an' arsts me wot I'd 'ave, so I 'ad the same. An' w'ile we wasgettin' it down us, 'e ses to me, "Ah, Garge, " 'e ses. "You losed yourtemper with me yesterday, "' 'e ses. '

'There you are, you see!' said the tall man. 'There's an example foryer! If you 'adn't served 'im as you did you'd most likely 'ave 'ad toput up with a lot more ole buck. '

They all agreed that the little man had done quite right: they all saidthat they didn' blame him in the least: they would all have done thesame: in fact, this was the way they all conducted themselves wheneveroccasion demanded it. To hear them talk, one would imagine that suchaffairs as the recent exploit of Bill Bates and the Semi-drunk wereconstantly taking place, instead of only occurring about once in a bluemoon. 

Crass stood the final round of drinks, and as he evidently thought thatcircumstance deserved to be signalized in some special manner, heproposed the following toast, which was drunk with enthusiasm:

 'To hell with the man, May he never grow fat, What carries two faces, Under one 'at. '

Rushton & Co. Did a lot of work that summer. They did not have manybig jobs, but there were a lot of little ones, and the boy Bert waskept busy running from one to the other. He spent most of his timedragging a handcart with loads of paint, or planks and steps, andseldom went out to work with the men, for when he was not taking thingsout to the various places where the philanthropists were working, hewas in the paintshop at the yard, scraping out dirty paint-pots orhelping Crass to mix up colours. Although scarcely anyone seemed tonotice it, the boy presented a truly pitiable spectacle. He was verypale and thin. Dragging the handcart did not help him to put on flesh, for the weather was very hot and the work made him sweat. 

His home was right away on the other side of Windley. It took him morethan three-quarters of an hour to walk to the shop, and as he had to beat work at six, that meant that he had to leave home at a few minutespast five every morning, so that he always got up about half past four. 

He was wearing a man's coat--or rather jacket--which gave the upperpart of his body a bulky appearance. The trousers were part of a suitof his own, and were somewhat narrowly cut, as is the rule with boys'cheap ready-made trousers. These thin legs appearing under the bigjacket gave him a rather grotesque appearance, which was heightened bythe fact that all his clothes, cap, coat, waistcoat, trousers andboots, were smothered with paint and distemper of various colours, andthere were generally a few streaks of paint of some sort or other uponhis face, and of course his hands--especially round thefingernails--were grimed with it. But the worst of all were thedreadful hobnailed boots: the leather of the uppers of these was aneighth of an inch thick, and very stiff. Across the fore part of theboot this hard leather had warped into ridges and valleys, which chafedhis feet, and made them bleed. The soles were five-eighths of an inchthick, covered with hobnails, and were as hard and inflexible andalmost as heavy as iron. These boots hurt his feet dreadfully and madehim feel very tired and miserable, for he had such a lot of walking todo. He used to be jolly glad when dinner-time came, for then he used toget out of sight in some quiet spot and lie down for the whole hour. His favourite dining-place was up in the loft over the carpenter'sshop, where they stored the mouldings and architraves. No one evercame there at that hour, and after he had eaten his dinner he used tolie down and think and rest. 

He nearly always had an hour for dinner, but he did not always have itat the same time: sometimes he had it at twelve o'clock and sometimesnot till two. It all depended upon what stuff had to be taken to thejob. 

Often it happened that some men at a distant job required some materialto use immediately after dinner, and perhaps Crass was not able to getit ready till twelve o'clock, so that it was not possible to take itbefore dinner-time, and if Bert left it till after dinner the men wouldbe wasting their time waiting for it: so in such cases he took it therefirst and had his dinner when he came back. 

Sometimes he got back about half past twelve, and it was necessary forhim to take out another lot of material at one o'clock. 

In such a case he 'charged' half an hour overtime on his time sheet--heused to get twopence an hour for overtime. 

Sometimes Crass sent him with a handcart to one job to get a pair ofsteps or tressels, or a plank, or some material or other, and take themto another job, and on these occasions it was often very late before hewas able to take his meals. Instead of getting his breakfast at eight, it was often nearly nine before he got back to the shop, and frequentlyhe had to go without dinner until half past one or two. 

Sometimes he could scarcely manage to carry the pots of paint to thejobs; his feet were so hot and sore. When he had to push the cart itwas worse still, and often when knocking-off time came he felt so tiredthat he could scarcely manage to walk home. 

But the weather was not always hot or fine: sometimes it was quitecold, almost like winter, and there was a lot of rain that summer. Atsuch times the boy frequently got wet through several times a day as hewent from one job to another, and he had to work all the time in hiswet clothes and boots, which were usually old and out of repair and letin the water. 

One of the worst jobs that he had to do was when a new stock of whitelead came in. This stuff came in wooden barrels containing twohundredweight, and he used to have to dig it out of these barrels witha trowel, and put it into a metal tank, where it was kept covered withwater, and the empty barrels were returned to the makers. 

When he was doing this work he usually managed to get himself smearedall over with the white lead, and this circumstance, and the fact thathe was always handling paint or some poisonous material or other wasdoubtless the cause of the terrible pains he often had in hisstomach--pains that sometimes caused him to throw himself down and rollon 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 halfpast four and helped the men to load up the things, and afterwardswalked alongside the cart with them back to the shop. 

On the way they all noticed and remarked to each other that the boylooked tired and pale and that he seemed to limp: but he did not sayanything, although be guessed that they were talking about him. Theyarrived at the shop a little before knocking-off time--about tenminutes past five. Bert helped them to unload, and afterwards, whilethey were putting their things away and 'charging up' the unusedmaterials they had brought back, he pushed the cart over to the shedwhere it was kept, on the other side of the yard. He did not return tothe shop at once and a few minutes later when Harlow came out into theyard to get a bucket of water to wash their hands with, he saw the boyleaning on the side of the cart, crying, and holding one foot off theground. 

Harlow asked him what was the matter, and while he was speaking to himthe others came out to see what was up: the boy said he had rheumatismor 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 headslowly from side to side, avoiding the looks of the men because he feltashamed that they should see him cry. 

When they saw how ill and miserable he looked, the men all put theirhands in their pockets to get some coppers to give to him so that hecould ride home on the tram. They gave him fivepence altogether, morethan enough to ride all the way; and Crass told him to go atonce--there was no need to wait till half past; but before he wentPhilpot got a small glass bottle out of his tool bag and filled it withoil and turps--two of turps and one of oil--which he gave to Bert torub into his leg before going to bed: The turps--he explained--was tocure the pain and the oil was to prevent it from hurting the skin. Hewas to get his mother to rub it in for him if he were too tired to doit himself. Bert promised to observe these directions, and, drying histears, 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 wastearing off on his bicycle to one of the jobs about five minutes totwelve to see if he could catch anyone leaving off for dinner beforebefore the proper time, and while going down a rather steep hill thefront brake broke--the rubbers of the rear one were worn out and failedto act--so Misery to save himself from being smashed against therailings of the houses at the bottom of the hill, threw himself off themachine, with the result that his head and face and hands were terriblycut and bruised. He was so badly knocked about that he had to remainat home for nearly three weeks, much to the delight of the men and theannoyance--one might even say the indignation--of Mr Rushton, who didnot know enough about the work to make out estimates withoutassistance. There were several large jobs to be tendered for at thesame time, so Rushton sent the specifications round to Hunter's housefor him to figure out the prices, and nearly all the time that Miserywas at home he was sitting up in bed, swathed in bandages, trying tocalculate the probable cost of these jobs. Rushton did not come to seehim, but he sent Bert nearly every day, either with somespecifications, or some accounts, or something of that sort, or with anote inquiring when Hunter thought he would be able to return to work. 

All sorts of rumours became prevalent amongst the men concerningHunter's condition. He had 'broken his spiral column', he had'conjunction of the brain', or he had injured his 'innards' and wouldprobably never be able to 'do no more slave-drivin''. Crass--who hadhelped Mr Rushton to 'price up' several small jobs--began to think itmight not be altogether a bad thing for himself if something were tohappen to Hunter, and he began to put on side and to assume airs ofauthority. He got one of the light-weights to assist him in his workof colourman and made him do all the hard work, while he spent part ofhis own time visiting the different jobs to see how the work progressed. 

Crass's appearance did him justice. He was wearing a pair of sportingtrousers the pattern of which consisted of large black and whitesquares. The previous owner of these trousers was taller and slighterthan Crass, so although the legs were about a couple of inches toolong, they fitted him rather tightly, so much so that it was fortunatethat he had his present job of colourman, for if he had had to do anyclimbing up and down ladders or steps, the trousers would have burst. His jacket was also two or three sizes too small, and the sleeves wereso short that the cuffs of his flanelette shirt were visible. Thiscoat 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 beingof the former tint, and the parts under the sleeves of the latter. Thisjacket fitted very tightly across the shoulders and back and being muchtoo short left his tightly clad posteriors exposed to view. 

He however seemed quite unconscious of anything peculiar in hisappearance and was so bumptious and offensive that most of the men werealmost glad when Nimrod came back. They said that if Crass ever gotthe 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 hisillness had improved his character: he had had time to think thingsover; and in short, he was ever so much better than before: but it wasnot long before this story began to be told the other way round. Hewas worse than ever! and a thing that happened about a fortnight afterhis return caused more ill feeling and resentment against him andRushton than had ever existed previously. What led up to it wassomething that was done by Bundy's mate, Ted Dawson. 

This poor wretch was scarcely ever seen without a load of some sort orother: carrying a sack of cement or plaster, a heavy ladder, a bigbucket of mortar, or dragging a load of scaffolding on a cart. He musthave been nearly as strong as a horse, because after working in thismanner for Rushton & Co. From six in the morning till half past five atnight, he usually went to work in his garden for two or three hoursafter tea, and frequently went there for an hour or so in the morningbefore going to work. The poor devil needed the produce of his gardento supplement his wages, for he had a wife and three children toprovide for and he earned only--or rather, to be correct, he was paidonly--fourpence an hour. 

There was an old house to which they were making some alterations andrepairs, and there was a lot of old wood taken out of it: old, decayedfloorboards and stuff of that kind, wood that was of no use whateverexcept to burn. 

Bundy and his mate were working there, and one night, Misery came a fewminutes before half past five and caught Dawson in the act of tying upa small bundle of this wood. When Hunter asked him what he was goingto do with it he made no attempt at prevarication or concealment: hesaid he was going to take it home for fire-wood, because it was of noother use. Misery kicked up a devil of a row and ordered him to leavethe wood where it was: it had to be taken to the yard, and it wasnothing 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 theywere all listening attentively in the next room, where they were takingtheir aprons off preparatory to going home, they got the full benefitof his remarks. 

The following Saturday when the hands went to the office for theirmoney they were each presented with a printed card bearing thefollowing 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 theirwages and walked away without making any comment--in fact, most of themwere some distance away before they realized exactly what the card wasabout. Two or three of them stood a few steps away from the pay windowin full view of Rushton and Misery and ostentatiously tore the thinginto pieces and threw them into the street. One man remained at thepay window while he read the card--and then flung it with an obscenecurse into Rushton's face, and demanded his back day, which they gavehim without any remark or delay, the other men who were not yet paidhaving to wait while he made out his time-sheet for that morning. 

The story of this card spread all over the place in a very short time. It became the talk of every shop in the town. Whenever any ofRushton's men encountered the employees of another firm, the latterused to shout after them--'However trifling!'--or 'Look out, chaps!'Ere comes some of Rushton's pickpockets. '

Amongst Rushton's men themselves it became a standing joke or form ofgreeting to say when one met another--'Remember! However trifling!'

If one of their number was seen going home with an unusual amount ofpaint or whitewash on his hands or clothes, the others would threatento report him for stealing the material. They used to say that howevertrifling the quantity, it was against orders to take it away. 

Harlow drew up a list of rules which he said Mr Rushton had instructedhim to communicate to the men. One of these rules provided thateverybody was to be weighed upon arrival at the job in the morning andagain at leaving-off time: any man found to have increased in weightwas to be discharged. 

There was also much cursing and covert resentment about it; the menused to say that such a thing as that looked well coming from the likesof Rushton and Hunter, and they used to remind each other of the affairof the marble-topped console table, the barometer, the venetian blindsand all the other robberies. 

None of them ever said anything to either Misery or Rushton about thecards, but one morning when the latter was reading his letters at thebreakfast table, on opening one of them he found that it contained oneof the notices, smeared with human excrement. He did not eat any morebreakfast that morning. 

It was not to be much wondered at that none of them had the courage toopenly resent the conditions under which they had to work, for althoughit was summer, there were many men out of employment, and it was mucheasier to get the sack than it was to get another job. 

None of the men were ever caught stealing anything, however trifling, but all the same during the course of the summer five or six of themwere captured by the police and sent to jail--for not being able to paytheir poor rates. 

All through the summer Owen continued to make himself objectionable andto incur the ridicule of his fellow workmen by talking about the causesof poverty and of ways to abolish it. 

Most of the men kept two shillings or half a crown of their wages backfrom their wives for pocket money, which they spent on beer andtobacco. There were a very few who spent a little more than this, andthere were a still smaller number who spent so much in this way thattheir families had to suffer in consequence. 

Most of those who kept back half a crown or three shillings from theirwives did so on the understanding that they were to buy their clothingout of it. Some of them had to pay a shilling a week to a tallyman orcredit clothier. These were the ones who indulged in shoddy newsuits--at long intervals. Others bought--or got their wives to buy forthem--their clothes at second-hand shops, 'paying off' about a shillingor so a week and not receiving the things till they were paid for. 

There were a very large proportion of them who did not spend even ashilling a week for drink: and there were numerous others who, whilenot being formally total abstainers, yet often went for weeks togetherwithout either entering a public house or tasting intoxicating drink inany form. 

Then there were others who, instead of drinking tea or coffee or cocoawith their dinners or suppers, drank beer. This did not cost more thanthe teetotal drinks, but all the same there are some persons who saythat those who swell the 'Nation's Drink Bill' by drinking beer withtheir dinners or suppers are a kind of criminal, and that they ought tobe compelled to drink something else: that is, if they are workingpeople. As for the idle classes, they of course are to be allowed tocontinue to make merry, 'drinking whisky, wine and sherry', to saynothing of having their beer in by the barrel and the dozen--or fortydozen--bottles. But of course that's a different matter, because thesepeople make so much money out of the labour of the working classes thatthey can afford to indulge in this way without depriving their childrenof the necessaries of life. 

There is no more cowardly, dastardly slander than is contained in theassertion that the majority or any considerable proportion of workingmen neglect their families through drink. It is a condemned lie. Thereare some who do, but they are not even a large minority. They are fewand far between, and are regarded with contempt by their fellow workmen. 

It will be said that their families had to suffer for want of even thelittle that most of them spent in that way: but the persons that usethis argument should carry it to its logical conclusion. Tea is anunnecessary and harmful drink; it has been condemned by medical men sooften that to enumerate its evil qualities here would be waste of time. The same can be said of nearly all the cheap temperance drinks; theyare unnecessary and harmful and cost money, and, like beer, are drunkonly for pleasure. 

What right has anyone to say to working men that when their work isdone they should not find pleasure in drinking a glass or two of beertogether in a tavern or anywhere else? Let those who would presume tocondemn them carry their argument to its logical conclusion and condemnpleasure of every kind. Let them persuade the working classes to leadstill simpler lives; to drink water instead of such unwholesome thingsas tea, coffee, beer, lemonade and all the other harmful andunnecessary stuff. They would then be able to live ever so much morecheaply, and as wages are always and everywhere regulated by the costof living, they would be able to work for lower pay. 

These people are fond of quoting the figures of the 'Nation's DrinkBill, ' as if all this money were spent by the working classes! But ifthe amount of money spent in drink by the 'aristocracy', the clergy andthe middle classes were deducted from the 'Nation's Drink Bill', itwould be seen that the amount spent per head by the working classes isnot so alarming after all; and would probably not be much larger thanthe amount spent on drink by those who consume tea and coffee and allthe other unwholesome and unnecessary 'temperance' drinks. 

The fact that some of Rushton's men spent about two shillings a week ondrink while they were in employment was not the cause of their poverty. If they had never spent a farthing for drink, and if their wretchedwages had been increased fifty percent, they would still have been in acondition of the most abject and miserable poverty, for nearly all thebenefits and privileges of civilization, nearly everything that makeslife worth living, would still have been beyond their reach. 

It is inevitable, so long as men have to live and work under suchheartbreaking, uninteresting conditions as at present that a certainproportion of them will seek forgetfulness and momentary happiness inthe tavern, and the only remedy for this evil is to remove the cause;and while that is in process, there is something else that can be doneand that is, instead of allowing filthy drinking dens, presided over bypersons whose interest it is to encourage men to drink more bad beerthan is good for them or than they can afford, --to have civilizedinstitutions run by the State or the municipalities for use and notmerely for profit. Decent pleasure houses, where no drunkenness orfilthiness would be tolerated--where one could buy real beer or coffeeor tea or any other refreshments; where men could repair when theirday's work was over and spend an hour or two in rational intercoursewith their fellows or listen to music and singing. Taverns to whichthey could take their wives and children without fear of defilement, for a place that is not fit for the presence of a woman or a child isnot fit to exist at all. 

Owen, being a teetotaller, did not spend any of his money on drink; buthe spent a lot on what he called 'The Cause'. Every week he boughtsome penny or twopenny pamphlets or some leaflets about Socialism, which he lent or gave to his mates; and in this way and by means ofmuch talk he succeeded in converting a few to his party. Philpot, Harlow and a few others used to listen with interest, and some of themeven paid for the pamphlets they obtained from Owen, and after readingthem themselves, passed them on to others, and also occasionally 'gotup' arguments on their own accounts. Others were simply indifferent, or treated the subject as a kind of joke, ridiculing the suggestionthat it was possible to abolish poverty. They repeated that there had'always been rich and poor in the world and there always would be, sothere was an end of it'. But the majority were bitterly hostile; notto Owen, but to Socialism. For the man himself most of them had acertain amount of liking, especially the ordinary hands because it wasknown that he was not a 'master's man' and that he had declined to'take charge' of jobs which Misery had offered to him. But toSocialism they were savagely and malignantly opposed. Some of thosewho had shown some symptoms of Socialism during the past winter whenthey were starving had now quite recovered and were stout defenders ofthe Present System. 

Barrington was still working for the firm and continued to maintain hismanner of reserve, seldom speaking unless addressed but all the same, for several reasons, it began to be rumoured that he shared Owen'sviews. He always paid for the pamphlets that Owen gave him, and on oneoccasion, when Owen bought a thousand leaflets to give away, Barringtoncontributed a shilling towards the half-crown that Owen paid for them. But he never took any part in the arguments that sometimes raged duringthe dinner-hour or at breakfast-time. 

It was a good thing for Owen that he had his enthusiasm for 'the cause'to occupy his mind. Socialism was to him what drink was to some of theothers--the thing that enable them to forget and tolerate theconditions under which they were forced to exist. Some of them were somuddled with beer, and others so besotted with admiration of theirLiberal and Tory masters, that they were oblivious of the misery oftheir own lives, and in a similar way, Owen was so much occupied intrying to rouse them from their lethargy and so engrossed in trying tothink out new arguments to convince them of the possibility of bringingabout an improvement in their condition that he had no time to dwellupon his own poverty; the money that he spent on leaflets and pamphletsto give away might have been better spent on food and clothing forhimself, because most of those to whom he gave them were by no meansgrateful; but he never thought of that; and after all, nearly everyonespends money on some hobby or other. Some people deny themselves thenecessaries or comforts of life in order that they may be able to helpto fatten a publican. Others deny themselves in order to enable a lazyparson to live in idleness and luxury; and others spend much time andmoney that they really need for themselves in buying Socialistliterature to give away to people who don't want to know aboutSocialism. 

One Sunday morning towards the end of July, a band of about twenty-fivemen and women on bicycles invaded the town. Two of them--who rode afew yards in front of the others, had affixed to the handlebars of eachof their machines a slender, upright standard from the top of one ofwhich fluttered a small flag of crimson silk with 'InternationalBrotherhood and Peace' in gold letters. The other standard was similarin size and colour, but with a different legend: 'One for all and Allfor one. '

As they rode along they gave leaflets to the people in the streets, andwhenever they came to a place where there were many people theydismounted and walked about, giving their leaflets to whoever wouldaccept them. They made several long halts during their progress alongthe Grand Parade, where there was a considerable crowd, and then theyrode over the hill to Windley, which they reached a little beforeopening time. There were little crowds waiting outside the severalpublic houses and a number of people passing through the streets ontheir way home from Church and Chapel. The strangers distributedleaflets to all those who would take them, and they went through a lotof the side streets, putting leaflets under the doors and in theletter-boxes. When they had exhausted their stock they remounted androde back the way they came. 

Meantime the news of their arrival had spread, and as they returnedthrough the town they were greeted with jeers and booing. Presentlysomeone threw a stone, and as there happened to be plenty of stonesjust there several others followed suit and began running after theretreating cyclists, throwing stones, hooting and cursing. 

The leaflet which had given rise to all this fury read as follows:

 WHAT IS SOCIALISM?

 At present the workers, with hand and brain produce continually food, clothing and all useful and beautiful things in great abundance. 

 BUT THEY LABOUR IN VAIN--for they are mostly poor and often in want. They find it a hard struggle to live. Their women and children suffer, and their old age is branded with pauperism. 

 Socialism is a plan by which poverty will be abolished, and everyone enabled to live in plenty and comfort, with leisure and opportunity for ampler life. 

 If you wish to hear more of this plan, come to the field at the Cross Roads on the hill at Windley, on Tuesday evening next at 8 P. M. And

 LOOK OUT FOR THE SOCIALIST VAN

The cyclists rode away amid showers of stones without sustaining muchdamage. One had his hand cut and another, who happened to look round, was struck on the forehead, but these were the only casualties. 

On the following Tuesday evening, long before the appointed time, therewas a large crowd assembled at the cross roads or the hill at Windley, waiting for the appearance of the van, and they were evidently preparedto give the Socialists a warm reception. There was only one policemanin uniform there but there were several in plain clothes amongst thecrowd. 

Crass, Dick Wantley, the Semi-drunk, Sawkins, Bill Bates and severalother frequenters of the Cricketers were amongst the crowd, and therewere also a sprinkling of tradespeople, including the Old Dear and MrSmallman, the grocer, and a few ladies and gentlemen--wealthyvisitors--but the bulk of the crowd were working men, labourers, mechanics and boys. 

As it was quite evident that the crowd meant mischief--many of them hadtheir pockets filled with stones and were armed with sticks--several ofthe Socialists were in favour of going to meet the van to endeavour topersuade those in charge from coming, and with that object theywithdrew from the crowd, which was already regarding them with menacinglooks, and went down the road in the direction from which the van wasexpected to come. They had not gone very far, however, before thepeople, divining what they were going to do, began to follow them andwhile they were hesitating what course to pursue, the Socialist van, escorted by five or six men on bicycles, appeared round the corner atthe bottom of the hill. 

As soon as the crowd saw it, they gave an exultant cheer, or, rather, yell, and began running down the hilt to meet it, and in a few minutesit was surrounded by a howling mob. The van was drawn by two horses;there was a door and a small platform at the back and over this was asign with white letters on a red ground: 'Socialism, the only hope ofthe Workers. '

The driver pulled up, and another man on the platform at the rearattempted to address the crowd, but his voice was inaudible in the dinof howls, catcalls, hooting and obscene curses. After about an hour ofthis, as the crowd began pushing against the van and trying to overturnit, the terrified horses commenced to get restive and uncontrollable, and the man on the box attempted to drive up the hill. This seemed tostill further infuriate the horde of savages who surrounded the van. Numbers of them clutched the wheels and turned them the reverse way, screaming that it must go back to where it came from; several of themaccordingly seized the horses' heads and, amid cheers, turned themround. 

The man on the platform was still trying to make himself heard, butwithout success. The strangers who had come with the van and thelittle group of local Socialists, who had forced their way through thecrowd and gathered together close to the platform in front of thewould-be speaker, only increased the din by their shouts of appeal tothe crowd to 'give the man a fair chance'. This little bodyguardclosed round the van as it began to move slowly downhill, but they werenot sufficiently numerous to protect it from the crowd, which, notbeing satisfied with the rate at which the van was proceeding, began toshout to each other to 'Run it away!' 'Take the brake off!' and severalsavage rushes were made with the intention of putting these suggestionsinto execution. 

Some of the defenders were hampered with their bicycles, but theyresisted as well as they were able, and succeeded in keeping the crowdoff until the foot of the hill was reached, and then someone threw thefirst stone, which by a strange chance happened to strike one of thecyclists whose head was already bandaged--it was the same man who hadbeen hit on the Sunday. This stone was soon followed by others, andthe man on the platform was the next to be struck. He got it right onthe mouth, and as he put up his handkerchief to staunch the bloodanother struck him on the forehead just above the temple, and hedropped forward on his face on to the platform as if he had been shot. 

As the speed of the vehicle increased, a regular hail of stones fellupon the roof and against the sides of the van and whizzed past theretreating cyclists, while the crowd followed close behind, cheering, shrieking out volleys of obscene curses, and howling like wolves. 

'We'll give the b--rs Socialism!' shouted Crass, who was literallyfoaming at the mouth. 

'We'll teach 'em to come 'ere trying to undermined our bloodymorality, ' howled Dick Wantley as he hurled a lump of granite that hehad torn up from the macadamized road at one of the cyclists. 

They ran on after the van until it was out of range, and then theybethought themselves of the local Socialists; but they were nowhere tobe seen; they had prudently withdrawn as soon as the van had got fairlyunder way, and the victory being complete, the upholders of the presentsystem returned to the piece of waste ground on the top of the hill, where a gentleman in a silk hat and frockcoat stood up on a littlehillock and made a speech. He said nothing about the DistressCommittee or the Soup Kitchen or the children who went to schoolwithout proper clothes or food, and made no reference to what was to bedone next winter, when nearly everybody would be out of work. Thesewere matters he and they were evidently not at all interested in. Buthe said a good deal about the Glorious Empire! and the Flag! and theRoyal Family. The things he said were received with rapturousapplause, and at the conclusion of his address, the crowd sang theNational Anthem with great enthusiasm and dispersed, congratulatingthemselves that they had shown to the best of their ability whatMugsborough thought of Socialism and the general opinion of the crowdwas that they would hear nothing more from the Socialist van. 

But in this they were mistaken, for the very next Sunday evening acrowd of Socialists suddenly materialized at the Cross Roads. Some ofthem had come by train, others had walked from different places andsome had cycled. 

A crowd gathered and the Socialists held a meeting, two speeches beingdelivered before the crowd recovered from their surprise at thetemerity of these other Britishers who apparently had not sense enoughto understand that they had been finally defeated and obliterated lastTuesday evening: and when the cyclist with the bandaged head got up onthe hillock some of the crowd actually joined in the hand-clapping withwhich the Socialists greeted him. 

In the course of his speech he informed them that the man who had comewith the van and who had been felled whilst attempting to speak fromthe platform was now in hospital. For some time it had been probablethat he would not recover, but he was now out of danger, and as soon ashe was well enough there was no doubt that he would come there again. 

Upon this Crass shouted out that if ever the Vanners did return, theywould finish what they had begun last Tuesday. He would not get off soeasy next time. But when he said this, Crass--not being able to seeinto the future--did not know what the reader will learn in due time, that the man was to return to that place under different circumstances. 

When they had finished their speech-making one of the strangers who wasacting as chairman invited the audience to put questions, but as nobodywanted to ask any, he invited anyone who disagreed with what had beensaid to get up on the hillock and state his objections, so that theaudience might have an opportunity of judging for themselves which sidewas right; but this invitation was also neglected. Then the chairmanannounced that they were coming there again next Sunday at the sametime, when a comrade would speak on 'Unemployment and Poverty, theCause and the Remedy', and then the strangers sang a song called'England Arise', the first verse being:

 England Arise, the long, long night is over, Faint in the east, behold the Dawn appear Out of your evil dream of toil and sorrow Arise, O England! for the day is here!

During the progress of the meeting several of the strangers had beengoing out amongst the crowd giving away leaflets, which many of thepeople gloomily refused to accept, and selling penny pamphlets, ofwhich they managed to dispose of about three dozen. 

Before declaring the meeting closed, the chairman said that the speakerwho was coming next week resided in London: he was not a millionaire, but a workman, the same as nearly all those who were there present. They were not going to pay him anything for coming, but they intendedto pay his railway fare. Therefore next Sunday after the meeting therewould be a collection, and anything over the amount of the fare wouldbe used for the purchase of more leaflets such as those they were nowgiving away. He hoped that anyone who thought that any of the moneywent into the pockets of those who held the meeting would come andjoin: then they could have their share. 

The meeting now terminated and the Socialists were suffered to departin peace. Some of them, however, lingered amongst the crowd after themain body had departed, and for a long time after the meeting was overlittle groups remained on the field excitedly discussing the speechesor the leaflets. 

The next Sunday evening when the Socialists came they found the fieldat the Cross Roads in the possession of a furious, hostile mob, whorefused to allow them to speak, and finally they had to go away withouthaving held a meeting. They came again the next Sunday, and on thisoccasion they had a speaker with a very loud--literally astentorian--voice, and he succeeded in delivering an address, but asonly those who were very close were able to hear him, and as they wereall Socialists, it was not of much effect upon those for whom it wasintended. 

They came again the next Sunday and nearly every other Sunday duringthe summer: sometimes they were permitted to hold their meeting incomparative peace and at other times there was a row. They madeseveral converts, and many people declared themselves in favour of someof the things advocated, but they were never able to form a branch oftheir society there, because nearly all those who were convinced wereafraid to publicly declare themselves lest they should lose theiremployment or customers. 

Chapter 44

The Beano

Now and then a transient gleam of sunshine penetrated the gloom inwhich the lives of the philanthropists were passed. The cheerlessmonotony was sometimes enlivened with a little innocent merriment. Every now and then there was a funeral which took Misery and Crass awayfor the whole afternoon, and although they always tried to keep thedates secret, the men generally knew when they were gone. 

Sometimes the people in whose houses they were working regaled themwith tea, bread and butter, cake or other light refreshments, andoccasionally even with beer--very different stuff from the petrifyingliquid they bought at the Cricketers for twopence a pint. At otherplaces, where the people of the house were not so generously disposed, the servants made up for it, and entertained them in a similar mannerwithout the knowledge of their masters and mistresses. Even when themistresses were too cunning to permit of this, they were seldom able toprevent the men from embracing the domestics, who for their part werequite often willing to be embraced; it was an agreeable episode thathelped to vary the monotony of their lives, and there was no harm done. 

It was rather hard lines on the philanthropists sometimes when theyhappened to be working in inhabited houses of the better sort. Theyalways had to go in and out by the back way, generally through thekitchen, and the crackling and hissing of the poultry and the joints ofmeat roasting in the ovens, and the odours of fruit pies and tarts, andplum puddings and sage and onions, were simply maddening. In theback-yards of these houses there were usually huge stacks of emptybeer, stout and wine bottles, and others that had contained whisky, brandy or champagne. 

The smells of the delicious viands that were being prepared in thekitchen often penetrated into the dismantled rooms that thephilanthropists were renovating, sometimes just as they were eatingtheir own wretched fare out of their dinner basket, and washing it downwith draughts of the cold tea or the petrifying liquid they sometimesbrought with them in bottles. 

Sometimes, as has been said, the people of the house used to send upsome tea and bread and butter or cakes or other refreshments to theworkmen, but whenever Hunter got to know of it being done he used tospeak to the people about it and request that it be discontinued, as itcaused the men to waste their time. 

But the event of the year was the Beano, which took place on the lastSaturday in August, after they had been paying in for about fourmonths. The cost of the outing was to be five shillings a head, sothis was the amount each man had to pay in, but it was expected thatthe total cost--the hire of the brakes and the cost of thedinner--would come out at a trifle less than the amount stated, and inthat case the surplus would be shared out after the dinner. The amountof the share-out would be greater or less according to othercircumstances, for it generally happened that apart from thesubscriptions of the men, the Beano fund was swelled by charitabledonations from several quarters, as will be seen later on. 

When the eventful day arrived, the hands, instead of working till one, were paid at twelve o'clock and rushed off home to have a wash andchange. 

The brakes were to start from the 'Cricketers' at one, but it wasarranged, for the convenience of those who lived at Windley, that theywere to be picked up at the Cross Roads at one-thirty. 

There were four brakes altogether--three large ones for the men and onesmall one for the accommodation of Mr Rushton and a few of his personalfriends, Didlum, Grinder, Mr Toonarf, an architect and Mr Lettum, ahouse and estate Agent. One of the drivers was accompanied by a friendwho carried a long coachman's horn. This gentleman was not paid tocome, but, being out of work, he thought that the men would be sure tostand him a few drinks and that they would probably make a collectionfor him in return for his services. 

Most of the chaps were smoking twopenny cigars, and had one or twodrinks with each other to try to cheer themselves up before theystarted, but all the same it was a melancholy procession that wendedits way up the hill to Windley. To judge from the mournful expressionon the long face of Misery, who sat on the box beside the driver of thefirst large brake, and the downcast appearance of the majority of themen, one might have thought that it was a funeral rather than apleasure party, or that they were a contingent of lost souls beingconducted to the banks of the Styx. The man who from time to timesounded the coachman's horn might have passed as the angel sounding thelast trump, and the fumes of the cigars were typical of the smoke oftheir torment, which ascendeth up for ever and ever. 

A brief halt was made at the Cross Roads to pick up several of the men, including Philpot, Harlow, Easton, Ned Dawson, Sawkins, Bill Bates andthe Semi-drunk. The two last-named were now working for Smeariton andLeavit, but as they had been paying in from the first, they had electedto go to the Beano rather than have their money back. The Semi-drunkand one or two other habitual boozers were very shabby and down atheel, but the majority of the men were decently dressed. Some had takentheir Sunday clothes out of pawn especially for the occasion. Otherswere arrayed in new suits which they were going to pay for at the rateof a shilling a week. Some had bought themselves second-hand suits, one or two were wearing their working clothes brushed and cleaned up, and some were wearing Sunday clothes that had not been taken out ofpawn for the simple reason that the pawnbrokers would not take them in. These garments were in what might be called a transitionstage--old-fashioned and shiny with wear, but yet too good to take forworking in, even if their owners had been in a position to buy someothers to take their place for best. Crass, Slyme and one or two ofthe single men, however, were howling swells, sporting stand-up collarsand bowler hats of the latest type, in contradistinction to some of theothers, who were wearing hats of antique patterns, and collars ofvarious shapes with jagged edges. Harlow had on an old straw hat thathis wife had cleaned up with oxalic acid, and Easton had carefully dyedthe faded binding of his black bowler with ink. Their boots were theworst part of their attire: without counting Rushton and his friends, there were thirty-seven men altogether, including Nimrod, and therewere not half a dozen pairs of really good boots amongst the wholecrowd. 

When all were seated a fresh start was made. The small brake, withRushton, Didlum, Grinder and two or three other members of the Band, led the way. Next came the largest brake with Misery on the box. Beside the driver of the third brake was Payne, the foreman carpenter. Crass occupied a similar position of honour on the fourth brake, on theback step of which was perched the man with the coachman's horn. 

Crass--who had engaged the brakes--had arranged with the drivers thatthe cortege should pass through the street where he and Easton lived, and as they went by Mrs Crass was standing at the door with the twoyoung men lodgers, who waved their handkerchiefs and shouted greetings. A little further on Mrs Linden and Easton's wife were standing at thedoor to see them go by. In fact, the notes of the coachman's hornalarmed most of the inhabitants, who crowded to their windows and doorsto gaze upon the dismal procession as it passed. 

The mean streets of Windley were soon left far behind and they foundthemselves journeying along a sunlit, winding road, bordered withhedges of hawthorn, holly and briar, past rich, brown fields ofstanding corn, shimmering with gleams of gold, past apple-orchardswhere bending boughs were heavily loaded with mellow fruits exhalingfragrant odours, through the cool shades of lofty avenues of venerableoaks, whose overarched and interlacing branches formed a roof of green, gilt and illuminated with quivering spots and shafts of sunlight thatfiltered through the trembling leaves; over old mossy stone bridges, spanning limpid streams that duplicated the blue sky and the fleecyclouds; and then again, stretching away to the horizon on every sideover more fields, some rich with harvest, others filled with drowsingcattle or with flocks of timid sheep that scampered away at the soundof the passing carriages. Several times they saw merry littlecompanies of rabbits frisking gaily in and out of the hedges or in thefields beside the sheep and cattle. At intervals, away in thedistance, nestling in the hollows or amid sheltering trees, groups offarm buildings and stacks of hay; and further on, the square ivy-cladtower of an ancient church, or perhaps a solitary windmill with itsrevolving sails alternately flashing and darkening in the rays of thesun. Past thatched wayside cottages whose inhabitants came out to wavetheir hands in friendly greeting. Past groups of sunburnt, golden-haired children who climbed on fences and five-barred gates, andwaved their hats and cheered, or ran behind the brakes for the penniesthe men threw down to them. 

From time to time the men in the brakes made half-hearted attempts atsinging, but it never came to much, because most of them were toohungry and miserable. They had not had time to take any dinner andwould not have taken any even if they had the time, for they wished toreserve their appetites for the banquet at the Queen Elizabeth, whichthey expected to reach about half past three. However, they cheered upa little after the first halt--at the Blue Lion, where most of them gotdown and had a drink. Some of them, including the Semi-drunk, NedDawson, Bill Bates and Joe Philpot--had two or three drinks, and feltso much happier for them that, shortly after they started off again, sounds of melody were heard from the brake the three first named rodein--the one presided over by Crass--but it was not very successful, andeven after the second halt--about five miles further on--at theWarrior's Head, they found it impossible to sing with any heartiness. Fitful bursts of song arose from time to time from each of the brakesin turn, only to die mournfully away. It is not easy to sing on anempty stomach even if one has got a little beer in it; and so it waswith most of them. They were not in a mood to sing, or to properlyappreciate the scenes through which they were passing. They wantedtheir dinners, and that was the reason why this long ride, instead ofbeing a pleasure, became after a while, a weary journey that seemed asif it were never coming to an end. 

The next stop was at the Bird in Hand, a wayside public house thatstood all by itself in a lonely hollow. The landlord was a fat, jolly-looking man, and there were several customers in the bar--men wholooked like farm-labourers, but there were no other houses to be seenanywhere. This extraordinary circumstance exercised the minds of ourtravellers and formed the principal topic of conversation until theyarrived at the Dew Drop Inn, about half an hour afterwards. The firstbrake, containing Rushton and his friends, passed on without stoppinghere. The occupants of the second brake, which was only a little waybehind the first, were divided in opinion whether to stop or go on. Some shouted out to the driver to pull up, others ordered him toproceed, and more were undecided which course to pursue--a state ofmind that was not shared by the coachman, who, knowing that if theystopped somebody or other would be sure to stand him a drink, had nodifficulty whatever in coming to a decision, but drew rein at the inn, an example that was followed by both the other carriages as they droveup. 

It was a very brief halt, not more than half the men getting down atall, and those who remained in the brakes grumbled so much at the delaythat the others drank their beer as quickly as possible and the journeywas resumed once more, almost in silence. No attempts at singing, nonoisy laughter; they scarcely spoke to each other, but sat gloomilygazing out over the surrounding country. 

Instructions had been given to the drivers not to stop again till theyreached the Queen Elizabeth, and they therefore drove past the WorldTurned Upside Down without stopping, much to the chagrin of thelandlord of that house, who stood at the door with a sickly smile uponhis face. Some of those who knew him shouted out that they would givehim a call on their way back, and with this he had to be content. 

They reached the long-desired Queen Elizabeth at twenty minutes tofour, and were immediately ushered into a large room where a roundtable and two long ones were set for dinner--and they were set in amanner worthy of the reputation of the house. 

The cloths that covered the tables and the serviettes, arranged fanwisein the drinking glasses, were literally as white as snow, and about adozen knives and forks and spoons were laid for each person. Down thecentre of the table glasses of delicious yellow custard and cut-glassdishes of glistening red and golden jelly alternated with vases ofsweet-smelling flowers. 

The floor of the dining-room was covered with oilcloth--red flowers ona pale yellow ground; the pattern was worn off in places, but it wasall very clean and shining. Whether one looked at the walls with theold-fashioned varnished oak paper, or at the glossy piano standingacross the corner near the white-curtained window, at the shining oakchairs or through the open casement doors that led into the shadygarden beyond, the dominating impression one received was thateverything was exquisitely clean. 

The landlord announced that dinner would be served in ten minutes, andwhile they were waiting some of them indulged in a drink at thebar--just as an appetizer--whilst the others strolled in the garden or, by the landlord's invitation, looked over the house. Amongst otherplaces, they glanced into the kitchen, where the landlady wassuperintending the preparation of the feast, and in this place, withits whitewashed walls and red-tiled floor, as in every other part ofthe house, the same absolute cleanliness reigned supreme. 

'It's a bit differint from the Royal Caff, where we got the sack, ain'tit?' remarked the Semi-drunk to Bill Bates as they made their way tothe dining-room in response to the announcement that dinner was ready. 

'Not arf!' replied Bill. 

Rushton, with Didlum and Grinder and his other friends, sat at theround table near the piano. Hunter took the head of the longer of theother two tables and Crass the foot, and on either side of Crass wereBundy and Slyme, who had acted with him as the Committee who hadarranged the Beano. Payne, the foreman carpenter, occupied the head ofthe other table. 

The dinner was all that could be desired; it was almost as good as thekind of dinner that is enjoyed every day by those persons who are toolazy to work but are cunning enough to make others work for them. 

There was soup, several entrees, roast beef, boiled mutton, roastturkey, roast goose, ham, cabbage, peas, beans and sweets galore, plumpudding, custard, jelly, fruit tarts, bread and cheese and as much beeror lemonade as they liked to pay for, the drinks being an extra; andafterwards the waiters brought in cups of coffee for those who desiredit. Everything was up to the knocker, and although they were somewhatbewildered by the multitude of knives and forks, they all, with one ortwo exceptions, rose to the occasion and enjoyed themselves famously. The excellent decorum observed being marred only by one or tworegrettable incidents. The first of these occurred almost as soon asthey sat down, when Ned Dawson who, although a big strong fellow, wasnot able to stand much beer, not being used to it, was taken ill andhad to be escorted from the room by his mate Bundy and another man. They left him somewhere outside and he came back again about tenminutes afterwards, much better but looking rather pale, and took hisseat with the others. 

The turkeys, the roast beef and the boiled mutton, the peas and beansand the cabbage, disappeared with astonishing rapidity, which was notto be wondered at, for they were all very hungry from the long drive, and nearly everyone made a point of having at least one helping ofeverything there was to be had. Some of them went in for two lots ofsoup. Then for the next course, boiled mutton and ham or turkey: thensome roast beef and goose. Then a little more boiled mutton with alittle roast beef. Each of the three boys devoured several times hisown weight of everything, to say nothing of numerous bottles oflemonade and champagne ginger beer. 

Crass frequently paused to mop the perspiration from his face and neckwith his serviette. In fact everybody had a good time. There wasenough and to spare of everything to eat, the beer was of the best, andall the time, amid the rattle of the crockery and the knives and forks, the proceedings were enlivened by many jests and flashes of wit thatcontinuously kept the table in a roar. 

'Chuck us over another dollop of that there white stuff, Bob, ' shoutedthe Semi-drunk to Crass, indicating the blancmange. 

Crass reached out his hand and took hold of the dish containing the'white stuff', but instead of passing it to the Semi-drunk, heproceeded to demolish it himself, gobbling it up quickly directly fromthe dish with a spoon. 

'Why, you're eating it all yerself, yer bleeder, ' cried the Semi-drunkindignantly, as soon as he realized what was happening. 

'That's all right, matey, ' replied Crass affably as he deposited theempty dish on the table. 'It don't matter, there's plenty more whereit come from. Tell the landlord to bring in another lot. '

Upon being applied to, the landlord, who was assisted by his daughter, two other young women and two young men, brought in several more lotsand so the Semi-drunk was appeased. 

As for the plum-pudding--it was a fair knock-out; just like Christmas:but as Ned Dawson and Bill Bates had drunk all the sauce before thepudding was served, they all had to have their first helping withoutany. However, as the landlord brought in another lot shortlyafterwards, that didn't matter either. 

As soon as dinner was over, Crass rose to make his statement assecretary. Thirty-seven men had paid five shillings each: that madenine pounds five shillings. The committee had decided that the threeboys--the painters' boy, the carpenters' boy and the front shopboy--should be allowed to come half-price: that made it nine poundstwelve and six. In addition to paying the ordinary five-shillingsubscription, Mr Rushton had given one pound ten towards the expenses. (Loud cheers. ) And several other gentlemen had also given somethingtowards it. Mr Sweater, of the Cave, one pound. (Applause. ) MrGrinder, ten shillings in addition to the five-shilling subscription. (Applause. ) Mr Lettum, ten shillings, as well as the five-shillingsubscription. (Applause. ) Mr Didlum, ten shillings in addition to thefive shillings. (Cheers. ) Mr Toonarf, ten shillings as well as thefive-shilling subscription. They had also written to some of themanufacturers who supplied the firm with materials, and asked them togive something: some of 'em had sent half a crown, some five shillings, some hadn't answered at all, and two of 'em had written back to saythat as things is cut so fine nowadays, they didn't hardly get noprofit on their stuff, so they couldn't afford to give nothing; but outof all the firms they wrote to they managed to get thirty-two andsixpence altogether, making a grand total of seventeen pounds. 

As for the expenses, the dinner was two and six a head, and there wasforty-five of them there, so that came to five pounds twelve and six. Then there was the hire of the brakes, also two and six a head, fivepound twelve and six, which left a surplus of five pound fifteen to beshared out (applause), which came to three shillings each for thethirty-seven men, and one and fourpence for each of the boys. (Loudand prolonged cheers. )

Crass, Slyme and Bundy now walked round the tables distributing theshare-out, which was very welcome to everybody, especially those whohad spent nearly all their money during the journey from Mugsborough, and when this ceremony was completed, Philpot moved a hearty vote ofthanks to the committee for the manner in which they had carried outtheir duties, which was agreed to with acclamation. Then they made acollection for the waiters, and the three waitresses, which amounted toeleven shillings, for which the host returned thanks on behalf of therecipients, who were all smiles. 

Then Mr Rushton requested the landlord to serve drinks and cigars allround. Some had cigarettes and the teetotallers had lemonade or gingerbeer. Those who did not smoke themselves took the cigar all the sameand gave it to someone else who did. When all were supplied theresuddenly arose loud cries of 'Order!' and it was seen that Hunter wasupon his feet. 

As soon as silence was obtained, Misery said that he believed thateveryone there present would agree with him, when he said that theyshould not let the occasion pass without drinking the 'ealth of theiresteemed and respected employer, Mr Rushton. (Hear, hear. ) Some ofthem had worked for Mr Rushton on and off for many years, and as far asTHEY was concerned it was not necessary for him (Hunter) to say much inpraise of Mr Rushton. (Hear, hear. ) They knew Mr Rushton as well ashe did himself and to know him was to esteem him. (Cheers. ) As for thenew hands, although they did not know Mr Rushton as well as the oldhands did, he felt sure that they would agree that as no one could wishfor a better master. (Loud applause. ) He had much pleasure in askingthem to drink Mr Rushton's health. Everyone rose. 

'Musical honours, chaps, ' shouted Crass, waving his glass and leadingoff the singing which was immediately joined in with great enthusiasmby most of the men, the Semi-drunk conducting the music with a tableknife:

 For he's a jolly good fellow, For he's a jolly good fellow, For he's a jolly good fel-ell-O, And so say all of us, So 'ip, 'ip, 'ip, 'ooray! So 'ip, 'ip, 'ip, 'ooray!

 For he's a jolly good fellow, For 'e's a jolly good fellow For 'e's a jolly good fel-ell-O, And so say all of us. 

'Now three cheers!' shouted Crass, leading off. 

 Hip, hip, hip, hooray! Hip, hip, hip, hooray! Hip, hip, hip, hooray!

Everyone present drank Rushton's health, or at any rate went throughthe motions of doing so, but during the roar of cheering and singingthat preceded it several of the men stood with expressions of contemptor uneasiness upon their faces, silently watching the enthusiasts orlooking at the ceiling or on the floor. 

'I will say this much, ' remarked the Semidrunk as they all resumedtheir seats--he had had several drinks during dinner, besides those hehad taken on the journey--I will say this much, although I did have alittle misunderstanding with Mr Hunter when I was workin' at the RoyalCaff, I must admit that this is the best firm that's ever worked underme. '

This statement caused a shout of laughter, which, however, died away asMr Rushton rose to acknowledge the toast to his health. He said thathe had now been in business for nearly sixteen years and this was--hebelieved--the eleventh outing he had had the pleasure of attending. During all that time the business had steadily progressed and hadincreased in volume from year to year, and he hoped and believed thatthe progress made in the past would be continued in the future. (Hear, hear. ) Of course, he realized that the success of the businessdepended very largely upon the men as well as upon himself; he did hisbest in trying to get work for them, and it was necessary--if thebusiness was to go on and prosper--that they should also do their bestto get the work done when he had secured it for them. (Hear, hear. )The masters could not do without the men, and the men could not livewithout the masters. (Hear, hear. ) It was a matter of division oflabour: the men worked with their hands and the masters worked withtheir brains, and one was no use without the other. He hoped the goodfeeling which had hitherto existed between himself and his workmenwould always continue, and he thanked them for the way in which theyhad responded to the toast of his health. 

Loud cheers greeted the conclusion of this speech, and then Crass stoodup and said that he begged to propose the health of Mr 'Unter. (Hear, hear. ) He wasn't going to make a long speech as he wasn't much of aspeaker. (Cries of 'You're all right, ' 'Go on, ' etc. ) But he feltsure as they would all hagree with him when he said that--next to MrRushton--there wasn't no one the men had more respect and liking forthan Mr 'Unter. (Cheers. ) A few weeks ago when Mr 'Unter was laid up, many of them began to be afraid as they was going to lose 'im. He wassure that all the 'ands was glad to 'ave this hoppertunity ofcongratulating him on his recovery (Hear, hear) and of wishing him thebest of 'ealth in the future and hoping as he would be spared to cometo a good many more Beanos. 

Loud applause greeted the conclusion of Crass's remarks, and once morethe meeting burst into song:

 For he's a jolly good fellow For he's a jolly good fellow. For he's a jolly good fellow, And so say all of us. So 'ip, 'ip, 'ip, 'ooray! So 'ip, 'ip, 'ip, 'ooray!

When they had done cheering, Nimrod rose. His voice trembled a littleas he thanked them for their kindness, and said that he hoped hedeserved their goodwill. He could only say that as he was sure as healways tried to be fair and considerate to everyone. (Cheers. ) Hewould now request the landlord to replenish their glasses. (Hear, hear. )

As soon as the drinks were served, Nimrod again rose and said he wishedto propose the healths of their visitors who had so kindly contributedto their expenses--Mr Lettum, Mr Didlum, Mr Toonarf and Mr Grinder. (Cheers. ) They were very pleased and proud to see them there (Hear, hear), and he was sure the men would agree with him when he said thatMessrs Lettum, Didlum, Toonarf and Grinder were jolly good fellows. 

To judge from the manner in which they sang the chorus and cheered, itwas quite evident that most of the hands did agree. When they leftoff, Grinder rose to reply on behalf of those included in the toast. Hesaid that it gave them much pleasure to be there and take part in suchpleasant proceedings and they were glad to think that they had beenable to help to bring it about. It was very gratifying to see the goodfeeling that existed between Mr Rushton and his workmen, which was asit should be, because masters and men was really fellow workers--themasters did the brain work, the men the 'and work. They was bothworkers, and their interests was the same. He liked to see men doingtheir best for their master and knowing that their master was doing hisbest for them, that he was not only a master, but a friend. That waswhat he (Grinder) liked to see--master and men pulling together--doingtheir best, and realizing that their interests was identical. (Cheers. ) If only all masters and men would do this they would findthat everything would go on all right, there would be more work andless poverty. Let the men do their best for their masters, and themasters do their best for their men, and they would find that that wasthe true solution of the social problem, and not the silly nonsensethat was talked by people what went about with red flags. (Cheers andlaughter. ) Most of those fellows were chaps who was too lazy to workfor their livin'. (Hear, hear. ) They could take it from him that, ifever the Socialists got the upper hand there would just be a few of thehartful dodgers who would get all the cream, and there would be nothingleft but 'ard work for the rest. (Hear. Hear. ) That's wot hall thosehagitators was after: they wanted them (his hearers) to work and keep'em in idleness. (Hear, hear. ) On behalf of Mr Didlum, Mr Toonarf, MrLettum and himself, he thanked them for their good wishes, and hoped tobe with them on a sim'ler occasion in the future. 

Loud cheers greeted the termination of his speech, but it was obviousfrom some of the men's faces that they resented Grinder's remarks. These men ridiculed Socialism and regularly voted for the continuanceof capitalism, and yet they were disgusted and angry with Grinder!There was also a small number of Socialists--not more than half a dozenaltogether--who did not join in the applause. These men were allsitting at the end of the long table presided over by Payne. None ofthem had joined in the applause that greeted the speeches, and so farneither had they made any protest. Some of them turned very red asthey listened to the concluding sentences of Grinder's oration, andothers laughed, but none of them said anything. They knew before theycame that there was sure to be a lot of 'Jolly good fellow' businessand speechmaking, and they had agreed together beforehand to take nopart one way or the other, and to refrain from openly dissenting fromanything that might be said, but they had not anticipated anythingquite so strong as this. 

When Grinder sat down some of those who had applauded him began to jeerat the Socialists. 

'What have you got to say to that?' they shouted. 'That's up againstyer!'

'They ain't got nothing to say now. '

'Why don't some of you get up and make a speech?'

This last appeared to be a very good idea to those Liberals and Torieswho had not liked Grinder's observations, so they all began to shout'Owen!' 'Owen!' 'Come on 'ere. Get up and make a speech!' 'Be a man!'and so on. Several of those who had been loudest in applauding Grinderalso joined in the demand that Owen should make a speech, because theywere certain that Grinder and the other gentlemen would be able todispose of all his arguments; but Owen and the other Socialists made noresponse except to laugh, so presently Crass tied a white handkerchiefon a cane walking-stick that belonged to Mr Didlum, and stuck it in thevase of flowers that stood on the end of the table where the Socialistgroup were sitting. 

When the noise had in some measure ceased, Grinder again rose. 'When Imade the few remarks that I did, I didn't know as there was anySocialists 'ere: I could tell from the look of you that most of you hadmore sense. At the same time I'm rather glad I said what I did, because it just shows you what sort of chaps these Socialists are. They're pretty artful--they know when to talk and when to keep theirmouths shut. What they like is to get hold of a few ignorant workin'men in a workshop or a public house, and then they can talk by themile--reg'ler shop lawyers, you know wot I mean--I'm right andeverybody else is wrong. (Laughter. ) You know the sort of thing Imean. When they finds theirselves in the company of edicated peoplewot knows a little more than they does theirselves, and who isn'tlikely to be misled by a lot of claptrap, why then, mum's the word. Sonext time you hears any of these shop lawyers' arguments, you'll knowhow much it's worth. '

Most of the men were delighted with this speech, which was receivedwith much laughing and knocking on the tables. They remarked to eachother that Grinder was a smart man: he'd got the Socialists weighed upjust about right--to an ounce. 

Then, it was seen that Barrington was on his feet facing Grinder and asudden, awe-filled silence fell. 

'It may or may not be true, ' began Barrington, 'that Socialists alwaysknow when to speak and when to keep silent, but the present occasionhardly seemed a suitable one to discuss such subjects. 

'We are here today as friends and want to forget our differences andenjoy ourselves for a few hours. But after what Mr Grinder has said Iam quite ready to reply to him to the best of my ability. 

'The fact that I am a Socialist and that I am here today as one of MrRushton's employees should be an answer to the charge that Socialistsare too lazy to work for their living. And as to taking advantage ofthe ignorance and simplicity of working men and trying to mislead themwith nonsensical claptrap, it would have been more to the point if MrGrinder had taken some particular Socialist doctrine and had proved itto be untrue or misleading, instead of adopting the cowardly method ofmaking vague general charges that he cannot substantiate. He wouldfind it far more difficult to do that than it would be for a Socialistto show that most of what Mr Grinder himself has been telling us isnonsensical claptrap of the most misleading kind. He tells us that theemployers work with their brains and the men with their hands. If itis true that no brains are required to do manual labour, why put idiotsinto imbecile asylums? Why not let them do some of the hand work forwhich no brains are required? As they are idiots, they would probablybe willing to work for even less than the ideal "living wage". If MrGrinder had ever tried, he would know that manual workers have toconcentrate their minds and their attention on their work or they wouldnot be able to do it at all. His talk about employers being not onlythe masters but the "friends" of their workmen is also mere claptrapbecause he knows as well as we do, that no matter how good orbenevolent an employer may be, no matter how much he might desire togive his men good conditions, it is impossible for him to do so, because he has to compete against other employers who do not do that. It is the bad employer--the sweating, slave-driving employer--who setsthe pace and the others have to adopt the same methods--very oftenagainst their inclinations--or they would not be able to compete withhim. If any employer today were to resolve to pay his workmen not lesswages than he would be able to live upon in comfort himself, that hewould not require them to do more work in a day than he himself wouldlike to perform every day of his own life, Mr Grinder knows as well aswe do that such an employer would be bankrupt in a month; because hewould not be able to get any work except by taking it at the same priceas the sweaters and the slave-drivers. 

'He also tells us that the interests of masters and men are identical;but if an employer has a contract, it is to his interest to get thework done as soon as possible; the sooner it is done the more profit hewill make; but the more quickly it is done, the sooner will the men beout of employment. How then can it be true that their interests areidentical?

'Again, let us suppose that an employer is, say, thirty years of agewhen he commences business, and that he carries it on for twenty years. Let us assume that he employs forty men more or less regularly duringthat period and that the average age of these men is also thirty yearsat the time the employer commences business. At the end of the twentyyears it usually happens that the employer has made enough money toenable him to live for the remainder of his life in ease and comfort. But what about the workman? All through those twenty years they haveearned but a bare living wage and have had to endure such privationsthat those who are not already dead are broken in health. 

'In the case of the employer there had been twenty years of steadyprogress towards ease and leisure and independence. In the case of themajority of the men there were twenty years of deterioration, twentyyears of steady, continuous and hopeless progress towards physical andmental inefficiency: towards the scrap-heap, the work-house, andpremature death. What is it but false, misleading, nonsensicalclaptrap to say that their interests were identical with those of theiremployer?

'Such talk as that is not likely to deceive any but children or fools. We are not children, but it is very evident that Mr Grinder thinks thatwe are fools. 

'Occasionally it happens, through one or more of a hundred differentcircumstances over which he has no control, or through some error ofjudgement, that after many years of laborious mental work an employeris overtaken by misfortune, and finds himself no better and even worseoff than when he started; but these are exceptional cases, and even ifhe becomes absolutely bankrupt he is no worse off than the majority ofthe workmen. 

'At the same time it is quite true that the real interests of employersand workmen are the same, but not in the sense that Mr Grinder wouldhave us believe. Under the existing system of society but a very fewpeople, no matter how well off they may be, can be certain that they ortheir children will not eventually come to want; and even those whothink they are secure themselves, find their happiness diminished bythe knowledge of the poverty and misery that surrounds them on everyside. 

'In that sense only is it true that the interests of masters and menare identical, for it is to the interest of all, both rich and poor, tohelp to destroy a system that inflicts suffering upon the many andallows true happiness to none. It is to the interest of all to try andfind a better way. '

Here Crass jumped up and interrupted, shouting out that they hadn'tcome there to listen to a lot of speechmaking--a remark that wasgreeted with unbounded applause by most of those present. Loud criesof 'Hear, hear!' resounded through the room, and the Semi-drunksuggested that someone should sing a song. 

The men who had clamoured for a speech from Owen said nothing, and MrGrinder, who had been feeling rather uncomfortable, was secretly veryglad of the interruption. 

The Semi-drunk's suggestion that someone should sing a song wasreceived with unqualified approbation by everybody, includingBarrington and the other Socialists, who desired nothing better thanthat the time should be passed in a manner suitable to the occasion. The landlord's daughter, a rosy girl of about twenty years of age, in apink print dress, sat down at the piano, and the Semi-drunk, taking hisplace at the side of the instrument and facing the audience, sang thefirst song with appropriate gestures, the chorus being renderedenthusiastically by the full strength of the company, including Misery, who by this time was slightly drunk from drinking gin and ginger beer:

 'Come, come, come an' 'ave a drink with me Down by the ole Bull and Bush. Come, come, come an' shake 'ands with me Down by the ole Bull and Bush. Wot cheer me little Germin band! Fol the diddle di do! Come an' take 'old of me 'and Come, come, come an' 'ave a drink with me, Down by the old Bull and Bush, Bush! Bush!'

Protracted knocking on the tables greeted the end of the song, but asthe Semi-drunk knew no other except odd verses and choruses, he calledupon Crass for the next, and that gentleman accordingly sang 'Work, Boys, Work' to the tune of 'Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys aremarching'. As this song is the Marseillaise of the Tariff ReformParty, voicing as it does the highest ideals of the Tory workmen ofthis country, it was an unqualified success, for most of them wereConservatives. 

 'Now I'm not a wealthy man, But I lives upon a plan Wot will render me as 'appy as a King; An' if you will allow, I'll sing it to you now, For time you know is always on the wing. 

 Work, boys, work and be contented So long as you've enough to buy a meal. For if you will but try, you'll be wealthy--bye and bye-- If you'll only put yer shoulder to the wheel. '

'Altogether, boys, ' shouted Grinder, who was a strong Tariff Reformer, and was delighted to see that most of the men were of the same way ofthinking; and the 'boys' roared out the chorus once more:

 Work, boys, work and be contented So long as you've enough to buy a meal For if you will but try, you'll be wealthy--bye and bye If you'll only put your shoulder to the wheel. 

As they sang the words of this noble chorus the Tories seemed to becomeinspired with lofty enthusiasm. It is of course impossible to say forcertain, but probably as they sang there arose before their exaltedimaginations, a vision of the Past, and looking down the long vista ofthe years that were gone, they saw that from their childhood they hadbeen years of poverty and joyless toil. They saw their fathers andmothers, weaned and broken with privation and excessive labour, sinkingunhonoured into the welcome oblivion of the grave. 

And then, as a change came over the spirit of their dream, they saw theFuture, with their own children travelling along the same weary road tothe same kind of goal. 

It is possible that visions of this character were conjured up in theirminds by the singing, for the words of the song gave expression totheir ideal of what human life should be. That was all they wanted--tobe allowed to work like brutes for the benefit of other people. Theydid not want to be civilized themselves and they intended to take goodcare that the children they had brought into the world should neverenjoy the benefits of civilization either. As they often said:

'Who and what are our children that they shouldn't be made to work fortheir betters? They're not Gentry's children, are they? The goodthings of life was never meant for the likes of them. Let 'em work!That's wot the likes of them was made for, and if we can only getTariff Reform for 'em they will always be sure of plenty of it--notonly Full Time, but Overtime! As for edication, travellin' in furrin'parts, an' enjoying life an' all sich things as that, they was nevermeant for the likes of our children--they're meant for Gentry'schildren! Our children is only like so much dirt compared withGentry's children! That's wot the likes of us is made for--to Work forGentry, so as they can 'ave plenty of time to enjoy theirselves; andthe Gentry is made to 'ave a good time so as the likes of us can 'avePlenty of Work. '

There were several more verses, and by the time they had sung them all, the Tories were in a state of wild enthusiasm. Even Ned Dawson, whohad fallen asleep with his head pillowed on his arms on the table, roused himself up at the end of each verse, and after having joined inthe chorus, went to sleep again. 

At the end of the song they gave three cheers for Tariff Reform andPlenty of Work, and then Crass, who, as the singer of the last song, had the right to call upon the next man, nominated Philpot, whoreceived an ovation when he stood up, for he was a general favourite. He never did no harm to nobody, and he was always wiling to do anyone agood turn whenever he had the opportunity. Shouts of 'Good old Joe'resounded through the room as he crossed over to the piano, and inresponse to numerous requests for 'The old song' he began to sing 'TheFlower Show':

 'Whilst walkin' out the other night, not knowing where to go I saw a bill upon a wall about a Flower Show. 

 So I thought the flowers I'd go and see to pass away the night. And when I got into that Show it was a curious sight. So with your kind intention and a little of your aid, Tonight some flowers I'll mention which I hope will never fade. '

 Omnes: To-night some flowers I'll mention which I hope will never fade. '

There were several more verses, from which it appeared that theprincipal flowers in the Show were the Rose, the Thistle and theShamrock. 

When he had finished, the applause was so deafening and the demands foran encore so persistent that to satisfy them he sang another oldfavourite--'Won't you buy my pretty flowers?'

 'Ever coming, ever going, Men and women hurry by, Heedless of the tear-drops gleaming, In her sad and wistful eye How her little heart is sighing Thro' the cold and dreary hours, Only listen to her crying, "Won't you buy my pretty flowers?"'

When the last verse of this sang had been sung five er six times, Philpot exercised his right of nominating the next singer, and calledupon Dick Wantley, who with many suggestive gestures and grimaces sang'Put me amongst the girls', and afterwards called upon Payne, theforeman carpenter, who gave 'I'm the Marquis of Camberwell Green'. 

There was a lot of what music-hall artists call 'business' attached tohis song, and as he proceeded, Payne, who was ghastly pale and verynervous, went through a lot of galvanic motions and gestures, bowingand scraping and sliding about and flourishing his handkerchief inimitation of the courtly graces of the Marquis. During thisperformance the audience maintained an appalling silence, which soembarrassed Payne that before he was half-way through the song he hadto stop because he could not remember the rest. However, to make upfor this failure he sang another called 'We all must die, like the firein the grate'. This also was received in a very lukewarm manner by thecrowd, same of whom laughed and others suggested that if he couldn'tsing any better than that, the sooner HE was dead the better. 

This was followed by another Tory ballad, the chorus being as follows:

 His clothes may be ragged, his hands may be soiled. But where's the disgrace if for bread he has toiled. His 'art is in the right place, deny it no one can The backbone of Old England is the honest workin' man. '

After a few more songs it was decided to adjourn to a field at the rearof the tavern to have a game of cricket. Sides were formed, Rushton, Didlum, Grinder, and the other gentlemen taking part just as if theywere only common people, and while the game was in progress the restplayed ring quoits or reclined on the grass watching the players, whilst the remainder amused themselves drinking beer and playing cardsand shove-ha'penny in the bar parlour, or taking walks around thevillage sampling the beer at the other pubs, of which there were three. 

The time passed in this manner until seven o'clock, the hour at whichit had been arranged to start on the return journey; but about aquarter of an hour before they set out an unpleasant incident occurred. 

During the time that they were playing cricket a party of glee singers, consisting of four young girls and five men, three of whom were youngfellows, the other two being rather elderly, possibly the fathers ofsome of the younger members of the party, came into the field and sangseveral part songs for their entertainment. Towards the close of thegame most of the men had assembled in this field, and during a pause inthe singing the musicians sent one of their number, a shy girl abouteighteen years of age--who seemed as if she would rather that someoneelse had the task--amongst the crowd to make a collection. The girlwas very nervous and blushed as she murmured her request, and held outa straw hat that evidently belonged to one of the male members of theglee party. A few of the men gave pennies, some refused or pretendednot to see either the girl or the hat, others offered to give her somemoney for a kiss, but what caused the trouble was that two or three ofthose who had been drinking more than was good for them dropped thestill burning ends of their cigars, all wet with saliva as they were, into the hat and Dick Wantley spit into it. 

The girl hastily returned to her companions, and as she went some ofthe men who had witnessed the behaviour of those who had insulted her, advised them to make themselves scarce, as they stood a good chance ofgetting a thrashing from the girl's friends. They said it would servethem dam' well right if they did get a hammering. 

Partly sobered by fear, the three culprits sneaked off and hidthemselves, pale and trembling with terror, under the box seats of thethree brakes. They had scarcely left when the men of the glee partycame running up, furiously demanding to see those who had insulted thegirl. As they could get no satisfactory answer, one of their numberran back and presently returned, bringing the girl with him, the otheryoung women following a little way behind. 

She said she could not see the men they were looking for, so they wentdown to the public house to see if they could find them there, some ofthe Rushton's men accompanying them and protesting their indignation. 

The time passed quickly enough and by half past seven the brakes wereloaded up again and a start made for the return journey. 

They called at all the taverns on the road, and by the time theyreached the Blue Lion half of them were three sheets in the wind, andfive or six were very drunk, including the driver of Crass's brake andthe man with the bugle. The latter was so far gone that they had tolet him lie down in the bottom of the carriage amongst their feet, where he fell asleep, while the others amused themselves by blowingweird shrieks out of the horn. 

There was an automatic penny-in-the-slot piano at the Blue Lion and asthat was the last house of the road they made a rather long stop there, playing hooks and rings, shove-ha'penny, drinking, singing, dancing andfinally quarrelling. 

Several of them seemed disposed to quarrel with Newman. All sorts ofoffensive remarks were made at him in his hearing. Once someoneostentatiously knocked his glass of lemonade over, and a little latersomeone else collided violently with him just as he was in the act ofdrinking, causing his lemonade to spill all over his clothes. Theworst of it was that most of these rowdy ones were his fellowpassengers in Crass's brake, and there was not much chance of getting aseat in either of the other carriages, for they were overcrowdedalready. 

From the remarks he overheard from time to time, Newman guessed thereason of their hostility, and as their manner towards him grew moremenacing, he became so nervous that he began to think of quietlysneaking off and walking the remainder of the way home by himself, unless he could get somebody in one of the other brakes to change seatswith him. 

Whilst these thoughts were agitating his mind, Dick Wantley suddenlyshouted out that he was going to go for the dirty tyke who had offeredto work under price last winter. 

It was his fault that they were all working for sixpence halfpenny andhe was going to wipe the floor with him. Some of his friends eagerlyoffered to assist, but others interposed, and for a time it looked asif there was going to be a free fight, the aggressors struggling hardto get at their inoffensive victim. 

Eventually, however, Newman found a seat in Misery's brake, squattingon the floor with his back to the horses, thankful enough to be out ofreach of the drunken savages, who were now roaring out ribald songs andstartling the countryside, as they drove along, with unearthly blastson the coach horn. 

Meantime, although none of them seemed to notice it, the brake wastravelling at a furious rate, and swaying about from side to side in avery erratic manner. It would have been the last carriage, but thingshad got a bit mixed at the Blue Lion and, instead of bringing up therear of the procession, it was now second, just behind the smallvehicle containing Rushton and his friends. 

Crass several times reminded them that the other carriage was so nearthat Rushton must be able to hear every word that was said, and theserepeated admonitions at length enraged the Semi-drunk, who shouted outthat they didn't care a b--r if he could hear. Who the bloody hell washe? To hell with him!

'Damn Rushton, and you too!' cried Bill Bates, addressing Crass. 'You're only a dirty toe-rag! That's all you are--a bloody rotter!That's the only reason you gets put in charge of jobs--'cos you're agood nigger-driver! You're a bloody sight worse than Rushton or Miseryeither! Who was it started the one-man, one-room dodge, eh? Why, you, yer bleeder!'

'Knock 'im orf 'is bleedin' perch, ' suggested Bundy. 

Everybody seemed to think this was a very good idea, but when theSemi-drunk attempted to rise for the purpose of carrying it out, he wasthrown down by a sudden lurch of the carriage on the top of theprostrate figure of the bugle man and by the time the others hadassisted him back to his seat they had forgotten all about their planof getting rid of Crass. 

Meantime the speed of the vehicle had increased to a fearful rate. 

Rushton and the other occupants of the little wagonette in front hadbeen for some time shouting to them to moderate the pace of theirhorses, but as the driver of Crass's brake was too drunk to understandwhat they said he took no notice, and they had no alternative but toincrease their own speed to avoid being run down. The drunken drivernow began to imagine that they were trying to race him, and becamefired with the determination to pass them. It was a very narrow road, but there was just about room to do it, and he had sufficientconfidence in his own skill with the ribbons to believe that he couldget past in safety. 

The terrified gesticulations and the shouts of Rushton's party onlyserved to infuriate him, because he imagined that they were jeering athim for not being able to overtake them. He stood up on the footboardand lashed the horses till they almost flew over the ground, while thecarriage swayed and skidded in a fearful manner. 

In front, the horses of Rushton's conveyance were also galloping at topspeed, the vehicle bounding and reeling from one side of the road tothe other, whilst its terrified occupants, whose faces were blanchedwith apprehension, sat clinging to their seats and to each other, theireyes projecting from the sockets as they gazed back with terror attheir pursuers, some of whom were encouraging the drunken driver withpromises of quarts of beer, and urging on the homes with curses andyells. 

Crass's fat face was pallid with fear as he clung trembling to hisseat. Another man, very drunk and oblivious of everything, was leaningover the side of the brake, spewing into the road, while the remainder, taking no interest in the race, amused themselves by singing--conductedby the Semi-drunk--as loud as they could roar:

 'Has anyone seen a Germin band, Germin Band, Germin Band? I've been lookin' about, Pom--Pom, Pom, Pom, Pom!

 'I've searched every pub, both near and far, Near and far, near and far, I want my Fritz, What plays tiddley bits On the big trombone!'

The other two brakes had fallen far behind. The one presided over byHunter contained a mournful crew. Nimrod himself, from the effects ofnumerous drinks of ginger beer with secret dashes of gin in it, hadbecome at length crying drunk, and sat weeping in gloomy silence besidethe driver, a picture of lachrymose misery and but dimly conscious ofhis surroundings, and Slyme, who rode with Hunter because he was afellow member of the Shining Light Chapel. Then there was anotherpaperhanger--an unhappy wretch who was afflicted with religious mania;he had brought a lot of tracts with him which he had distributed to theother men, to the villagers of Tubberton and to anybody else who wouldtake them. 

Most of the other men who rode in Nimrod's brake were of the'religious' working man type. Ignorant, shallow-pated dolts, withoutas much intellectuality as an average cat. Attendants at various PSAsand 'Church Mission Halls' who went every Sunday afternoon to belectured on their duty to their betters and to have their minds--savethe mark!--addled and stultified by such persons as Rushton, Sweater, Didlum and Grinder, not to mention such mental specialists as the holyreverend Belchers and Boshers, and such persons as John Starr. 

At these meetings none of the 'respectable' working men were allowed toask any questions, or to object to, or find fault with anything thatwas said, or to argue, or discuss, or criticize. They had to sit therelike a lot of children while they were lectured and preached at andpatronized. Even as sheep before their shearers are dumb, so they werenot permitted to open their mouths. For that matter they did not wishto be allowed to ask any questions, or to discuss anything. They wouldnot have been able to. They sat there and listened to what was said, but they had but a very hazy conception of what it was all about. 

Most of them belonged to these PSAs merely for the sake of the loavesand fishes. Every now and then they were awarded prizes--Self-help bySmiles, and other books suitable for perusal by persons suffering fromalmost complete obliteration of the mental faculties. Besides otherbenefits there was usually a Christmas Club attached to the 'PSA' or'Mission' and the things were sold to the members slightly below costas a reward for their servility. 

They were for the most part tame, broken-spirited, poor wretches whocontentedly resigned themselves to a life of miserable toil andpoverty, and with callous indifference abandoned their offspring to thesame fate. Compared with such as these, the savages of New Guinea orthe Red Indians are immensely higher in the scale of manhood. They arefree! They call no man master; and if they do not enjoy the benefitsof science and civilization, neither do they toil to create thosethings for the benefit of others. And as for their children--most ofthose savages would rather knock them on the head with a tomahawk thanallow them to grow up to be half-starved drudges for other men. 

But these were not free: their servile lives were spent in grovellingand cringing and toiling and running about like little dogs at thebehest of their numerous masters. And as for the benefits of scienceand civilization, their only share was to work and help to make them, and then to watch other men enjoy them. And all the time they weretame and quiet and content and said, 'The likes of us can't expect to'ave nothing better, and as for our children wot's been good enough forus is good enough for the likes of them. '

But although they were so religious and respectable and so contented tobe robbed on a large scale, yet in small matters, in the commonplaceand petty affairs of their everyday existence, most of these men wereacutely alive to what their enfeebled minds conceived to be their ownselfish interests, and they possessed a large share of that singularcunning which characterizes this form of dementia. 

That was why they had chosen to ride in Nimrod's brake--because theywished to chum up with him as much as possible, in order to increasetheir chances of being kept on in preference to others who were not sorespectable. 

Some of these poor creatures had very large heads, but a closeexamination would have shown that the size was due to the extraordinarythickness of the bones. The cavity of the skull was not so large asthe outward appearance of the head would have led a casual observer tosuppose, and even in those instances where the brain was of a fairsize, it was of inferior quality, being coarse in texture and to agreat extent composed of fat. 

Although most of them were regular attendants at some place ofso-called worship, they were not all teetotallers, and some of themwere now in different stages of intoxication, not because they had hada great deal to drink, but because--being usually abstemious--it didnot take very much to make them drunk. 

From time to time this miserable crew tried to enliven the journey bysinging, but as most of them only knew odd choruses it did not come tomuch. As for the few who did happen to know all the words of a song, they either had no voices or were not inclined to sing. The mostsuccessful contribution was that of the religious maniac, who sangseveral hymns, the choruses being joined in by everybody, both drunkand sober. 

The strains of these hymns, wafted back through the balmy air to thelast coach, were the cause of much hilarity to its occupants who alsosang the choruses. As they had all been brought up under 'Christian'influences and educated in 'Christian' schools, they all knew thewords: 'Work, for the night is coming', 'Turn poor Sinner and escapeEternal Fire', 'Pull for the Shore' and 'Where is my Wandering Boy?'

The last reminded Harlow of a song he knew nearly all the words of, 'Take the news to Mother', the singing of which was much appreciated byall present and when it was finished they sang it all over again, Philpot being so affected that he actually shed tears; and Eastonconfided to Owen that there was no getting away from the fact that aboy's best friend is his mother. 

In this last carriage, as in the other two, there were several men whowere more or less intoxicated and for the same reason--because notbeing used to taking much liquor, the few extra glasses they had drunkhad got into their heads. They were as sober a lot of fellows as needbe at ordinary times, and they had flocked together in this brakebecause they were all of about the same character--not tame, contentedimbeciles like most of those in Misery's carnage, but men somethinglike Harlow, who, although dissatisfied with their condition, doggedlycontinued the hopeless, weary struggle against their fate. 

They were not teetotallers and they never went to either church orchapel, but they spent little in drink or on any form of enjoyment--anoccasional glass of beer or a still rarer visit to a music-hall and nowand then an outing more or less similar to this being the sum total oftheir pleasures. 

These four brakes might fitly be regarded as so many travelling lunaticasylums, the inmates of each exhibiting different degrees and forms ofmental disorder. 

The occupants of the first--Rushton, Didlum and Co. --might be classedas criminal lunatics who injured others as well as themselves. In aproperly constituted system of society such men as these would beregarded as a danger to the community, and would be placed under suchrestraint as would effectually prevent them from harming themselves orothers. These wretches had abandoned every thought and thing thattends to the elevation of humanity. They had given up everything thatmakes life good and beautiful, in order to carry on a mad struggle toacquire money which they would never be sufficiently cultured toproperly enjoy. Deaf and blind to every other consideration, to thisend they had degraded their intellects by concentrating them upon theminutest details of expense and profit, and for their reward they rakedin their harvest of muck and lucre along with the hatred and curses ofthose they injured in the process. They knew that the money theyaccumulated was foul with the sweat of their brother men, and wet withthe tears of little children, but they were deaf and blind and callousto the consequences of their greed. Devoid of every ennobling thoughtor aspiration, they grovelled on the filthy ground, tearing up theflowers to get at the worms. 

In the coach presided over by Crass, Bill Bates, the Semi-drunk and theother two or three habitual boozers were all men who had been drivenmad by their environment. At one time most of them had been fellowslike Harlow, working early and late whenever they got the chance, onlyto see their earnings swallowed up in a few minutes every Saturday bythe landlord and all the other host of harpies and profitmongers, whowere waiting to demand it as soon as it was earned. In the years thatwere gone, most of these men used to take all their money homereligiously every Saturday and give it to the 'old girl' for the house, and then, lo and behold, in a moment, yea, even in the twinkling of aneye, it was all gone! Melted away like snow in the sun! and nothing toshow for it except an insufficiency of the bare necessaries of life!But after a time they had become heartbroken and sick and tired of thatsort of thing. They hankered after a little pleasure, a littleexcitement, a little fun, and they found that it was possible to buysomething like those in quart pots at the pub. They knew they were notthe genuine articles, but they were better than nothing at all, and sothey gave up the practice of giving all their money to the old girl togive to the landlord and the other harpies, and bought beer with someof it instead; and after a time their minds became so disordered fromdrinking so much of this beer, that they cared nothing whether the rentwas paid or not. They cared but little whether the old girl and thechildren had food or clothes. They said, 'To hell with everything andeveryone, ' and they cared for nothing so long as they could get plentyof beer. 

The occupants of Nimrod's coach have already been described and most ofthem may correctly be classed as being similar to cretin idiots of thethird degree--very cunning and selfish, and able to read and write, butwith very little understanding of what they read except on the mostcommon topics. 

As for those who rode with Harlow in the last coach, most of them, ashas been already intimated, were men of similar character to himself. The greater number of them fairly good workmen and--unlike the boozersin Crass's coach--not yet quite heartbroken, but still continuing thehopeless struggle against poverty. These differed from Nimrod's lotinasmuch as they were not content. They were always complaining oftheir wretched circumstances, and found a certain kind of pleasure inlistening to the tirades of the Socialists against the existing socialconditions, and professing their concurrence with many of thesentiments expressed, and a desire to bring about a better state ofaffairs. 

Most of them appeared to be quite sane, being able to converseintelligently on any ordinary subject without discovering any symptomsof mental disorder, and it was not until the topic of Parliamentaryelections was mentioned that evidence of their insanity wasforthcoming. It then almost invariably appeared that they were subjectto the most extraordinary hallucinations and extravagant delusions, thecommonest being that the best thing that the working people could do tobring about an improvement in their condition, was to continue to electtheir Liberal and Tory employers to make laws for and to rule overthem! At such times, if anyone ventured to point out to them that thatwas what they had been doing all their lives, and referred them to themanifold evidences that met them wherever they turned their eyes of itsfolly and futility, they were generally immediately seized with aparoxysm of the most furious mania, and were with difficulty preventedfrom savagely assaulting those who differed from them. 

They were usually found in a similar condition of maniacal excitementfor some time preceding and during a Parliamentary election, butafterwards they usually manifested that modification of insanity whichis called melancholia. In fact they alternated between these two formsof the disease. During elections, the highest state of exalted mania;and at ordinary times--presumably as a result of reading about theproceedings in Parliament of the persons whom they had elected--in astate of melancholic depression, in their case an instance of hopedeferred making the heart sick. 

This condition occasionally proved to be the stage of transition intoyet another modification of the disease--that known as dipsomania, thephase exhibited by Bill Bates and the Semi-drunk. 

Yet another form of insanity was that shown by the Socialists. Likemost of their fellow passengers in the last coach, the majority ofthese individuals appeared to be of perfectly sound mind. Uponentering into conversation with them one found that they reasonedcorrectly and even brilliantly. They had divided their favouritesubject into three parts. First; an exact definition of the conditionknown as Poverty. Secondly; a knowledge of the causes of Poverty; andthirdly, a rational plan for the cure of Poverty. Those who wereopposed to them always failed to refute their arguments, and feared, and nearly always refused, to meet them in fair fight--in opendebate--preferring to use the cowardly and despicable weapons ofslander and misrepresentation. The fact that these Socialists neverencountered their opponents except to defeat them, was a powerfultestimony to the accuracy of their reasonings and the correctness oftheir conclusions--and yet they were undoubtedly mad. One mightconverse with them for an indefinite time on the three divisions oftheir subject without eliciting any proofs of insanity, but directlyone inquired what means they proposed to employ in order to bring aboutthe adoption of their plan, they replied that they hoped to do so byreasoning with the others!

Although they had sense enough to understand the real causes ofpoverty, and the only cure for poverty, they were nevertheless sofoolish that they entertained the delusion that it is possible toreason with demented persons, whereas every sane person knows that toreason with a maniac is not only fruitless, but rather tends to fixmore deeply the erroneous impressions of his disordered mind. 

The wagonette containing Rushton and his friends continued to fly overthe road, pursued by the one in which rode Crass, Bill Bates, and theSemi-drunk; but notwithstanding all the efforts of the drunken driver, they were unable to overtake or pass the smaller vehicle, and when theyreached the foot of the hill that led up to Windley the distancebetween the two carriages rapidly increased, and the race wasreluctantly abandoned. 

When they reached the top of the hill Rushton and his friends did notwait for the others, but drove off towards Mugsborough as fast as theycould. 

Crass's brake was the next to arrive at the summit, and they haltedthere to wait for the other two conveyances and when they came up allthose who lived nearby got out, and some of them sang 'God Save theKing', and then with shouts of 'Good Night', and cries of 'Don't forgetsix o'clock Monday morning', they dispersed to their homes and thecarriages moved off once more. 

At intervals as they passed through Windley brief stoppages were madein order to enable others to get out, and by the time they reached thetop of the long incline that led down into Mugsborough it was nearlytwelve o'clock and the brakes were almost empty, the only passengersbeing Owen and four or five others who lived down town. By ones andtwos these also departed, disappearing into the obscurity of the night, until there was none left, and the Beano was an event of the past. 

Chapter 45

The Great Oration

The outlook for the approaching winter was--as usual--gloomy in theextreme. One of the leading daily newspapers published an articleprophesying a period of severe industrial depression. 'As thewarehouses were glutted with the things produced by the workingclasses, there was no need for them to do any more work--at present;and so they would now have to go and starve until such time as theirmasters had sold or consumed the things already produced. ' Of course, the writer of the article did not put it exactly like that, but thatwas what it amounted to. This article was quoted by nearly all theother papers, both Liberal and Conservative. The Tory papers--ignoringthe fact that all the Protectionist countries were in exactly the samecondition, published yards of misleading articles about Tariff Reform. The Liberal papers said Tariff Reform was no remedy. Look at Americaand Germany--worse than here! Still, the situation was undoubtedlyvery serious--continued the Liberal papers--and Something would have tobe done. They did not say exactly what, because, of course, they didnot know; but Something would have to be done--tomorrow. They talkedvaguely about Re-afforestation, and Reclaiming of Foreshores, and Seawalls: but of course there was the question of Cost! that was adifficulty. But all the same Something would have to be done. SomeExperiments must be tried! Great caution was necessary in dealing withsuch difficult problems! We must go slow, and if in the meantime a fewthousand children die of starvation, or become 'rickety' or consumptivethrough lack of proper nutrition it is, of course, very regrettable, but after all they are only working-class children, so it doesn'tmatter a great deal. 

Most of the writers of these Liberal and Tory papers seemed to thinkthat all that was necessary was to find 'Work' for the 'working' class!That was their conception of a civilized nation in the twentiethcentury! For the majority of the people to work like brutes in orderto obtain a 'living wage' for themselves and to create luxuries for asmall minority of persons who are too lazy to work at all! Andalthough this was all they thought was necessary, they did not knowwhat to do in order to bring even that much to pass! Winter wasreturning, bringing in its train the usual crop of horrors, and theLiberal and Tory monopolists of wisdom did not know what to do!

Rushton's had so little work in that nearly all the hands expected thatthey would be slaughtered the next Saturday after the 'Beano' and therewas one man--Jim Smith he was called--who was not allowed to live eventill then: he got the sack before breakfast on the Monday morning afterthe Beano. 

This man was about forty-five years old, but very short for his age, being only a little over five feet in height. The other men used tosay that Little Jim was not made right, for while his body was bigenough for a six-footer, his legs were very short, and the fact that hewas rather inclined to be fat added to the oddity of his appearance. 

On the Monday morning after the Beano he was painting an upper room ina house where several other men were working, and it was customary forthe coddy to shout 'Yo! Ho!' at mealtimes, to let the hands know whenit was time to leave off work. At about ten minutes to eight, Jim hadsquared the part of the work he had been doing--the window--so hedecided not to start on the door or the skirting until after breakfast. Whilst he was waiting for the foreman to shout 'Yo! Ho!' his mindreverted to the Beano, and he began to hum the tunes of some of thesongs that had been sung. He hummed the tune of 'He's a jolly goodfellow', and he could not get the tune out of his mind: it kept buzzingin his head. He wondered what time it was? It could not be very faroff eight now, to judge by the amount of work he had done since sixo'clock. He had rubbed down and stopped all the woodwork and paintedthe window. A jolly good two hours' work! He was only gettingsixpence-halfpenny an hour and if he hadn't earned a bob he hadn'tearned nothing! Anyhow, whether he had done enough for 'em or not hewasn't goin' to do no more before breakfast. 

The tune of 'He's a jolly good fellow' was still buzzing in his head;he thrust his hands deep down in his trouser pockets, and began topolka round the room, humming softly:

 'I won't do no more before breakfast! I won't do no more before breakfast! I won't do no more before breakfast! So 'ip 'ip 'ip 'ooray! So 'ip 'ip 'ip 'ooray So 'ip 'ip 'ooray! I won't do no more before breakfast--etc. '

'No! and you won't do but very little after breakfast, here!' shoutedHunter, suddenly entering the room. 

'I've bin watchin' of you through the crack of the door for the last'arf hour; and you've not done a dam' stroke all the time. You makeout yer time sheet, and go to the office at nine o'clock and git yermoney; we can't afford to pay you for playing the fool. '

Leaving the man dumbfounded and without waiting for a reply, Miserywent downstairs and after kicking up a devil of a row with the foremanfor the lack of discipline on the job, he instructed him that Smith wasnot to be permitted to resume work after breakfast. Then he rode away. He had come in so stealthily that no one had known anything of hisarrival until they heard him bellowing at Smith. 

The latter did not stay to take breakfast but went off at once, andwhen he was gone the other chaps said it served him bloody well right:he was always singing, he ought to have more sense. You can't do asyou like nowadays you know!

Easton--who was working at another job with Crass as his foreman--knewthat unless some more work came in he was likely to be one of those whowould have to go. As far as he could see it was only a week or two atthe most before everything would be finished up. But notwithstandingthe prospect of being out of work so soon he was far happier than hehad been for several months past, for he imagined he had discovered thecause of Ruth's strange manner. 

This knowledge came to him on the night of the Beano. When he arrivedhome he found that Ruth had already gone to bed: she had not been well, and it was Mrs Linden's explanation of her illness that led Easton tothink that he had discovered the cause of the unhappiness of the lastfew months. Now that he knew--as he thought--he blamed himself for nothaving been more considerate and patient with her. At the same time hewas at a loss to understand why she had not told him about it herself. The only explanation he could think of was the one suggested by MrsLinden--that at such times women often behaved strangely. However thatmight be, he was glad to think he knew the reason of it all, and heresolved that he would be more gentle and forebearing with her. 

The place where he was working was practically finished. It was alarge house called 'The Refuge', very similar to 'The Cave', and duringthe last week or two, it had become what they called a 'hospital'. That is, as the other jobs became finished the men were nearly all sentto this one, so that there was quite a large crowd of them there. Theinside work was all finished--with the exception of the kitchen, whichwas used as a mess room, and the scullery, which was the paint shop. 

Everybody was working on the job. Poor old Joe Philpot, whoserheumatism had been very bad lately, was doing a very roughjob--painting the gable from a long ladder. 

But though there were plenty of younger men more suitable for this, Philpot did not care to complain for fear Crass or Misery should thinkhe was not up to his work. At dinner time all the old hands assembledin the kitchen, including Crass, Easton, Harlow, Bundy and DickWantley, who still sat on a pail behind his usual moat. 

Philpot and Harlow were absent and everybody wondered what had becomeof them. 

Several times during the morning they had been seen whispering togetherand comparing scraps of paper, and various theories were put forward toaccount for their disappearance. Most of the men thought they musthave heard something good about the probable winner of the Handicap andhad gone to put something on. Some others thought that perhaps theyhad heard of another 'job' about to be started by some other firm andhad gone to inquire about it. 

'Looks to me as if they'll stand a very good chance of gettin' drownedif they're gone very far, ' remarked Easton, referring to the weather. It had been threatening to rain all the morning, and during the lastfew minutes it had become so dark that Crass lit the gas, so that--ashe expressed it--they should be able to see the way to their mouths. Outside, the wind grew more boisterous every moment; the darknesscontinued to increase, and presently there succeeded a torrentialdownfall of rain, which beat fiercely against the windows, and pouredin torrents down the glass. The men glanced gloomily at each other. Nomore work could be done outside that day, and there was nothing left todo inside. As they were paid by the hour, this would mean that theywould have to lose half a day's pay. 

'If it keeps on like this we won't be able to do no more work, and wewon't be able to go home either, ' remarked Easton. 

'Well, we're all right 'ere, ain't we?' said the man behind the moat;'there's a nice fire and plenty of heasy chairs. Wot the 'ell more doyou want?'

'Yes, ' remarked another philosopher. 'If we only had a shove-ha'pennytable or a ring board, I reckon we should be able to enjoy ourselvesall right. '

Philpot and Harlow were still absent, and the others again fell towondering where they could be. 

'I see old Joe up on 'is ladder only a few minutes before twelve, 'remarked Wantley. 

Everyone agreed that it was a mystery. 

At this moment the two truants returned, looking very important. 

Philpot was armed with a hammer and carried a pair of steps, whileHarlow bore a large piece of wallpaper which the two of them proceededto tack on the wall, much to the amusement of the others, who read theannouncement opposite written in charcoal. 

Every day at meals since Barrington's unexpected outburst at the Beanodinner, the men had been trying their best to 'kid him on' to makeanother speech, but so far without success. If anything, he had beeneven more silent and reserved than before, as if he felt some regretthat he had spoken as he had on that occasion. Crass and his disciplesattributed Barrington's manner to fear that he was going to get thesack for his trouble and they agreed amongst themselves that it wouldserve him bloody well right if 'e did get the push. 

When they had fixed the poster on the wall, Philpot stood the steps inthe corner of the room, with the back part facing outwards, and then, everything being ready for the lecturer, the two sat down in theiraccustomed places and began to eat their dinners, Harlow remarking thatthey would have to buck up or they would be too late for the meeting;and the rest of the crowd began to discuss the poster. 

'Wot the 'ell does PLO mean?' demanded Bundy, with a puzzled expression. 

'Plain Layer On, ' answered Philpot modestly. 

''Ave you ever 'eard the Professor preach before?' inquired the man onthe pail, addressing Bundy. 

'Only once, at the Beano, ' replied that individual; 'an' that was oncetoo often!'

'Finest speaker I ever 'eard, ' said the man on the pail withenthusiasm. 'I wouldn't miss this lecture for anything: this is one of'is best subjects. I got 'ere about two hours before the doors wasopened, so as to be sure to get a seat. '

'Yes, it's a very good subject, ' said Crass, with a sneer. 'I believemost of the Labour Members in Parliament is well up in it. '

'And wot about the other members?' demanded Philpot. 'Seems to me asif most of them knows something about it too. '

'The difference is, ' said Owen, 'the working classes voluntarily pay tokeep the Labour Members, but whether they like it or not, they have tokeep the others. '

'The Labour members is sent to the 'Ouse of Commons, ' said Harlow, 'andpaid their wages to do certain work for the benefit of the workingclasses, just the same as we're sent 'ere and paid our wages by theBloke to paint this 'ouse. '

'Yes, ' said Crass; 'but if we didn't do the work we're paid to do, weshould bloody soon get the sack. '

 Imperial Bankquet Hall 'The Refuge' on Thursday at 12. 30 prompt

 Professor Barrington WILL DELIVER A

 ORATION

 ENTITLED

 THE GREAT SECRET, OR HOW TO LIVE WITHOUT WORK

 The Rev. Joe Philpot PLO (Late absconding secretary of the light refreshment fund) Will take the chair and anything else he can lay his hands on. 

 At The End Of The Lecture A MEETING WILL BE ARRANGED And carried out according to the Marquis of Queensbury's Rules. 

 A Collection will be took up in aid of the cost of printing

'I can't see how we've got to keep the other members, ' said Slyme;'they're mostly rich men, and they live on their own money. '

'Of course, ' said Crass. 'And I should like to know where we should bewithout 'em! Talk about us keepin' them! It seems to me more like itthat they keeps us! The likes of us lives on rich people. Whereshould we be if it wasn't for all the money they spend and the workthey 'as done? If the owner of this 'ouse 'adn't 'ad the money tospend to 'ave it done up, most of us would 'ave bin out of work thislast six weeks, and starvin', the same as lots of others 'as been. '

'Oh yes, that's right enough, ' agreed Bundy. 'Labour is no goodwithout Capital. Before any work can be done there's one thingnecessary, and that's money. It would be easy to find work for all theunemployed if the local authorities could only raise the money. '

'Yes; that's quite true, ' said Owen. 'And that proves that money isthe cause of poverty, because poverty consists in being short of thenecessaries of life: the necessaries of life are all produced by labourapplied to the raw materials: the raw materials exist in abundance andthere are plenty of people able and willing to work; but under presentconditions no work can be done without money; and so we have thespectacle of a great army of people compelled to stand idle and starveby the side of the raw materials from which their labour could produceabundance of all the things they need--they are rendered helpless bythe power of Money! Those who possess all the money say that thenecessaries of life shall not be produced except for their profit. '

'Yes! and you can't alter it, ' said Crass, triumphantly. 'It's alwaysbeen like it, and it always will be like it. '

''Ear! 'Ear!' shouted the man behind the moat. 'There's always beenrich and poor in the world, and there always will be. '

Several others expressed their enthusiastic agreement with Crass'sopinion, and most of them appeared to be highly delighted to think thatthe existing state of affairs could never be altered. 

'It hasn't always been like it, and it won't always be like it, ' saidOwen. 'The time will come, and it's not very far distant, when thenecessaries of life will be produced for use and not for profit. Thetime is coming when it will no longer be possible for a few selfishpeople to condemn thousands of men and women and little children tolive in misery and die of want. '

'Ah well, it won't be in your time, or mine either, ' said Crassgleefully, and most of the others laughed with imbecile satisfaction. 

'I've 'eard a 'ell of a lot about this 'ere Socialism, ' remarked theman behind the moat, 'but up to now I've never met nobody wot couldtell you plainly exactly wot it is. '

'Yes; that's what I should like to know too, ' said Easton. 

'Socialism mean "What's yours is mine, and what's mine's me own, "'observed Bundy, and during the laughter that greeted this definitionSlyme was heard to say that Socialism meant Materialism, Atheism andFree Love, and if it were ever to come about it would degrade men andwomen to the level of brute beasts. Harlow said Socialism was abeautiful ideal, which he for one would be very glad to see realized, and he was afraid it was altogether too good to be practical, becausehuman nature is too mean and selfish. Sawkins said that Socialism wasa lot of bloody rot, and Crass expressed the opinion--which he hadculled from the delectable columns of the Obscurer--that it meantrobbing the industries for the benefit of the idle and thriftless. 

Philpot had by this time finished his bread and cheese, and, havingtaken a final draught of tea, he rose to his feet, and crossing over tothe corner of the room, ascended the pulpit, being immediately greetedwith a tremendous outburst of hooting, howling and booing, which hesmilingly acknowledged by removing his cap from his bald head andbowing repeatedly. When the storm of shrieks, yells, groans andcatcalls had in some degree subsided, and Philpot was able to makehimself heard, he addressed the meeting as follows:

'Gentlemen: First of all I beg to thank you very sincerely for themagnificent and cordial reception you have given me on this occasion, and I shall try to deserve your good opinion by opening the meeting asbriefly as possible. 

'Putting all jokes aside, I think we're all agreed about one thing, andthat is, that there's plenty of room for improvement in things ingeneral. (Hear, hear. ) As our other lecturer, Professor Owen, pointedout in one of 'is lectures and as most of you 'ave read in thenewspapers, although British trade was never so good before as it isnow, there was never so much misery and poverty, and so many people outof work, and so many small shopkeepers goin' up the spout as there isat this partickiler time. Now, some people tells us as the way to puteverything right is to 'ave Free Trade and plenty of cheap food. Well, we've got them all now, but the misery seems to go on all around us allthe same. Then there's other people tells us as the 'Friscal Policy'is the thing to put everything right. ("Hear, hear" from Crass andseveral others. ) And then there's another lot that ses that Socialismis the only remedy. Well, we all know pretty well wot Free Trade andProtection means, but most of us don't know exactly what Socialismmeans; and I say as it's the dooty of every man to try and find outwhich is the right thing to vote for, and when 'e's found it out, to dowot 'e can to 'elp to bring it about. And that's the reason we've gornto the enormous expense of engaging Professor Barrington to come 'erethis afternoon and tell us exactly what Socialism is. 

''As I 'ope you're all just as anxious to 'ear it as I am myself, Iwill not stand between you and the lecturer no longer, but will nowcall upon 'im to address you. '

Philpot was loudly applauded as he descended from the pulpit, and inresponse to the clamorous demands of the crowd, Barrington, who in themeantime had yielded to Owen's entreaties that he would avail himselfof this opportunity of proclaiming the glad tidings of the good timethat is to be, got up on the steps in his turn. 

Harlow, desiring that everything should be done decently and in order, had meantime arranged in front of the pulpit a carpenter's sawingstool, and an empty pail with a small piece of board laid across it, toserve as a seat and a table for the chairman. Over the table he drapeda large red handkerchief. At the right he placed a plumber's largehammer; at the left, a battered and much-chipped jam-jar, full of tea. Philpot having taken his seat on the pail at this table and announcedhis intention of bashing out with the hammer the brains of anyindividual who ventured to disturb the meeting, Barrington commenced:

'Mr Chairman and Gentlemen. For the sake of clearness, and in order toavoid confusing one subject with another, I have decided to divide theoration into two parts. First, I will try to explain as well as I amable what Socialism is. I will try to describe to you the plan orsystem upon which the Co-operative Commonwealth of the future will beorganized; and, secondly, I will try to tell you how it can be broughtabout. But before proceeding with the first part of the subject, Iwould like to refer very slightly to the widespread delusion thatSocialism is impossible because it means a complete change from anorder of things which has always existed. We constantly hear it saidthat because there have always been rich and poor in the world, therealways must be. I want to point out to you first of all, that it isnot true that even in its essential features, the present system hasexisted from all time; it is not true that there have always been richand poor in the world, in the sense that we understand riches andpoverty today. 

'These statements are lies that have been invented for the purpose ofcreating in us a feeling of resignation to the evils of our condition. They are lies which have been fostered by those who imagine that it isto their interest that we should be content to see our childrencondemned to the same poverty and degradation that we have enduredourselves. 

I do not propose--because there is not time, although it is really partof my subject--to go back to the beginnings of history, and describe indetail the different systems of social organization which evolved fromand superseded each other at different periods, but it is necessary toremind you that the changes that have taken place in the past have beeneven greater than the change proposed by Socialists today. The changefrom savagery and cannibalism when men used to devour the captives theytook in war--to the beginning of chattel slavery, when the tribes orclans into which mankind were divided--whose social organization was akind of Communism, all the individuals belonging to the tribe beingpractically social equals, members of one great family--found it moreprofitable to keep their captives as slaves than to eat them. Thechange from the primitive Communism of the tribes, into the moreindividualistic organization of the nations, and the development ofprivate ownership of the land and slaves and means of subsistence. Thechange from chattel slavery into Feudalism; and the change fromFeudalism into the earlier form of Capitalism; and the equally greatchange from what might be called the individualistic capitalism whichdisplaced Feudalism, to the system of Co-operative Capitalism and WageSlavery of today. '

'I believe you must 'ave swollered a bloody dictionary, ' exclaimed theman behind the moat. 

'Keep horder, ' shouted Philpot, fiercely, striking the table with thehammer, and there were loud shouts of 'Chair' and 'Chuck 'im out, ' fromseveral quarters. 

When order was restored, the lecturer proceeded:

'So it is not true that practically the suite state of affairs as wehave today has always existed. It is not true that anything like thepoverty that prevails at present existed at any previous period of theworld's history. When the workers were the property of their masters, it was to their owners' interest to see that they were properly clothedand fed; they were not allowed to be idle, and they were not allowed tostarve. Under Feudalism also, although there were certain intolerablecircumstances, the position of the workers was, economically, infinitely better than it is today. The worker was in subjection tohis Lord, but in return his lord had certain responsibilities andduties to perform, and there was a large measure of community ofinterest between them. 

'I do not intend to dwell upon this pout at length, but in support ofwhat I have said I will quote as nearly as I can from memory the wordsof the historian Froude. 

'"I do not believe, " says Mr Froude, "that the condition of the peoplein Mediaeval Europe was as miserable as is pretended. I do not believethat the distribution of the necessaries of life was as unequal as itis at present. If the tenant lived hard, the lord had little luxury. Earls and countesses breakfasted at five in the morning, on salt beefand herring, a slice of bread and a draught of ale from a blackjack. Lords and servants dined in the same hall and shared the same meal. "

'When we arrive at the system that displaced Feudalism, we find thatthe condition of the workers was better in every way than it is atpresent. The instruments of production--the primitive machinery andthe tools necessary for the creation of wealth--belonged to the skilledworkers who used them, and the things they produced were also theproperty of those who made them. 

'In those days a master painter, a master shoemaker, a master saddler, or any other master tradesmen, was really a skilled artisan working onhis own account. He usually had one or two apprentices, who weresocially his equals, eating at the same table and associating with theother members of his family. It was quite a common occurrence for theapprentice--after he had attained proficiency in his work--to marry hismaster's daughter and succeed to his master's business. In those daysto be a "master" tradesman meant to be master of the trade, not merelyof some underpaid drudges in one's employment. The apprentices werethere to master the trade, qualifying themselves to become masterworkers themselves; not mere sweaters and exploiters of the labour ofothers, but useful members of society. In those days, because therewas no labour-saving machinery the community was dependent for itsexistence on the productions of hand labour. Consequently the majorityof the people were employed in some kind of productive work, and theworkers were honoured and respected citizens, living in comfort on thefruits of their labour. They were not rich as we understand wealthnow, but they did not starve and they were not regarded with contempt, as are their successors of today. 

'The next great change came with the introduction of steam machinery. That power came to the aid of mankind in their struggle for existence, enabling them to create easily and in abundance those things of whichthey had previously been able to produce only a bare sufficiency. Awonderful power--equalling and surpassing the marvels that wereimagined by the writers of fairy tales and Eastern stories--a power sovast--so marvellous, that it is difficult to find words to conveyanything like an adequate conception of it. 

'We all remember the story, in The Arabian Nights, of Aladdin, who inhis poverty became possessed of the Wonderful Lamp and--he was poor nolonger. He merely had to rub the Lamp--the Genie appeared, and atAladdin's command he produced an abundance of everything that the youthcould ask or dream of. With the discovery of steam machinery, mankindbecame possessed of a similar power to that imagined by the Easternwriter. At the command of its masters the Wonderful Lamp of Machineryproduces an enormous, overwhelming, stupendous abundance andsuperfluity of every material thing necessary for human existence andhappiness. With less labour than was formerly required to cultivateacres, we can now cultivate miles of land. In response to humanindustry, aided by science and machinery, the fruitful earth teems withsuch lavish abundance as was never known or deemed possible before. Ifyou go into the different factories and workshops you will seeprodigious quantities of commodities of every kind pouring out of thewonderful machinery, literally like water from a tap. 

'One would naturally and reasonably suppose that the discovery orinvention of such an aid to human industry would result in increasedhappiness and comfort for every one; but as you all know, the reverseis the case; and the reason of that extraordinary result, is the reasonof all the poverty and unhappiness that we see around us and enduretoday--it is simply because--the machinery became the property of acomparatively few individuals and private companies, who use it not forthe benefit of the community but to create profits for themselves. 

'As this labour-saving machinery became more extensively used, theprosperous class of skilled workers gradually disappeared. Some of thewealthier of them became distributers instead of producers of wealth;that is to say, they became shopkeepers, retailing the commodities thatwere produced for the most part by machinery. But the majority of themin course of time degenerated into a class of mere wage earners, havingno property in the machines they used, and no property in the thingsthey made. 

'They sold their labour for so much per hour, and when they could notfind any employer to buy it from them, they were reduced to destitution. 

'Whilst the unemployed workers were starving and those in employmentnot much better off, the individuals and private companies who ownedthe machinery accumulated fortunes; but their profits were diminishedand their working expenses increased by what led to the latest greatchange in the organization of the production of the necessaries oflife--the formation of the Limited Companies and the Trusts; thedecision of the private companies to combine and co-operate with eachother in order to increase their profits and decrease their workingexpenses. The results of these combines have been--an increase in thequantities of the things produced: a decrease in the number of wageearners employed--and enormously increased profits for the shareholders. 

'But it is not only the wage-earning class that is being hurt; forwhile they are being annihilated by the machinery and the efficientorganization of industry by the trusts that control and are beginningto monopolize production, the shopkeeping classes are also being slowlybut surely crushed out of existence by the huge companies that are ableby the greater magnitude of their operations to buy and sell morecheaply than the small traders. 

'The consequence of all this is that the majority of the people are ina condition of more or less abject poverty--living from hand to mouth. It is an admitted fact that about thirteen millions of our people arealways on the verge of starvation. The significant results of thispoverty face us on every side. The alarming and persistent increase ofinsanity. The large number of would-be recruits for the army who haveto be rejected because they are physically unfit; and the shamefulcondition of the children of the poor. More than one-third of thechildren of the working classes in London have some sort of mental orphysical defect; defects in development; defects of eyesight; abnormalnervousness; rickets, and mental dullness. The difference in heightand weight and general condition of the children in poor schools andthe children of the so-called better classes, constitutes a crime thatcalls aloud to Heaven for vengeance upon those who are responsible forit. 

'It is childish to imagine that any measure of Tariff Reform orPolitical Reform such as a paltry tax on foreign-made goods orabolishing the House of Lords, or disestablishing the Church--ormiserable Old Age Pensions, or a contemptible tax on land, can dealwith such a state of affairs as this. They have no House of Lords inAmerica or France, and yet their condition is not materially differentfrom ours. You may be deceived into thinking that such measures asthose are great things. You may fight for them and vote for them, butafter you have got them you will find that they will make noappreciable improvement in your condition. You will still have toslave and drudge to gain a bare sufficiency of the necessaries of life. You will still have to eat the same kind of food and wear the same kindof clothes and boots as now. Your masters will still have you in theirpower to insult and sweat and drive. Your general condition will bejust the same as at present because such measures as those are notremedies but red herrings, intended by those who trail them to draw usaway from the only remedy, which is to be found only in the PublicOwnership of the Machinery, and the National Organization of Industryfor the production and distribution of the necessaries of life, not forthe profit of a few but for the benefit of all!

'That is the next great change; not merely desirable, but imperativelynecessary and inevitable! That is Socialism!

'It is not a wild dream of Superhuman Unselfishness. No one will beasked to sacrifice himself for the benefit of others or to love hisneighbours better than himself as is the case under the present system, which demands that the majority shall unselfishly be content to labourand live in wretchedness for the benefit of a few. There is no suchprinciple of Philanthropy in Socialism, which simply means that even asall industries are now owned by shareholders, and organized anddirected by committees and officers elected by the shareholders, soshall they in future belong to the State, that is, the wholepeople--and they shall be organized and directed by committees andofficers elected by the community. 

'Under existing circumstances the community is exposed to the danger ofbeing invaded and robbed and massacred by some foreign power. Thereforethe community has organized and owns and controls an Army and Navy toprotect it from that danger. Under existing circumstances thecommunity is menaced by another equally great danger--the people arementally and physically degenerating from lack of proper food andclothing. Socialists say that the community should undertake andorganize the business of producing and distributing all these things;that the State should be the only employer of labour and should own allthe factories, mills, mines, farms, railways, fishing fleets, sheepfarms, poultry farms and cattle ranches. 

'Under existing circumstances the community is degenerating mentallyand physically because the majority cannot afford to have decent housesto live in. Socialists say that the community should take in hand thebusiness of providing proper houses for all its members, that the Stateshould be the only landlord, that all the land and all the housesshould belong to the whole people. .. 

'We must do this if we are to keep our old place in the van of humanprogress. A nation of ignorant, unintelligent, half-starved, broken-spirited degenerates cannot hope to lead humanity in itsnever-ceasing march onward to the conquest of the future. 

 'Vain, mightiest fleet of iron framed; Vain the all-shattering guns Unless proud England keep, untamed, The stout hearts of her sons. 

'All the evils that I have referred to are only symptoms of the onedisease that is sapping the moral, mental and physical life of thenation, and all attempts to cure these symptoms are foredoomed tofailure, simply because they are the symptoms and not the disease. Allthe talk of Temperance, and the attempts to compel temperance, areforedoomed to failure, because drunkenness is a symptom, and not thedisease. 

'India is a rich productive country. Every year millions of poundsworth of wealth are produced by her people, only to be stolen from themby means of the Money Trick by the capitalist and official class. Herindustrious sons and daughters, who are nearly all total abstainers, live in abject poverty, and their misery is not caused by laziness orwant of thrift, or by Intemperance. They are poor for the same reasonthat we are poor--Because we are Robbed. 

'The hundreds of thousands of pounds that are yearly wasted inwell-meant but useless charity accomplish no lasting good, becausewhile charity soothes the symptoms it ignores the disease, whichis--the PRIVATE OWNERSHIP of the means of producing the necessaries oflife, and the restriction of production, by a few selfish individualsfor their own profit. And for that disease there is no other remedythan the one I have told you of--the PUBLIC OWNERSHIP and cultivationof the land, the PUBLIC OWNERSHIP OF the mines, railways, canals, ships, factories and all the other means of production, and theestablishment of an Industrial Civil Service--a National Army ofIndustry--for the purpose of producing the necessaries, comforts andrefinements of life in that abundance which has been made possible byscience and machinery--for the use and benefit of THE WHOLE OF THEPEOPLE. '

'Yes: and where's the money to come from for all this?' shouted Crass, fiercely. 

'Hear, hear, ' cried the man behind the moat. 

'There's no money difficulty about it, ' replied Barrington. 'We caneasily find all the money we shall need. '

'Of course, ' said Slyme, who had been reading the Daily Ananias, 'there's all the money in the Post Office Savings Bank. The Socialistscould steal that for a start; and as for the mines and land andfactories, they can all be took from the owners by force. '

'There will be no need for force and no need to steal anything fromanybody. '

'And there's another thing I objects to, ' said Crass. 'And that's allthis 'ere talk about hignorance: wot about all the money wots spentevery year for edication?'

'You should rather say--"What about all the money that's wasted everyyear on education?" What can be more brutal and senseless than tryingto "educate" a poor little, hungry, ill-clad child? Such so-called"instruction" is like the seed in the parable of the Sower, which fellon stony ground and withered away because it had no depth of earth; andeven in those cases where it does take root and grow, it becomes likethe seed that fell among thorns and the thorns grew up and choked it, and it bore no fruit. 

'The majority of us forget in a year or two all that we learnt atschool because the conditions of our lives are such as to destroy allinclination for culture or refinement. We must see that the childrenare properly clothed and fed and that they are not made to get up inthe middle of the night to go to work for several hours before they goto school. We must make it illegal for any greedy, heartlessprofit-hunter to hire them and make them labour for several hours inthe evening after school, or all day and till nearly midnight onSaturday. We must first see that our children are cared for, as wellas the children of savage races, before we can expect a proper returnfor the money that we spend on education. '

'I don't mind admitting that this 'ere scheme of national ownership andindustries is all right if it could only be done, ' said Harlow, 'but atpresent, all the land, railways and factories, belongs to privatecapitalists; they can't be bought without money, and you say you ain'tgoin' to take 'em away by force, so I should like to know how thebloody 'ell you are goin' to get 'em?'

'We certainly don't propose to buy them with money, for the simplereason that there is not sufficient money in existence to pay for them. 

'If all the gold and silver money in the World were gathered togetherinto one heap, it would scarcely be sufficient to buy all the privateproperty in England. The people who own all these things now neverreally paid for them with money--they obtained possession of them bymeans of the "Money Trick" which Owen explained to us some time ago. '

'They obtained possession of them by usin' their brain, ' said Crass. 'Exactly, ' replied the lecturer. 'They tell us themselves that that ishow they got them away from us; they call their profits the "wages ofintelligence". Whilst we have been working, they have been using theirintelligence in order to obtain possession of the things we havecreated. The time has now arrived for us to use our intelligence inorder to get back the things they have robbed us of, aid to preventthem from robbing us any more. As for how it is to be done, we mightcopy the methods that they have found so successful. '

'Oh, then you DO mean to rob them after all, ' cried Slyme, triumphantly. 'If it's true that they robbed the workers, and if we'reto adopt the same method then we'll be robbers too!'

'When a thief is caught having in his possession the property of othersit is not robbery to take the things away from him and to restore themto their rightful owners, ' retorted Barrington. 

'I can't allow this 'ere disorder to go on no longer, ' shouted Philpot, banging the table with the plumber's hammer as several men begantalking at the same time. 

'There will be plenty of tuneropperty for questions and opposition atthe hend of the horation, when the pulpit will be throwed open toanyone as likes to debate the question. I now calls upon the professorto proceed with the second part of the horation: and anyone wotinterrupts will get a lick under the ear-'ole with this'--waving thehammer--'and the body will be chucked out of the bloody winder. '

Loud cheers greeted this announcement. It was still raining heavily, so they thought they might as well pass the time listening toBarrington as in any other way. 

'A large part of the land may be got back in the same way as it wastaken from us. The ancestors of the present holders obtainedpossession of it by simply passing Acts of Enclosure: the nation shouldregain possession of those lands by passing Acts of Resumption. Andwith regard to the other land, the present holders should be allowed toretain possession of it during their lives and then it should revert tothe State, to be used for the benefit of all. Britain should belong tothe British people, not to a few selfish individuals. As for therailways, they have already been nationalized in some other countries, and what other countries can do we can do also. In New Zealand, Australia, South Africa, Germany, Belgium, Italy, Japan and some othercountries some of the railways are already the property of the State. As for the method by which we can obtain possession of them, thedifficulty is not to discover a method, but rather to decide which ofmany methods we shall adopt. One method would be to simply pass an Actdeclaring that as it was contrary to the public interest that theyshould be owned by private individuals, the railways would henceforthbe the property of the nation. All railways servants, managers andofficials would continue in their employment; the only difference beingthat they would now be in the employ of the State. As to theshareholders--'

'They could all be knocked on the 'ead, I suppose, ' interrupted Crass. 

'Or go to the workhouse, ' said Slyme. 

'Or to 'ell, ' suggested the man behind the moat. 

'--The State would continue to pay to the shareholders the samedividends they had received on an average for, say, the previous threeyears. These payments would be continued to the present shareholdersfor life, or the payments might be limited to a stated number of yearsand the shares would be made non-transferable, like the railway ticketsof today. As for the factories, shops, and other means of productionand distribution, the State must adopt the same methods of doingbusiness as the present owners. I mean that even as the big Trusts andcompanies are crushing--by competition--the individual workers andsmall traders, so the State should crush the trusts by competition. Itis surely justifiable for the State to do for the benefit of the wholepeople that which the capitalists are already doing for the profit of afew shareholders. The first step in this direction will be theestablishment of Retail Stores for the purpose of supplying allnational and municipal employees with the necessaries of life at thelowest possible prices. At first the Administration will purchasethese things from the private manufacturers, in such large quantitiesthat it will be able to obtain them at the very cheapest rate, and asthere will be no heavy rents to pay for showy shops, and no advertisingexpenses, and as the object of the Administration will be not to makeprofit, but to supply its workmen and officials with goods at thelowest price, they will be able to sell them much cheaper than theprofit-making private stores. 

'The National Service Retail Stores will be for the benefit of onlythose in the public service; and gold, silver or copper money will notbe accepted in payment for the things sold. At first, all publicservants will continue to be paid in metal money, but those who desireit will be paid all or part of their wages in paper money of the samenominal value, which will be accepted in payment for their purchases atthe National Stores and at the National Hotels, Restaurants and otherplaces which will be established for the convenience of those in theState service. The money will resemble bank-notes. It will be made ofa special very strong paper, and will be of all value, from a penny toa pound. 

'As the National Service Stores will sell practically everything thatcould be obtained elsewhere, and as twenty shillings in paper moneywill be able to purchase much more at the stores than twenty shillingsof metal money would purchase anywhere else, it will not be long beforenearly all public servants will prefer to be paid in paper money. Asfar as paying the salaries and wages of most of its officials andworkmen is concerned, the Administration will not then have any need ofmetal money. But it will require metal money to pay the privatemanufacturers who supply the goods sold in the National Stores. But--all these things are made by labour; so in order to avoid havingto pay metal money for them, the State will now commence to employproductive labour. All the public land suitable for the purpose willbe put into cultivation and State factories will be established formanufacturing food, boots, clothing, furniture and all othernecessaries and comforts of life. All those who are out of employmentand willing to work, will be given employment on these farms and inthese factories. In order that the men employed shall not have to workunpleasantly hard, and that their hours of labour may be as short aspossible--at first, say, eight hours per day--and also to make surethat the greatest possible quantity of everything shall be produced, these factories and farms will be equipped with the most up-to-date andefficient labour-saving machinery. The people employed in the farmsand factories will be paid with paper money. .. The commodities theyproduce will go to replenish the stocks of the National Service Stores, where the workers will be able to purchase with their paper moneyeverything they need. 

'As we shall employ the greatest possible number of labour-savingmachines, and adopt the most scientific methods in our farms andfactories, the quantities of goods we shall be able to produce will beso enormous that we shall be able to pay our workers very highwages--in paper money--and we shall be able to sell our produce socheaply, that all public servants will be able to enjoy abundance ofeverything. 

'When the workers who are being exploited and sweated by the privatecapitalists realize how much worse off they are than the workers in theemploy of the State, they will come and ask to be allowed to work forthe State, and also, for paper money. That will mean that the StateArmy of Productive Workers will be continually increasing in numbers. More State factories will be built, more land will be put intocultivation. Men will be given employment making bricks, woodwork, paints, glass, wallpapers and all kinds of building materials andothers will be set to work building--on State land--beautiful houses, which will be let to those employed in the service of the State. Therent will be paid with paper money. 

'State fishing fleets will be established and the quantities ofcommodities of all kinds produced will be so great that the Stateemployees and officials will not be able to use it all. With theirpaper money they will be able to buy enough and more than enough tosatisfy all their needs abundantly, but there will still be a great andcontinuously increasing surplus stock in the possession of the State. 

'The Socialist Administration will now acquire or build fleets of steamtrading vessels, which will of course be manned and officered by Stateemployees--the same as the Royal Navy is now. These fleets of Nationaltrading vessels will carry the surplus stocks I have mentioned, toforeign countries, and will there sell or exchange them for some of theproducts of those countries, things that we do not produce ourselves. These things will be brought to England and sold at the NationalService Stores, at the lowest possible price, for paper money, to thosein the service of the State. This of course will only have the effectof introducing greater variety into the stocks--it will not diminishthe surplus: and as there would be no sense in continuing to producemore of these things than necessary, it would then be the duty of theAdministration to curtail or restrict production of the necessaries oflife. This could be done by reducing the hours of the workers withoutreducing their wages so as to enable them to continue to purchase asmuch as before. 

'Another way of preventing over production of mere necessaries andcomforts will be to employ a large number of workers producing therefinements and pleasures of life, more artistic houses, furniture, pictures, musical instruments and so forth. 

'In the centre of every district a large Institute or pleasure housecould be erected, containing a magnificently appointed and decoratedtheatre; Concert Hall, Lecture Hall, Gymnasium, Billiard Rooms, ReadingRooms, Refreshment Rooms, and so on. A detachment of the IndustrialArmy would be employed as actors, artistes, musicians, singers andentertainers. In fact everyone that could be spared from the mostimportant work of all--that of producing the necessaries of life--wouldbe employed in creating pleasure, culture, and education. All thesepeople--like the other branches of the public service--would be paidwith paper money, and with it all of them would be able to purchaseabundance of all those things which constitute civilization. 

'Meanwhile, as a result of all this, the kind-hearted private employersand capitalists would find that no one would come and work for them tobe driven and bullied and sweated for a miserable trifle of metal moneythat is scarcely enough to purchase sufficient of the necessaries oflife to keep body and soul together. 

'These kind-hearted capitalists will protest against what they willcall the unfair competition of State industry, and some of them maythreaten to leave the country and take their capital with them. .. Asmost of these persons are too lazy to work, and as we will not needtheir money, we shall be very glad to see them go. But with regard totheir real capital--their factories, farms, mines or machinery--thatwill be a different matter. .. To allow these things to remain idle andunproductive would constitute an injury to the community. So a lawwill be passed, declaring that all land not cultivated by the owner, orany factory shut down for more than a specified time, will be takenpossession of by the State and worked for the benefit of thecommunity. .. Fair compensation will be paid in paper money to theformer owners, who will be granted an income or pension of so much ayear either for life or for a stated period according to circumstancesand the ages of the persons concerned. 

'As for the private traders, the wholesale and retail dealers in thethings produced by labour, they will be forced by the State competitionto close down their shops and warehouses--first, because they will notbe able to replenish their stocks; and, secondly, because even if theywere able to do so, they would not be able to sell them. This willthrow out of work a great host of people who are at present engaged inuseless occupations; the managers and assistants in the shops of whichwe now see half a dozen of the same sort in a single street; thethousands of men and women who are slaving away their lives producingadvertisements, for, in most cases, a miserable pittance of metalmoney, with which many of them are unable to procure sufficient of thenecessaries of life to secure them from starvation. 

'The masons, carpenters, painters, glaziers, and all the others engagedin maintaining these unnecessary stores and shops will all be thrownout of employment, but all of them who are willing to work will bewelcomed by the State and will be at once employed helping either toproduce or distribute the necessaries and comforts of life. They willhave to work fewer hours than before. .. They will not have to work sohard--for there will be no need to drive or bully, because there willbe plenty of people to do the work, and most of it will be done bymachinery--and with their paper money they will be able to buyabundance of the things they help to produce. The shops and storeswhere these people were formerly employed will be acquired by theState, which will pay the former owners fair compensation in the samemanner as to the factory owners. Some of the buildings will beutilized by the State as National Service Stores, others transformedinto factories and others will be pulled down to make room fordwellings, or public buildings. .. It will be the duty of theGovernment to build a sufficient number of houses to accommodate thefamilies of all those in its employment, and as a consequence of thisand because of the general disorganization and decay of what is nowcalled "business", all other house property of all kinds will rapidlydepreciate in value. The slums and the wretched dwellings now occupiedby the working classes--the miserable, uncomfortable, jerry-built"villas" occupied by the lower middle classes and by "business" people, will be left empty and valueless upon the hands of their rack rentinglandlords, who will very soon voluntarily offer to hand them and theground they stand upon to the state on the same terms as those accordedto the other property owners, namely--in return for a pension. Some ofthese people will be content to live in idleness on the income allowedthem for life as compensation by the State: others will devotethemselves to art or science and some others will offer their servicesto the community as managers and superintendents, and the State willalways be glad to employ all those who are willing to help in the GreatWork of production and distribution. 

'By this time the nation will be the sole employer of labour, and as noone will be able to procure the necessaries of life without papermoney, and as the only way to obtain this will be working, it will meanthat every mentally and physically capable person in the community willbe helping in the great work of PRODUCTION and DISTRIBUTION. We shallnot need as at present, to maintain a police force to protect theproperty of the idle rich from the starving wretches whom they haverobbed. There will be no unemployed and no overlapping of labour, which will be organized and concentrated for the accomplishment of theonly rational object--the creation of the things we require. .. Forevery one labour-saving machine in use today, we will, if necessary, employ a thousand machines! and consequently there will be producedsuch a stupendous, enormous, prodigious, overwhelming abundance ofeverything that soon the Community will be faced once more with theserious problem of OVER-PRODUCTION. 

'To deal with this, it will be necessary to reduce the hours of ourworkers to four or five hours a day. .. All young people will beallowed to continue at public schools and universities and will not berequired to take any part in the work or the nation until they aretwenty-one years of age. At the age of forty-five, everyone will beallowed to retire from the State service on full pay. .. All these willbe able to spend the rest of their days according to their owninclinations; some will settle down quietly at home, and amusethemselves in the same ways as people of wealth and leisure do at thepresent day--with some hobby, or by taking part in the organization ofsocial functions, such as balls, parties, entertainments, theorganization of Public Games and Athletic Tournaments, Races and allkinds of sports. 

'Some will prefer to continue in the service of the State. Actors, artists, sculptors, musicians and others will go on working for theirown pleasure and honour. .. Some will devote their leisure to science, art, or literature. Others will prefer to travel on the Statesteamships to different parts of the world to see for themselves allthose things of which most of us have now but a dim and vagueconception. The wonders of India and Egypt, the glories of Rome, theartistic treasures of the continent and the sublime scenery of otherlands. 

'Thus--for the first time in the history of humanity--the benefits andpleasures conferred upon mankind by science and civilization will beenjoyed equally by all, upon the one condition, that they shall dotheir share of the work, that is necessary in order to, make all thesethings possible. 

'These are the principles upon which the CO-OPERATIVE COMMONWEALTH ofthe future will be organized. The State in which no one will bedistinguished or honoured above his fellows except for Virtue orTalent. Where no man will find his profit in another's loss, and weshall no longer be masters and servants, but brothers, free men, andfriends. Where there will be no weary, broken men and women passingtheir joyless lives in toil and want, and no little children cryingbecause they are hungry or cold. 

'A State wherein it will be possible to put into practice the teachingsof Him whom so many now pretend to follow. A society which shall havejustice and co-operation for its foundation, and InternationalBrotherhood and love for its law. 

 'Such are the days that shall be! but What are the deeds of today, In the days of the years we dwell in, That wear our lives away? Why, then, and for what we are waiting? There are but three words to speak "We will it, " and what is the foreman but the dream strong wakened and weak? 'Oh, why and for what are we waiting, while our brothers droop and die? And on every wind of the heavens, a wasted life goes by. 'How long shall they reproach us, where crowd on crowd they dwell Poor ghosts of the wicked city, gold crushed, hungry hell? 'Through squalid life they laboured in sordid grief they died Those sons of a mighty mother, those props of England's pride. They are gone, there is none can undo it, nor save our souls from the curse, But many a million cometh, and shall they be better or worse?

 'It is We must answer and hasten and open wide the door, For the rich man's hurrying terror, and the slow foot hope of the poor, Yea, the voiceless wrath of the wretched and their unlearned discontent, We must give it voice and wisdom, till the waiting tide be spent Come then since all things call us, the living and the dead, And o'er the weltering tangle a glimmering light is shed. '

As Barrington descended from the Pulpit and walked back to hisaccustomed seat, a loud shout of applause burst from a few men in thecrowd, who stood up and waved their caps and cheered again and again. When order was restored, Philpot rose and addressed the meeting:

'Is there any gentleman wot would like to ask the Speaker a question?'

No one spoke and the Chairman again put the question without obtainingany response, but at length one of the new hands who had been 'takenon' about a week previously to replace another painter who had beensacked for being too slow--stood up and said there was one point thathe would like a little more information about. This man had twopatches on the seat of his trousers, which were also very much frayedand ragged at the bottoms of the legs: the lining of his coat was allin rags, as were also the bottoms of the sleeves; his boots were oldand had been many times mended and patched; the sole of one of them hadbegun to separate from the upper and he had sewn these parts togetherwith a few stitches of copper wire. He had been out of employment forseveral weeks and it was evident from the pinched expression of hisstill haggard face that during that time he had not had sufficient toeat. This man was not a drunkard, neither was he one of thosesemi-mythical persons who are too lazy to work. He was married and hadseveral children. One of them, a boy of fourteen years old, earnedfive shillings a week as a light porter at a Grocer's. 

Being a householder the man had a vote, but he had never hitherto takenmuch interest in what he called 'politics'. In his opinion, thosematters were not for the likes of him. He believed in leaving suchdifficult subjects to be dealt with by his betters. In his presentunhappy condition he was a walking testimonial to the wisdom and virtueand benevolence of those same 'betters' who have hitherto managed theaffairs of the world with results so very satisfactory for themselves. 

'I should like to ask the speaker, ' he said, 'supposin' all this that'e talks about is done--what's to become of the King, and the RoyalFamily, and all the Big Pots?'

''Ear, 'ear, ' cried Crass, eagerly--and Ned Dawson and the man behindthe moat both said that that was what they would like to know, too. 

'I am much more concerned about what is to become of ourselves if thesethings are not done, ' replied Barrington. 'I think we should try tocultivate a little more respect of our own families and to concernourselves a little less about "Royal" Families. I fail to see anyreason why we should worry ourselves about those people; they're allright--they have all they need, and as far as I am aware, nobody wishesto harm them and they are well able to look after themselves. They willfare the same as the other rich people. '

'I should like to ask, ' said Harlow, 'wot's to become of all the goldand silver and copper money? Wouldn't it be of no use at all?'

'It would be of far more use under Socialism than it is at present. TheState would of course become possessed of a large quantity of it in theearly stages of the development of the Socialist system, because--atfirst--while the State would be paying all its officers and productiveworkers in paper, the rest of the community--those not in Stateemploy--would be paying their taxes in gold as at present. Alltravellers on the State railways--other than State employees--would paytheir fares in metal money, and gold and silver would pour into theState Treasury from many other sources. The State would receive goldand silver and--for the most part--pay out paper. By the time thesystem of State employment was fully established, gold and silver wouldonly be of value as metal and the State would purchase it from whoeverpossessed and wished to sell it--at so much per pound as raw material:instead of hiding it away in the vaults of banks, or locking it up iniron safes, we shall make use of it. Some of the gold will bemanufactured into articles of jewellery, to be sold for paper money andworn by the sweethearts and wives and daughters of the workers; some ofit will be beaten out into gold leaf to be used in the decoration ofthe houses of the citizens and of public buildings. As for the silver, it will be made into various articles of utility for domestic use. Theworkers will not then, as now, have to eat their food with poisonouslead or brass spoons and forks, we shall have these things of silverand if there is not enough silver we shall probably have anon-poisonous alloy of that metal. '

'As far as I can make out, ' said Harlow, 'the paper money will be justas valuable as gold and silver is now. Well, wot's to prevent artfuldodgers like old Misery and Rushton saving it up and buying and sellingthings with it, and so livin' without work?'

'Of course, ' said Crass, scornfully. 'It would never do!'

'That's a very simple matter; any man who lives without doing anyuseful work is living on the labour of others, he is robbing others ofpart of the result of their labour. The object of Socialism is to stopthis robbery, to make it impossible. So no one will be able to hoardup or accumulate the paper money because it will be dated, and willbecome worthless if it is not spent within a certain time after itsissue. As for buying and selling for profit--from whom would they buy?And to whom would they sell?'

'Well, they might buy some of the things the workers didn't want, forless than the workers paid for them, and then they could sell 'emagain. '

'They'd have to sell them for less than the price charged at theNational Stores, and if you think about it a little you'll see that itwould not be very profitable. It would be with the object ofpreventing any attempts at private trading that the Administrationwould refuse to pay compensation to private owners in a lump sum. Allsuch compensations would be paid, as I said, in the form of a pensionof so much per year. 

'Another very effective way to prevent private trading would be to makeit a criminal offence against the well-being of the community. Atpresent many forms of business are illegal unless you take out alicence; under Socialism no one would be allowed to trade without alicence, and no licences would be issued. '

'Wouldn't a man be allowed to save up his money if he wanted to, demanded Slyme with indignation. 

'There will be nothing to prevent a man going without some of thethings he might have if he is foolish enough to do so, but he wouldnever be able to save up enough to avoid doing his share of usefulservice. Besides, what need would there be for anyone to save? One'sold age would be provided for. No one could ever be out of employment. If one was ill the State hospitals and Medical Service would be free. As for one's children, they would attend the State Free Schools andColleges and when of age they would enter the State Service, theirfutures provided for. Can you tell us why anyone would need or wish tosave?'

Slyme couldn't. 

'Are there any more questions?' demanded Philpot. 

'While we are speaking of money, ' added Barrington, 'I should like toremind you that even under the present system there are many thingswhich cost money to maintain, that we enjoy without having to pay fordirectly. The public roads and pavements cost money to make andmaintain and light. So do the parks, museums and bridges. But theyare free to all. Under a Socialist Administration this principle willbe extended--in addition to the free services we enjoy now we shallthen maintain the trains and railways for the use of the public, free. And as time goes on, this method of doing business will be adopted inmany other directions. '

'I've read somewhere, ' said Harlow, 'that whenever a Government in anycountry has started issuing paper money it has always led tobankruptcy. How do you know that the same thing would not happen undera Socialist Administration?'

''Ear, 'ear, ' said Crass. 'I was just goin' to say the same thing. '

'If the Government of a country began to issue large amounts of papermoney under the present system, ' Barrington replied, 'it wouldinevitably lead to bankruptcy, for the simple reason that paper moneyunder the present system--bank-notes, bank drafts, postal orders, cheques or any other form--is merely a printed promise to pay theamount--in gold or silver--on demand or at a certain date. Under thepresent system if a Government issues more paper money than itpossesses gold and silver to redeem, it is of course bankrupt. But thepaper money that will be issued under a Socialist Administration willnot be a promise to pay in gold or silver on demand or at any time. Itwill be a promise to supply commodities to the amount specified on thenote, and as there could be no dearth of those things there could be nopossibility of bankruptcy. '

'I should like to know who's goin' to appoint the hofficers of this'ere hindustrial harmy, ' said the man on the pail. 'We don't want tobe bullied and chivied and chased about by a lot of sergeants andcorporals like a lot of soldiers, you know. '

''Ear, 'ear, ' said Crass. 'You must 'ave some masters. Someone's gotto be in charge of the work. '

'We don't have to put up with any bullying or chivying or chasing now, do we?' said Barrington. 'So of course we could not have anything ofthat sort under Socialism. We could not put up with it at all! Evenif it were only for four or five hours a day. Under the present systemwe have no voice in appointing our masters and overseers andforemen--we have no choice as to what master we shall work under. Ifour masters do not treat us fairly we have no remedy against them. Under Socialism it will be different; the workers will be part of thecommunity; the officers or managers and foremen will be the servants ofthe community, and if any one of these men were to abuse his positionhe could be promptly removed. As for the details of the organizationof the Industrial Army, the difficulty is, again, not so much to devisea way, but to decide which of many ways would be the best, and theperfect way will probably be developed only after experiment andexperience. The one thing we have to hold fast to is the fundamentalprinciple of State employment or National service. Production for useand not for profit. The national organization of industry underdemocratic control. One way of arranging this business would be forthe community to elect a Parliament in much the same way as is done atpresent. The only persons eligible for election to be veterans of theindustrial Army, men and women who had put in their twenty-five yearsof service. 

'This Administrative Body would have control of the different StateDepartments. There would be a Department of Agriculture, a Departmentof Railways and so on, each with its minister and staff. 

'All these Members of Parliament would be the relatives--in some casesthe mothers and fathers of those in the Industrial Service, and theywould be relied upon to see that the conditions of that service werethe best possible. 

'As for the different branches of the State Service, they could beorganized on somewhat the same lines as the different branches of thePublic Service are now--like the Navy, the Post Office and as the StateRailways in some other countries, or as are the different branches ofthe Military Army, with the difference that all promotions will be fromthe ranks, by examinations, and by merit only. As every recruit willhave had the same class of education they will all have absoluteequality of opportunity and the men who would attain to positions ofauthority would be the best men, and not as at present, the worst. '

'How do you make that out?' demanded Crass. 

'Under the present system, the men who become masters and employerssucceed because they are cunning and selfish, not because theyunderstand or are capable of doing the work out of which they maketheir money. Most of the employers in the building trade for instancewould be incapable of doing any skilled work. Very few of them wouldbe worth their salt as journeymen. The only work they do is to schemeto reap the benefit of the labour of others. 

'The men who now become managers and foremen are selected not becauseof their ability as craftsmen, but because they are good slave-driversand useful producers of profit for their employers. '

'How are you goin' to prevent the selfish and cunnin', as you call 'em, from gettin' on top THEN as they do now?' said Harlow. 

'The fact that all workers will receive the same pay, no matter whatclass of work they are engaged in, or what their position, will ensureour getting the very best man to do all the higher work and to organizeour business. '

Crass laughed: 'What! Everybody to get the same wages?'

'Yes: there will be such an enormous quantity of everything produced, that their wages will enable everyone to purchase abundance ofeverything they require. Even if some were paid more than others theywould not be able to spend it. There would be no need to save it, andas there will be no starving poor, there will be no one to give it awayto. If it were possible to save and accumulate money it would bringinto being an idle class, living on their fellows: it would lead to thedownfall of our system, and a return to the same anarchy that exists atpresent. Besides, if higher wages were paid to those engaged in thehigher work or occupying positions of authority it would prevent ourgetting the best men. Unfit persons would try for the positionsbecause of the higher pay. That is what happens now. Under the presentsystem men intrigue for and obtain or are pitchforked into positionsfor which they have no natural ability at all; the only reason theydesire these positions is because of the salaries attached to them. These fellows get the money and the work is done by underpaidsubordinates whom the world never hears of. Under Socialism, this moneyincentive will be done away with, and consequently the only men whowill try for these positions will be those who, being naturally fittedfor the work, would like to do it. For instance a man who is a bornorganizer will not refuse to undertake such work because he will not bepaid more for it. Such a man will desire to do it and will esteem it aprivilege to be allowed to do it. He will revel in it. To think outall the details of some undertaking, to plan and scheme and organize, is not work for a man like that. It is a pleasure. But for a man whohas sought and secured such a position, not because he liked the work, but because he liked the salary--such work as this would be unpleasantlabour. Under Socialism the unfit man would not apply for that post butwould strive after some other for which he was fit and which he wouldtherefore desire and enjoy. There are some men who would rather havecharge of and organize and be responsible for work than do it withtheir hands. There are others who would rather do delicate ordifficult or artistic work, than plain work. A man who is a bornartist would rather paint a frieze or a picture or carve a statue thanhe would do plain work, or take charge of and direct the labour ofothers. And there are another sort of men who would rather do ordinaryplain work than take charge, or attempt higher branches for which theyhave neither liking or natural talent. 

'But there is one thing--a most important point that you seem toentirely lose sight of, and that is, that all these different kinds andclasses are equal in one respect--THEY ARE ALL EQUALLY NECESSARY. Eachis a necessary and indispensable part of the whole; therefore everyonewho has done his full share of necessary work is justly entitled to afull share of the results. The men who put the slates on are just asindispensable as the men who lay the foundations. The work of the menwho build the walls and make the doors is just as necessary as the workof the men who decorate the cornice. None of them would be of much usewithout the architect, and the plans of the architect would come tonothing, his building would be a mere castle in the air, if it were notfor the other workers. Each part of the work is equally necessary, useful and indispensable if the building is to be perfected. Some ofthese men work harder with their brains than with their hands and somework harder with their hands than with their brains, BUT EACH ONE DOESHIS FULL SHARE OF THE WORK. This truth will be recognized and actedupon by those who build up and maintain the fabric of our Co-operativeCommonwealth. Every man who does his full share of the useful andnecessary work according to his abilities shall have his full share ofthe total result. Herein will be its great difference from the presentsystem, under which it is possible for the cunning and selfish ones totake advantage of the simplicity of others and rob them of part of thefruits of their labour. As for those who will be engaged in the higherbranches, they will be sufficiently rewarded by being privileged to dothe work they are fitted for and enjoy. The only men and women who arecapable of good and great work of any kind are those who, beingnaturally fit for it, love the work for its own sake and not for themoney it brings them. Under the present system, many men who have noneed of money produce great works, not for gain but for pleasure: theirwealth enables them to follow their natural inclinations. Under thepresent system many men and women capable of great works are preventedfrom giving expression to their powers by poverty and lack ofopportunity: they live in sorrow and die heartbroken, and the communityis the loser. These are the men and women who will be our artists, sculptors, architects, engineers and captains of industry. 

'Under the present system there are men at the head of affairs whoseonly object is the accumulation of money. Some of them possess greatabilities and the system has practically compelled them to employ thoseabilities for their own selfish ends to the hurt of the community. Some of them have built up great fortunes out of the sweat and bloodand tears of men and women and little children. For those who delightin such work as this, there will be no place in our Co-operativeCommonwealth. '

'Is there any more questions?' demanded Philpot. 

'Yes, ' said Harlow. 'If there won't be no extry pay and if anybodywill have all they need for just doing their part of the work, whatencouragement will there be for anyone to worry his brains out tryingto invent some new machine, or make some new discovery?'

'Well, ' said Barrington, 'I think that's covered by the last answer, but if it were found necessary--which is highly improbable--to offersome material reward in addition to the respect, esteem or honour thatwould be enjoyed by the author of an invention that was a boon to thecommunity, it could be arranged by allowing him to retire before theexpiration of his twenty-five years service. The boon he had conferredon the community by the invention, would be considered equivalent to somany years work. But a man like that would not desire to ceaseworking; that sort go on working all their lives, for love. There'sEdison for instance. He is one of the very few inventors who have mademoney out of their work; he is a rich man, but the only use his wealthseems to be to him is to procure himself facilities for going on withhis work; his life is a round of what some people would call painfullabour: but it is not painful labour to him; it's just pleasure, heworks for the love of it. Another way would be to absolve a man ofthat sort from the necessity of ordinary work, so as to give him achance to get on with other inventions. It would be to the interestsof the community to encourage him in every way and to place materialsand facilities at his disposal. 

'But you must remember that even under the present system, Honour andPraise are held to be greater than money. How many soldiers wouldprefer money to the honour of wearing the intrinsically valuelessVictoria Cross?

'Even now men think less of money than they do of the respect, esteemor honour they are able to procure with it. Many men spend the greaterpart of their lives striving to accumulate money, and when they havesucceeded, they proceed to spend it to obtain the respect of theirfellow-men. Some of them spend thousands of pounds for the honour ofbeing able to write "MP" after their names. Others buy titles. Otherspay huge sums to gain admission to exclusive circles of society. Others give the money away in charity, or found libraries oruniversities. The reason they do these things is that they desire tobe applauded and honoured by their fellow-men. 

'This desire is strongest in the most capable men--the men of genius. Therefore, under Socialism the principal incentive to great work willbe the same as now--Honour and Praise. But, under the present system, Honour and Praise can be bought with money, and it does not matter muchhow the money was obtained. 

'Under Socialism it will be different. The Cross of Honour and theLaurel Crown will not be bought and sold for filthy lucre. They willbe the supreme rewards of Virtue and of Talent. '

'Anyone else like to be flattened Out?' inquired Philpot. 

'What would you do with them what spends all their money in drink?'asked Slyme. 

'I might reasonably ask you, "What's done with them or what you proposeto do with them now?" There are many men and women whose lives are sofull of toil and sorrow and the misery caused by abject poverty, whoare so shut out from all that makes life worth living, that the timethey spend in the public house is the only ray of sunshine in theircheerless lives. Their mental and material poverty is so great thatthey are deprived of and incapable of understanding the intellectualand social pleasures of civilization. .. Under Socialism there will beno such class as this. Everyone will be educated, and social life andrational pleasure will be within the reach of all. Therefore we do notbelieve that there will be such a class. Any individuals who abandonedthemselves to such a course would be avoided by their fellows; but ifthey became very degraded, we should still remember that they were ourbrother men and women, and we should regard them as suffering from adisease inherited from their uncivilized forefathers and try to curethem by placing them under some restraint: in an institute forinstance. '

'Another good way to deal with 'em, ' said Harlow, 'would be to allowthem double pay, so as they could drink themselves to death. We coulddo without the likes of them. '

'Call the next case, ' said Philpot. 

'This 'ere abundance that you're always talking about, ' said Crass, youcan't be sure that it would be possible to produce all that. You'reonly assoomin' that it could be done. '

Barrington pointed to the still visible outlines of the 'Hoblong' thatOwen had drawn on the wall to illustrate a previous lecture. 

'Even under the present silly system of restricted production, with themajority of the population engaged in useless, unproductive, unnecessary work, and large numbers never doing any work at all, thereis enough produced to go all round after a fashion. More than enough, for in consequence of what they call "Over-Production", the markets areperiodically glutted with commodities of all kinds, and then for a timethe factories are closed and production ceases. And yet we can allmanage to exist--after a fashion. This proves that if productiveindustry were organized on the lines advocated by Socialists therecould be produced such a prodigious quantity of everything, thateveryone could live in plenty and comfort. The problem of how toproduce sufficient for all to enjoy abundance is already solved: theproblem that then remains is--How to get rid of those whose greed andcallous indifference to the sufferings of others, prevents it beingdone. '

'Yes! and you'll never be able to get rid of 'em, mate, ' cried Crass, triumphantly--and the man with the copper wire stitches in his bootsaid that it couldn't be done. 

'Well, we mean to have a good try, anyhow, ' said Barrington. 

Crass and most of the others tried hard to think of something to say indefence of the existing state of affairs, or against the proposals putforward by the lecturer; but finding nothing, they maintained a sullenand gloomy silence. The man with the copper wire stitches in his bootin particular appeared to be very much upset; perhaps he was afraidthat if the things advocated by the speaker ever came to pass he wouldnot have any boots at all. To assume that he had some such thought asthis, is the only rational way to account for his hostility, for in hiscase no change could have been for the worse unless it reduced him toalmost absolute nakedness and starvation. 

To judge by their unwillingness to consider any proposals to alter thepresent system, one might have supposed that they were afraid of losingsomething, instead of having nothing to lose--except their poverty. 

It was not till the chairman had made several urgent appeals for morequestions that Crass brightened up: a glad smile slowly spread over andilluminated his greasy visage: he had at last thought of a most seriousand insurmountable obstacle to the establishment of the Co-operativeCommonwealth. 

'What, ' he demanded, in a loud voice, 'what are you goin' to do, inthis 'ere Socialist Republic of yours, with them wot WON'T WORK'!'

As Crass flung this bombshell into the Socialist camp, the miserable, ragged-trousered crew around him could scarce forbear a cheer; but themore intelligent part of the audience only laughed. 

'We don't believe that there will be any such people as that, ' saidBarrington. 

'There's plenty of 'em about now, anyway, ' sneered Crass. 

'You can't change 'uman nature, you know, ' cried the man behind themoat, and the one who had the copper wire stitches in his boot laughedscornfully. 

'Yes, I know there are plenty such now, ' rejoined Barrington. 'It'sonly what is to be expected, considering that practically all workerslive in poverty, and are regarded with contempt. The conditions underwhich most of the work is done at present are so unpleasant anddegrading that everyone refuses to do any unless they are compelled;none of us here, for instance, would continue to work for Rushton if itwere not for the fact that we have either to do so or starve; and whenwe do work we only just earn enough to keep body and soul together. Under the present system everybody who can possibly manage to do soavoids doing any work, the only difference being that some people dotheir loafing better than others. The aristocracy are too lazy towork, but they seem to get on all right; they have their tenants towork for them. Rushton is too lazy to work, so he has arranged that weand Nimrod shall work instead, and he fares much better than any of uswho do work. Then there is another kind of loafers who go aboutbegging and occasionally starving rather than submit to such abominableconditions as are offered to them. These last are generally not muchworse off than we are and they are often better off. At present, people have everything to gain and but little to lose by refusing towork. Under Socialism it would be just the reverse; the conditions oflabour would be so pleasant, the hours of obligatory work so few, andthe reward so great, that it is absurd to imagine that any one would beso foolish as to incur the contempt of his fellows and make himself asocial outcast by refusing to do the small share of work demanded ofhim by the community of which he was a member. 

'As for what we should do to such individuals if there did happen to besome, I can assure you that we would not treat them as you treat themnow. We would not dress them up in silk and satin and broadcloth andfine linen: we would not embellish them, as you do, with jewels of goldand jewels of silver and with precious stones; neither should we allowthem to fare sumptuously every day. Our method of dealing with themwould be quite different from yours. In the Co-operative Commonwealththere will be no place for loafers; whether they call themselvesaristocrats or tramps, those who are too lazy to work shall have noshare in the things that are produced by the labour of others. Thosewho do nothing shall have nothing. If any man will not work, neithershall he eat. Under the present system a man who is really too lazy towork may stop you in the street and tell you that he cannot getemployment. For all you know, he may be telling the truth, and if youhave any feeling and are able, you will help him. But in the SocialistState no one would have such an excuse, because everyone that waswilling would be welcome to come and help in the work of producingwealth and happiness for all, and afterwards he would also be welcometo his full share of the results. '

'Any more complaints?' inquired the chairman, breaking the gloomysilence that followed. 

'I don't want anyone to think that I am blaming any of thesepresent-day loafers, ' Barrington added. 'The wealthy ones cannot beexpected voluntarily to come and work under existing conditions and ifthey were to do so they would be doing more harm than good--they wouldbe doing some poor wretches out of employment. They are not to beblamed; the people who are to blame are the working classes themselves, who demand and vote for the continuance of the present system. As forthe other class of loafers--those at the bottom, the tramps and peopleof that sort, if they were to become sober and industrious tomorrow, they also would be doing more harm than good to the other workers; itwould increase the competition for work. If all the loafers inMugsborough could suddenly be transformed into decent house paintersnext week, Nimrod might be able to cut down the wages another penny anhour. I don't wish to speak disrespectfully of these tramps at all. Some of them are such simply because they would rather starve thansubmit to the degrading conditions that we submit to, they do not seethe force of being bullied and chased, and driven about in order togain semi-starvation and rags. They are able to get those withoutworking; and I sometimes think that they are more worthy of respect andare altogether a nobler type of beings than a lot of broken-spiritedwretches like ourselves, who are always at the mercy of our masters, and always in dread of the sack. '

'Any more questions?' said the chairman. 

'Do you mean to say as the time will ever come when the gentry will mixup on equal terms with the likes of us?' demanded the man behind themoat, scornfully. 

'Oh, no, ' replied the lecturer. When we get Socialism there won't beany people like us. Everybody will be civilized. '

The man behind the moat did not seem very satisfied with this answer, and told the others that he could not see anything to laugh at. 

'Is there any more questions?' cried Philpot. 'Now is your chance toget some of your own back, but don't hall speak at once. '

'I should like to know who's goin' to do all the dirty work?' saidSlyme. 'If everyone is to be allowed to choose 'is own trade, who'd befool enough to choose to be a scavenger, a sweep, a dustman or a sewerman? nobody wouldn't want to do such jobs as them and everyone would beafter the soft jobs. '

'Of course, ' cried Crass, eagerly clutching at this last straw. 'Thething sounds all right till you comes to look into it, but it wouldn'tnever work!'

'It would be very easy to deal with any difficulty of that sort, 'replied Barrington, 'if it were found that too many people weredesirous of pursuing certain callings, it would be known that theconditions attached to those kinds of work were unfairly easy, ascompared with other lines, so the conditions in those trades would bemade more severe. A higher degree of skill would be required. If wefound that too many persons wished to be doctors, architects, engineersand so forth, we would increase the severity of the examinations. Thiswould scare away all but the most gifted and enthusiastic. We shouldthus at one stroke reduce the number of applicants and secure the verybest men for the work--we should have better doctors, betterarchitects, better engineers than before. 

'As regards those disagreeable tasks for which there was a difficultyin obtaining volunteers, we should adopt the opposite means. Supposethat six hours was the general thing; and we found that we could notget any sewer men; we should reduce the hours of labour in thatdepartment to four, or if necessary to two, in order to compensate forthe disagreeable nature of the work. 

'Another way out of such difficulties would be to have a separatedivision of the Industrial army to do all such work, and to make itobligatory for every man to put in his first year of State service as amember of this corps. There would be no hardship in that. Everyonegets the benefit of such work; there would be no injustice in requiringeveryone to share. This would have the effect also of stimulatinginvention; it would be to everyone's interest to think out means ofdoing away with such kinds of work and there is no doubt that most ofit will be done by machinery in some way or other. A few years ago theonly way to light up the streets of a town was to go round to eachseparate gas lamp and light each jet, one at a time: now, we press afew buttons and light up the town with electricity. In the future weshall probably be able to press a button and flush the sewers. '

'What about religion?' said Slyme. 'I suppose there won't be nochurches nor chapels; we shall all have to be atheists. '

'Everybody will be perfectly free to enjoy their own opinions and topractise any religion they like; but no religion or sect will bemaintained by the State. If any congregation or body of people wish tohave a building for their own exclusive use as a church or chapel orlecture hall it will be supplied to them by the State on the same termsas those upon which dwelling houses will be supplied; the State willconstruct the special kind of building and the congregation will haveto pay the rent, the amount to be based on the cost of construction, inpaper money of course. As far as the embellishment or decoration ofsuch places is concerned, there will of course be nothing to preventthe members of the congregation if they wish from doing any such workas that themselves in their own spare time of which they will haveplenty. '

'If everybody's got to do their share of work, where's the minister andclergymen to come from?'

'There are at least three ways out of that difficulty. First, ministers of religion could be drawn from the ranks of theVeterans--men over forty-five years old who had completed their term ofState service. You must remember that these will not be worn outwrecks, as too many of the working classes are at that age now. Theywill have had good food and clothing and good general conditions alltheir lives; and consequently they will be in the very prime of life. They will be younger than many of us now are at thirty; they will beideal men for the positions we are speaking of. All well educated intheir youth, and all will have had plenty of leisure for self cultureduring the years of their State service and they will have theadditional recommendation that their congregation will not be requiredto pay anything for their services. 

'Another way: If a congregation wished to retain the full-time servicesof a young man whom they thought specially gifted but who had notcompleted his term of State service, they could secure him by payingthe State for his services; thus the young man would still remain inState employment, he would still continue to receive his pay from theNational Treasury, and at the age of forty-five would be entitled tohis pension like any other worker, and after that the congregationwould not have to pay the State anything. 

'A third--and as it seems to me, the most respectable way--would be forthe individual in question to act as minister or pastor or lecturer orwhatever it was, to the congregation without seeking to get out ofdoing his share of the State service. The hours of obligatory workwould be so short and the work so light that he would have abundance ofleisure to prepare his orations without sponging on hisco-religionists. '

''Ear, 'ear!' cried Harlow. 

'Of course, ' added Barrington, 'it would not only be congregations ofChristians who could adopt any of these methods. It is possible that acongregation of agnostics, for instance, might want a separate buildingor to maintain a lecturer. '

'What the 'ell's an agnostic?' demanded Bundy. 

'An agnostic, ' said the man behind the moat, 'is a bloke wot don'tbelieve nothing unless 'e see it with 'is own eyes. '

'All these details, ' continued the speaker, 'of the organization ofaffairs and the work of the Co-operative Commonwealth, are things whichdo not concern us at all. They have merely been suggested by differentindividuals as showing some ways in which these things could bearranged. The exact methods to be adopted will be decided upon by theopinion of the majority when the work is being done. Meantime, what wehave to do is to insist upon the duty of the State to provideproductive work for the unemployed, the State feeding ofschoolchildren, the nationalization or Socialization of Railways; Land;the Trusts, and all public services that are still in the hands ofprivate companies. If you wish to see these things done, you mustcease from voting for Liberal and Tory sweaters, shareholders ofcompanies, lawyers, aristocrats, and capitalists; and you must fill theHouse of Commons with Revolutionary Socialists. That is--with men whoare in favour of completely changing the present system. And in theday that you do that, you will have solved the poverty "problem". Nomore tramping the streets begging for a job! No more hungry childrenat home. No more broken boots and ragged clothes. No more women andchildren killing themselves with painful labour whilst strong men standidly by; but joyous work and joyous leisure for all. '

'Is there any more questions?' cried Philpot. 

'Is it true, ' said Easton, 'that Socialists intend to do away with theArmy and Navy?'

'Yes; it is true. Socialists believe in International Brotherhood andpeace. Nearly all wars are caused by profit-seeking capitalists, seeking new fields for commercial exploitation, and by aristocrats whomake it the means of glorifying themselves in the eyes of the deludedcommon people. You must remember that Socialism is not only anational, but an international movement and when it is realized, therewill be no possibility of war, and we shall no longer seed to maintainan army and navy, or to waste a lot of labour building warships ormanufacturing arms and ammunition. All those people who are nowemployed will then be at liberty to assist in the great work ofproducing the benefits of civilization; creating wealth and knowledgeand happiness for themselves and others--Socialism means Peace on earthand goodwill to all mankind. But in the meantime we know that thepeople of other nations are not yet all Socialists; we do not forgetthat in foreign countries--just the same as in Britain--there are largenumbers of profit seeking capitalists, who are so destitute ofhumanity, that if they thought it could be done successfully and withprofit to themselves they would not scruple to come here to murder andto rob. We do not forget that in foreign countries--the same ashere--there are plenty of so-called "Christian" bishops and priestsalways ready to give their benediction to any such murderous projects, and to blasphemously pray to the Supreme Being to help his children toslay each other like wild beasts. And knowing and remembering allthis, we realize that until we have done away with capitalism, aristocracy and anti-Christian clericalism, it is our duty to beprepared to defend our homes and our native land. And therefore we arein favour of maintaining national defensive forces in the highestpossible state of efficiency. But that does not mean that we are infavour of the present system of organizing those forces. We do notbelieve in conscription, and we do not believe that the nation shouldcontinue to maintain a professional standing army to be used at homefor the purpose of butchering men and women of the working classes inthe interests of a handful of capitalists, as has been done atFeatherstone and Belfast; or to be used abroad to murder and rob thepeople of other nations. Socialists advocate the establishment of aNational Citizen Army, for defensive purposes only. We believe thatevery able bodied man should be compelled to belong to this force andto undergo a course of military training, but without making him into aprofessional soldier, or taking him away from civil life, depriving himof the rights of citizenship or making him subject to military "law"which is only another name for tyranny and despotism. This CitizenArmy could be organized on somewhat similar lines to the presentTerritorial Force, with certain differences. For instance, we do notbelieve--as our present rulers do--that wealth and aristocraticinfluence are the two most essential qualifications for an efficientofficer; we believe that all ranks should be attainable by any man, nomatter how poor, who is capable of passing the necessary examinations, and that there should be no expense attached to those positions whichthe Government grant, or the pay, is not sufficient to cover. Theofficers could be appointed in any one of several ways: They might beelected by the men they would have to command, the only qualificationrequired being that they had passed their examinations, or they mightbe appointed according to merit--the candidate obtaining the highestnumber of marks at the examinations to have the first call on anyvacant post, and so on in order of merit. We believe in the totalabolition of courts martial, any offence against discipline should bepunishable by the ordinary civil law--no member of the Citizen Armybeing deprived of the rights of a citizen. '

'What about the Navy?' cried several voices. 

'Nobody wants to interfere with the Navy except to make itsorganization more democratic--the same as that of the Citizen Army--andto protect its members from tyranny by entitling them to be tried in acivil court for any alleged offence. 

'It has been proved that if the soil of this country werescientifically cultivated, it is capable of producing sufficient tomaintain a population of a hundred millions of people. Our presentpopulation is only about forty millions, but so long as the landremains in the possession of persons who refuse to allow it to becultivated we shall continue to be dependent on other countries for ourfood supply. So long as we are in that position, and so long asforeign countries are governed by Liberal and Tory capitalists, weshall need the Navy to protect our overseas commerce from them. If wehad a Citizen Army such as I have mentioned, of nine or ten millions ofmen and if the land of this country was properly cultivated, we shouldbe invincible at home. No foreign power would ever be mad enough toattempt to land their forces on our shores. But they would now be ableto starve us all to death in a month if it were not for the Navy. It'sa sensible and creditable position, isn't it?' concluded Barrington. 'Even in times of peace, thousands of people standing idle and tamelystarving in their own fertile country, because a few land "Lords"forbid them to cultivate it. '

'Is there any more questions?' demanded Philpot, breaking a prolongedsilence. 

'Would any Liberal or Tory capitalist like to get up into the pulpitand oppose the speaker?' the chairman went on, finding that no oneresponded to his appeal for questions. 

The silence continued. 

'As there's no more questions and no one won't get up into the pulpit, it is now my painful duty to call upon someone to move a resolution. '

'Well, Mr Chairman, ' said Harlow, 'I may say that when I came on thisfirm I was a Liberal, but through listenin' to several lectures byProfessor Owen and attendin' the meetings on the hill at Windley andreading the books and pamphlets I bought there and from Owen, I came tothe conclusion some time ago that it's a mug's game for us to vote forcapitalists whether they calls theirselves Liberals or Tories. They'reall alike when you're workin' for 'em; I defy any man to say what's thedifference between a Liberal and a Tory employer. There is none--therecan't be; they're both sweaters, and they've got to be, or theywouldn't be able to compete with each other. And since that's whatthey are, I say it's a mug's game for us to vote 'em into Parliament torule over us and to make laws that we've got to abide by whether welike it or not. There's nothing to choose between 'em, and the proof ofit is that it's never made much difference to us which party was in orwhich was out. It's quite true that in the past both of 'em havepassed good laws, but they've only done it when public opinion was sostrong in favour of it that they knew there was no getting out of it, and then it was a toss up which side did it. 

'That's the way I've been lookin' at things lately, and I'd almost madeup my mind never to vote no more, or to trouble myself about politicsat all, because although I could see there was no sense in voting forLiberal or Tory capitalists, at the same time I must admit I couldn'tmake out how Socialism was going to help us. But the explanation of itwhich Professor Barrington has given us this afternoon has been a bitof an eye opener for me, and with your permission I should like to moveas a resolution, "That it is the opinion of this meeting that Socialismis the only remedy for Unemployment and Poverty. "'

The conclusion of Harlow's address was greeted with loud cheers fromthe Socialists, but most of the Liberal and Tory supporters of thepresent system maintained a sulky silence. 

'I'll second that resolution, ' said Easton. 

'And I'll lay a bob both ways, ' remarked Bundy. The resolution wasthen put, and though the majority were against it, the Chairmandeclared it was carried unanimously. 

By this time the violence of the storm had in a great measure abated, but as rain was still falling it was decided not to attempt to resumework that day. Besides, it would have been too late, even if theweather had cleared up. 

'P'raps it's just as well it 'as rained, ' remarked one man. 'If it'adn't some of us might 'ave got the sack tonight. As it is, there'llbe hardly enough for all of us to do tomorrer and Saturday mornin' evenif it is fine. '

This was true: nearly all the outside was finished, and what remainedto be done was ready for the final coat. Inside all there was to dowas to colour wash the walls and to give the woodwork of the kitchenand scullery the last coat of paint. 

It was inevitable--unless the firm had some other work for them to dosomewhere else--that there would be a great slaughter on Saturday. 

'Now, ' said Philpot, assuming what he meant to be the manner of aschool teacher addressing children, 'I wants you hall to make aspeshall heffort and get 'ere very early in the mornin'--say about fouro'clock--and them wot doos the most work tomorrer, will get a prize onSaturday. '

'What'll it be, the sack?' inquired Harlow. 

'Yes, ' replied Philpot, 'and not honly will you get a prize for goodconduck tomorrer, but if you all keep on workin' like we've bin doinglately till you're too hold and wore hout to do any more, you'll beallowed to go to a nice workhouse for the rest of your lives! and eachone of you will be given a title--"Pauper!"'

And they laughed!

Although the majority of them had mothers or fathers or other nearrelatives who had already succeeded to the title--they laughed!

As they were going home, Crass paused at the gate, and pointing up tothe large gable at the end of the house, he said to Philpot:

'You'll want the longest ladder--the 65, for that, tomorrow. '

Philpot looked up at the gable. 

It was very high. 

Chapter 46

The 'Sixty-five'

The next morning after breakfast, Philpot, Sawkins, Harlow andBarrington went to the Yard to get the long ladder--the 65--so calledbecause it had sixty-five rungs. It was really what is known as abuilder's scaffold ladder, and it had been strengthened by several ironbolts or rods which passed through just under some of the rungs. Oneside of the ladder had an iron band or ribbon twisted and nailed roundit spirally. It was not at all suitable for painters' work, beingaltogether too heavy and cumbrous. However, as none of the others werelong enough to reach the high gable at the Refuge, they managed, with astruggle, to get it down from the hooks and put it on one of thehandcarts and soon passed through the streets of mean and dingy housesin the vicinity of the yard, and began the ascent of the long hill. 

There had been a lot of rain during the night, and the sky was stillovercast with dark grey clouds. The cart went heavily over the muddyroad; Sawkins was at the helm, holding the end of the ladder andsteering; the others walked a little further ahead, at the sides of thecart. 

It was such hard work that by the time they were half-way up the hillthey were so exhausted and out of breath that they had to stop for arest. 

'This is a bit of all right, ain't it?' remarked Harlow as he took offhis cap and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief. 

While they rested they kept a good look out for Rushton or Hunter, whowere likely to pass by at any moment. 

At first, no one made any reply to Harlow's observation, for they wereall out of breath and Philpot's lean fingers trembled violently as hewiped the perspiration from his face. 

'Yes, mate, ' he said despondently, after a while. 'It's one way ofgettin' a livin' and there's plenty better ways. '

In addition to the fact that his rheumatism was exceptionally bad, hefelt unusually low-spirited this morning; the gloomy weather and theprospect of a long day of ladder work probably had something to do withit. 

'A "living" is right, ' said Barrington bitterly. He also was exhaustedwith the struggle up the hill and enraged by the woebegone appearanceof poor old Philpot, who was panting and quivering from the exertion. 

They relapsed into silence. The unaccountable depression thatpossessed Philpot deprived him of all his usual jocularity and filledhim with melancholy thoughts. He had travelled up and down this hill agreat many times before under similar circumstances and he said tohimself that if he had half a quid now for every time he had pushed acart up this road, he wouldn't need to do anyone out of a job all therest of his life. 

The shop where he had been apprenticed used to be just down at thebottom; the place had been pulled down years ago, and the ground wasnow occupied by more pretentious buildings. Not quite so far down theroad--on the other side--he could see the church where he used toattend Sunday School when he was a boy, and where he was married justthirty years ago. Presently--when they reached the top of the hill--hewould be able to look across the valley and see the spire of the otherchurch, the one in the graveyard, where all those who were dear to himhad been one by one laid to rest. He felt that he would not be sorrywhen the time came to join them there. Possibly, in the next world--ifthere were such a place--they might all be together once more. 

He was suddenly aroused from these thoughts by an exclamation fromHarlow. 

'Look out! Here comes Rushton. '

They immediately resumed their journey. Rushton was coming up the hillin his dog-cart with Grinder sitting by his side. They passed soclosely that Philpot--who was on that side of the cart--was splashedwith mud from the wheels of the trap. 

'Them's some of your chaps, ain't they?' remarked Grinder. 

'Yes, ' replied Rushton. 'We're doing a job up this way. '

'I should 'ave thought it would pay you better to use a 'orse for sichwork as that, ' said Grinder. 

'We do use the horses whenever it's necessary for very big loads, youknow, ' answered Rushton, and added with a laugh: 'But the donkeys arequite strong enough for such a job as that. '

The 'donkeys' struggled on up the hill for about another hundred yardsand then they were forced to halt again. 

'We mustn't stop long, you know, ' said Harlow. 'Most likely he's goneto the job, and he'll wait to see how long it takes us to get there. '

Barrington felt inclined to say that in that case Rushton would have towait, but he remained silent, for he remembered that although hepersonally did not care a brass button whether he got the sack or not, the others were not so fortunately circumstanced. 

While they were resting, another two-legged donkey passed by pushinganother cart--or rather, holding it back, for he was coming slowly downthe hill. Another Heir of all the ages--another Imperialist--adegraded, brutalized wretch, clad in filthy, stinking rags, his toesprotruding from the rotten broken boots that were tied with bits ofstring upon his stockingless feet. The ramshackle cart was loaded withempty bottles and putrid rags, heaped loosely in the cart and packedinto a large sack. Old coats and trousers, dresses, petticoats, andunder-clothing, greasy, mildewed and malodorous. As he crept alongwith his eyes on the ground, the man gave utterance at intervals touncouth, inarticulate sounds. 

'That's another way of gettin' a livin', ' said Sawkins with a laugh asthe miserable creature slunk past. 

Harlow also laughed, and Barrington regarded them curiously. Hethought it strange that they did not seem to realize that they mightsome day become like this man themselves. 

'I've often wondered what they does with all them dirty old rags, ' saidPhilpot. 

'Made into paper, ' replied Harlow, briefly. 

'Some of them are, ' said Barrington, 'and some are manufactured intoshoddy cloth and made into Sunday clothes for working men. 

'There's all sorts of different ways of gettin' a livin', ' remarkedSawkins, after a pause. 'I read in a paper the other day about a blokewot goes about lookin' for open trap doors and cellar flaps in front ofshops. As soon as he spotted one open, he used to go and fall down init; and then he'd be took to the 'orspital, and when he got better heused to go and threaten to bring a action against the shop-keeper andget damages, and most of 'em used to part up without goin' in front ofthe judge at all. But one day a slop was a watchin' of 'im, and seen'im chuck 'isself down one, and when they picked 'im up they found he'dbroke his leg. So they took 'im to the 'orspital and when he came outand went round to the shop and started talkin' about bringin' a actionfor damages, the slop collared 'im and they give 'im six months. '

'Yes, I read about that, ' said Harlow, 'and there was another case of achap who was run over by a motor, and they tried to make out as 'e put'isself in the way on purpose; but 'e got some money out of the swellit belonged to; a 'undered pound I think it was. '

'I only wish as one of their motors would run inter me, ' said Philpot, making a feeble attempt at a joke. 'I lay I'd get some a' me own backout of 'em. '

The others laughed, and Harlow was about to make some reply but at thatmoment a cyclist appeared coming down the hill from the direction ofthe job. It was Nimrod, so they resumed their journey once more andpresently Hunter shot past on his machine without taking any notice ofthem. .. 

When they arrived they found that Rushton had not been there at all, but Nimrod had. Crass said that he had kicked up no end of a rowbecause they had not called at the yard at six o'clock that morning forthe ladder, instead of going for it after breakfast--making twojourneys instead of one, and he had also been ratty because the biggable had not been started the first thing that morning. 

They carried the ladder into the garden and laid it on the ground alongthe side of the house where the gable was. A brick wall about eightfeet high separated the grounds of 'The Refuge' from those of thepremises next door. Between this wall and the side wall of the housewas a space about six feet wide and this space formed a kind of alleyor lane or passage along the side of the house. They laid the ladderon the ground along this passage, the 'foot' was placed about half-waythrough; just under the centre of the gable, and as it lay there, theother end of the ladder reached right out to the front railings. 

Next, it was necessary that two men should go up into the attic--thewindow of which was just under the point of the gable--and drop the endof a long rope down to the others who would tie it to the top of theladder. Then two men would stand on the bottom rung, so as to keep the'foot' down, and the three others would have to raise the ladder up, while the two men up in the attic hauled on the rope. 

They called Bundy and his mate Ned Dawson to help, and it was arrangedthat Harlow and Crass should stand on the foot because they were theheaviest. Philpot, Bundy, and Barrington were to 'raise', and Dawsonand Sawkins were to go up to the attic and haul on the rope. 

'Where's the rope?' asked Crass. 

The others looked blankly at him. None of them had thought of bringingone from the yard. 

'Why, ain't there one 'ere?' asked Philpot. 

'One 'ere? Of course there ain't one 'ere!' snarled Crass. 'Do youmean to say as you ain't brought one, then?'

Philpot stammered out something about having thought there was one atthe house already, and the others said they had not thought about it atall. 

'Well, what the bloody hell are we to do now?' cried Crass, angrily. 

'I'll go to the yard and get one, ' suggested Barrington. 'I can do itin twenty minutes there and back. '

'Yes! and a bloody fine row there'd be if Hunter was to see you! 'Ereit's nearly ten o'clock and we ain't made a start on this gable wot weought to 'ave started first thing this morning. '

'Couldn't we tie two or three of those short ropes together?' suggestedPhilpot. 'Those that the other two ladders was spliced with?'

As there was sure to be a row if they delayed long enough to send tothe yard, it was decided to act on Philpot's suggestion. 

Several of the short ropes were accordingly tied together but uponexamination it was found that some parts were so weak that even Crasshad to admit it would be dangerous to attempt to haul the heavy ladderup with them. 

'Well, the only thing as I can see for it, ' he said, 'is that the boywill 'ave to go down to the yard and get the long rope. It won't dofor anyone else to go: there's been one row already about the waste oftime because we didn't call at the yard for the ladder at six o'clock. '

Bert was down in the basement of the house limewashing a cellar. Crasscalled him up and gave him the necessary instructions, chief of whichwas to get back again as soon as ever he could. The boy ran off, andwhile they were waiting for him to come back the others went on withtheir several jobs. Philpot returned to the small gable he had beenpainting before breakfast, which he had not quite finished. As heworked a sudden and unaccountable terror took possession of him. He didnot want to do that other gable; he felt too ill; and he almostresolved that he would ask Crass if he would mind letting him dosomething else. There were several younger men who would not object todoing it--it would be mere child's play to them, and Barrington hadalready--yesterday--offered to change jobs with him. 

But then, when he thought of what the probable consequences would be, he hesitated to take that course, and tried to persuade himself that hewould be able to get through with the work all right. He did not wantCrass or Hunter to mark him as being too old for ladder work. 

Bert came back in about half an hour flushed and sweating with theweight of the rope and with the speed he had made. He delivered it toCrass and then returned to his cellar and went on with the limewashing, while Crass passed the word for Philpot and the others to come andraise the ladder. He handed the rope to Ned Dawson, who took it up tothe attic, accompanied by Sawkins; arrived there they lowered one endout of the window down to the others. 

'If you ask me, ' said Ned Dawson, who was critically examining thestrands of the rope as he passed it out through the open window, 'Ifyou ask me, I don't see as this is much better than the one we made upby tyin' the short pieces together. Look 'ere, '--he indicated a partof the rope that was very frayed and worn--'and 'ere's another placejust as bad. '

'Well, for Christ's sake don't say nothing about it now, ' repliedSawkins. 'There's been enough talk and waste of time over this jobalready. '

Ned made no answer and the end having by this time reached the ground, Bundy made it fast to the ladder, about six rungs from the top. 

The ladder was lying on the ground, parallel to the side of the house. The task of raising it would have been much easier if they had beenable to lay it at right angles to the house wall, but this wasimpossible because of the premises next door and the garden wallbetween the two houses. On account of its having to be raised in thismanner the men at the top would not be able to get a straight pull onthe rope; they would have to stand back in the room without being ableto see the ladder, and the rope would have to be drawn round the cornerof the window, rasping against the edge of the stone sill and thebrickwork. 

The end of the rope having been made fast to the top of the ladder, Crass and Harlow stood on the foot and the other three raised the topfrom the ground; as Barrington was the tallest, he took the middleposition--underneath the ladder--grasping the rungs, Philpot being onhis left and Bundy on his right, each holding one side of the ladder. 

At a signal from Crass, Dawson and Sawkins began to haul on the rope, and the top of the ladder began to use slowly into the air. 

Philpot was not of much use at this work, which made it all the harderfor the other two who were lifting, besides putting an extra strain onthe rope. His lack of strength, and the efforts of Barrington andBundy to make up for him caused the ladder to sway from side to side, as it would not have done if they had all been equally capable. 

Meanwhile, upstairs, Dawson and Sawkins--although the ladder was as yetonly a little more than half the way up--noticed, as they hauled andstrained on the rope, that it had worn a groove for itself in thecorner of the brickwork at the side of the window; and every now andthen, although they pulled with all their strength, they were not ableto draw in any part of the rope at all; and it seemed to them as ifthose others down below must have let go their hold altogether, orceased lifting. 

That was what actually happened. The three men found the weight sooverpowering, that once or twice they were compelled to relax theirefforts for a few seconds, and at those times the rope had to carry thewhole weight of the ladder; and the part of the rope that had to bearthe greatest strain was the part that chanced to be at the angle of thebrickwork at the side of the window. And presently it happened thatone of the frayed and worn places that Dawson had remarked about wasjust at the angle during one of those momentary pauses. On one endthere hung the ponderous ladder, straining the frayed rope against thecorner of the brickwork and the sharp edge of the stone sill, at theother end were Dawson and Sawkins pulling with all their strength, andin that instant the rope snapped like a piece of thread. One endremained in the hands of Sawkins and Dawson, who reeled backwards intothe room, and the other end flew up into the air, writhing like thelash of a gigantic whip. For a moment the heavy ladder swayed fromside to side: Barrington, standing underneath, with his hands raisedabove his head grasping one of the rungs, struggled desperately to holdit up. At his right stood Bundy, also with arms upraised holding theside; and on the left, between the ladder and the wall, was Philpot. 

For a brief space they strove fiercely to support the overpoweringweight, but Philpot had no strength, and the ladder, swaying over tothe left, crashed down, crushing him upon the ground and against thewall of the house. He fell face downwards, with the ladder across hisshoulders; the side that had the iron bands twisted round it fellacross the back of his neck, forcing his face against the bricks at thebase of the wall. He uttered no cry and was quite still, with bloodstreaming from the cuts on his face and trickling from his ears. 

Barrington was also hurled to the ground with his head and arms underthe ladder; his head and face were cut and bleeding and he wasunconscious; none of the others was hurt, for they had all had time tojump clear when the ladder fell. Their shouts soon brought all theother men running to the spot, and the ladder was quickly lifted offthe two motionless figures. At first it seemed that Philpot was dead, but Easton rushed off for a neighbouring doctor, who came in a fewminutes. 

He knelt down and carefully examined the crushed and motionless form ofPhilpot, while the other men stood by in terrified silence. 

Barrington, who fortunately was but momentarily stunned was sittingagainst the wall and had suffered nothing more serious than minor cutsand bruises. 

The doctor's examination of Philpot was a very brief one, and when herose from his knees, even before he spoke they knew from his mannerthat their worst fears were realized. 

Philpot was dead. 

Chapter 47

The Ghouls

Barrington did not do any more work that day, but before going home hewent to the doctor's house and the latter dressed the cuts on his headand arms. Philpot's body was taken away on the ambulance to themortuary. 

Hunter arrived at the house shortly afterwards and at once began toshout and bully because the painting of the gable was not yetcommenced. When he heard of the accident he blamed them for using therope, and said they should have asked for a new one. Before he wentaway he had a long, private conversation with Crass, who told him thatPhilpot had no relatives and that his life was insured for ten poundsin a society of which Crass was also a member. He knew that Philpothad arranged that in the event of his death the money was to be paid tothe old woman with whom he lodged, who was a very close friend. Theresult of this confidential talk was that Crass and Hunter came to theconclusion that it was probable that she would be very glad to berelieved of the trouble of attending to the business of the funeral, and that Crass, as a close friend of the dead man, and a fellow memberof the society, was the most suitable person to take charge of thebusiness for her. He was already slightly acquainted with the oldlady, so he would go to see her at once and get her authority to act onher behalf. Of course, they would not be able to do much until afterthe inquest, but they could get the coffin made--as Hunter knew themortuary keeper there would be no difficulty about getting in for aminute to measure the corpse. 

This matter having been arranged, Hunter departed to order a new rope, and shortly afterwards Crass--having made sure that everyone would haveplenty to do while he was gone--quietly slipped away to go to seePhilpot's landlady. He went off so secretly that the men did not knowthat he had been away at all until they saw him come back just beforetwelve o'clock. 

The new rope was brought to the house about one o'clock and this timethe ladder was raised without any mishap. Harlow was put on to paintthe gable, and he felt so nervous that he was allowed to have Sawkinsto stand by and hold the ladder all the time. Everyone felt nervousthat afternoon, and they all went about their work in an unusuallycareful manner. 

When Bert had finished limewashing the cellar, Crass set him to workoutside, painting the gate of the side entrance. While the boy wasthus occupied he was accosted by a solemn-looking man who asked himabout the accident. The solemn stranger was very sympathetic andinquired what was the name of the man who had been killed, and whetherhe was married. Bert informed him that Philpot was a widower, and thathe had no children. 

'Ah, well, that's so much the better, isn't it?' said the strangershaking his head mournfully. 'It's a dreadful thing, you know, whenthere's children left unprovided for. You don't happen to know wherehe lived, do you?'

'Yes, ' said Bert, mentioning the address and beginning to wonder whatthe solemn man wanted to know for, and why he appeared to be so sorryfor Philpot since it was quite evident that he had never known him. 

'Thanks very much, ' said the man, pulling out his pocket-book andmaking a note of it. 'Thanks very much indeed. Good afternoon, ' andhe hurried off. 

'Good afternoon, sir, ' said Bert and he turned to resume his work. Crass came along the garden just as the mysterious stranger wasdisappearing round the corner. 

'What did HE want?' said Crass, who had seen the man talking to Bert. 

'I don't know exactly; he was asking about the accident, and whetherJoe left any children, and where he lived. He must be a very decentsort of chap, I should think. He seems quite sorry about it. '

'Oh, he does, does he?' said Crass, with a peculiar expression. 'Don'tyou know who he is?'

'No, ' replied the boy; 'but I thought p'raps he was a reporter of somepaper. 

''E ain't no reporter: that's old Snatchum the undertaker. 'E'ssmellin' round after a job; but 'e's out of it this time, smart as 'ethinks 'e is. '

Barrington came back the next morning to work, and at breakfast-timethere was a lot of talk about the accident. They said that it was allvery well for Hunter to talk like that about the rope, but he had knownfor a long time that it was nearly worn out. Newman said that onlyabout three weeks previously when they were raising a ladder at anotherjob he had shown the rope to him, and Misery had replied that there wasnothing wrong with it. Several others besides Newman claimed to havementioned the matter to Hunter, and each of them said he had receivedthe same sort of reply. But when Barrington suggested that they shouldattend the inquest and give evidence to that effect, they all becamesuddenly silent and in a conversation Barrington afterwards had withNewman the latter pointed out that if he were to do so, it would do nogood to Philpot. It would not bring him back but it would be sure todo himself a lot of harm. He would never get another job at Rushton'sand probably many of the other employers would 'mark him' as well. 

'So if YOU say anything about it, ' concluded Newman, 'don't bring myname into it. '

Barrington was constrained to admit that all things considered it wasright for Newman to mind his own business. He felt that it would notbe fair to urge him or anyone else to do or say anything that wouldinjure themselves. 

Misery came to the house about eleven o'clock and informed several ofthe hands that as work was very slack they would get their back day atpay time. He said that the firm had tendered for one or two jobs, sothey could call round about Wednesday and perhaps he might then be ableto give some of them another start, Barrington was not one of those whowere 'stood off', although he had expected to be on account of thespeech he had made at the Beano, and everyone said that he would havegot the push sure enough if it had not been for the accident. 

Before he went away, Nimrod instructed Owen and Crass to go to the yardat once: they would there find Payne the carpenter, who was makingPhilpot's coffin, which would be ready for Crass to varnish by the timethey got there. 

Misery told Owen that he had left the coffin plate and the instructionswith Payne and added that he was not to take too much time over thewriting, because it was a very cheap job. 

When they arrived at the yard, Payne was just finishing the coffin, which was of elm. All that remained to be done to it was the pitchingof the joints inside and Payne was in the act of lifting the pot ofboiling pitch off the fire to do this. 

As it was such a cheap job, there was no time to polish it properly, soCrass proceeded to give it a couple of coats of spirit varnish, andwhile he was doing this Owen wrote the plate, which was made of verythin zinc lacquered over to make it look like brass:

 JOSEPH PHILPOT Died September 1st 19-- Aged 56 years. 

The inquest was held on the following Monday morning, and as bothRushton and Hunter thought it possible that Barrington might attempt toimpute some blame to them, they had worked the oracle and had contrivedto have several friends of their own put on the jury. There was, however, no need for their alarm, because Barrington could not say thathe had himself noticed, or called Hunter's attention to the state ofthe rope; and he did not wish to mention the names of the otherswithout their permission. The evidence of Crass and the other men whowere called was to the effect that it was a pure accident. None of themhad noticed that the rope was unsound. Hunter also swore that he didnot know of it--none of the men had ever called his attention to it; ifthey had done so he would have procured a new one immediately. 

Philpot's landlady and Mr Rushton were also called as witnesses, andthe end was that the jury returned a verdict of accidental death, andadded that they did not think any blame attached to anyone. 

The coroner discharged the jury, and as they and the witnesses passedout of the room, Hunter followed Rushton outside, with the hope ofbeing honoured by a little conversation with him on the satisfactoryissue of the case; but Rushton went off without taking any notice ofhim, so Hunter returned to the room where the court had been held toget the coroner's certificate authorizing the interment of the body. This document is usually handed to the friends of the deceased or tothe undertaker acting for them. When Hunter got back to the room hefound that during his absence the coroner had given it to Philpot'slandlady, who had taken it with her. He accordingly hastened outsideagain to ask her for it, but the woman was nowhere to be seen. 

Crass and the other men were also gone; they had hurried off to returnto work, and after a moment's hesitation Hunter decided that it did notmatter much about the certificate. Crass had arranged the businesswith the landlady and he could get the paper from her later on. Havingcome to this conclusion, he dismissed the subject from his mind: he hadseveral prices to work out that afternoon--estimates from some jobs thefirm was going to tender for. 

That evening, after having been home to tea, Crass and Sawkins met byappointment at the carpenter's shop to take the coffin to the mortuary, where Misery had arranged to meet them at half past eight o'clock. Hunter's plan was to have the funeral take place from the mortuary, which was only about a quarter of an hour's walk from the yard; sotonight they were just going to lift in the body and get the lidscrewed down. 

It was blowing hard and raining heavily when Crass and Sawkins set out, carrying the coffin--covered with a black cloth--on their shoulders. They also took a small pair of tressels for the coffin to stand on. Crass carried one of these slung over his arm and Sawkins the other. 

On their way they had to pass the 'Cricketers' and the place looked soinviting that they decided to stop and have a drink--just to keep thedamp out, and as they could not very well take the coffin inside withthem, they stood it up against the brick wall a little way from theside of the door: as Crass remarked with a laugh, there was not muchdanger of anyone pinching it. The Old Dear served them and just asthey finished drinking the two half-pints there was a loud crashoutside and Crass and Sawkins rushed out and found that the coffin hadblown down and was lying bottom upwards across the pavement, while theblack cloth that had been wrapped round it was out in the middle of themuddy road. Having recovered this, they shook as much of the dirt offas they could, and having wrapped it round the coffin again theyresumed their journey to the mortuary, where they found Hunter waitingfor them, engaged in earnest conversation with the keeper. Theelectric light was switched on, and as Crass and Sawkins came in theysaw that the marble slab was empty. 

The corpse was gone. 

'Snatchum came this afternoon with a hand-truck and a corfin, 'explained the keeper. 'I was out at the time, and the missis thoughtit was all right so she let him have the key. '

Hunter and Crass looked blankly at each other. 

'Well, this takes the biskit!' said the latter as soon as he couldspeak. 

'I thought you said you had settled everything all right with the oldwoman?' said Hunter. 

'So I did, ' replied Crass. 'I seen 'er on Friday, and I told 'er toleave it all to me to attend to, and she said she would. I told 'erthat Philpot said to me that if ever anything 'appened to 'im I was totake charge of everything for 'er, because I was 'is best friend. AndI told 'er we'd do it as cheap as possible. '

'Well, it seems to me as you've bungled it somehow, ' said Nimrod, gloomily. 'I ought to have gone and seen 'er myself, I was afraidyou'd make a mess of it, ' he added in a wailing tone. 'It's always thesame; everything that I don't attend to myself goes wrong. '

An uncomfortable silence fell. Crass thought that the principal pieceof bungling in this affair was Hunter's failure to secure possession ofthe Coroner's certificate after the inquest, but he was afraid to sayso. 

Outside, the rain was still falling and drove in through the partlyopen door, causing the atmosphere of the mortuary to be even more thanusually cold and damp. The empty coffin had been reared against one ofthe walls and the marble slab was still stained with blood, for thekeeper had not had time to clean it since the body had been removed. 

'I can see 'ow it's been worked, ' said Crass at last. 'There's one ofthe members of the club who works for Snatchum, and 'e's took it on'isself to give the order for the funeral; but 'e's got no right to doit. '

'Right or no right, 'e's done it, ' replied Misery, 'so you'd bettertake the box back to the shop. '

Crass and Sawkins accordingly returned to the workshop, where they werepresently joined by Nimrod. 

'I've been thinking this business over as I came along, ' he said, 'andI don't see being beat like this by Snatchum; so you two can just putthe tressels and the box on a hand cart and we'll take it over toPhilpot's house. '

Nimrod walked on the pavement while the other two pushed the cart, andit was about half past nine, when they arrived at the street in Windleywhere Philpot used to live. They halted in a dark part of the street afew yards away from the house and on the opposite side. 

'I think the best thing we can do, ' said Misery, 'is for me and Sawkinsto wait 'ere while you go to the 'ouse and see 'ow the land lies. You've done all the business with 'er so far. It's no use takin' thebox unless we know the corpse is there; for all we know, Snatchum may'ave taken it 'ome with 'im. '

'Yes; I think that'll be the best way, ' agreed Crass, after a moment'sthought. 

Nimrod and Sawkins accordingly took shelter in the doorway of an emptyhouse, leaving the handcart at the kerb, while Crass went across thestreet and knocked at Philpot's door. They saw it opened by an elderlywoman holding a lighted candle in her hand; then Crass went inside andthe door was shut. In about a quarter of an hour he reappeared and, leaving the door partly open behind him, he came out and crossed overto where the others were waiting. As he drew near they could see thathe carried a piece of paper in his hand. 

'It's all right, ' he said in a hoarse whisper as he came up. I've gotthe stifficut. '

Misery took the paper eagerly and scanned it by the light of a matchthat Crass struck. It was the certificate right enough, and with asigh of relief Hunter put it into his note-book and stowed it safelyaway in the inner pocket of his coat, while Crass explained the resultof his errand. 

It appeared that the other member of the Society, accompanied bySnatchum, had called upon the old woman and had bluffed her into givingthem the order for the funeral. It was they who had put her up togetting the certificate from the Coroner--they had been careful to keepaway from the inquest themselves so as not to arouse Hunter's orCrass's suspicions. 

'When they brought the body 'ome this afternoon, ' Crass went on, 'Snatchum tried to get the stifficut orf 'er, but she'd been thinkin'things over and she was a bit frightened 'cos she knowed she'd madearrangements with me, and she thought she'd better see me first; so shetold 'im she'd give it to 'im on Thursday; that's the day as 'e wasgoin' to 'ave the funeral. '

'He'll find he's a day too late, ' said Misery, with a ghastly grin. 'We'll get the job done on Wednesday. '

'She didn't want to give it to me, at first, ' Crass concluded, 'but Itold 'er we'd see 'er right if old Snatchum tried to make 'er pay forthe other coffin. '

'I don't think he's likely to make much fuss about it, ' said Hunter. 'He won't want everybody to know he was so anxious for the job. '

Crass and Sawkins pushed the handcart over to the other side of theroad and then, lifting the coffin off, they carried it into the house, Nimrod going first. 

The old woman was waiting for them with the candle at the end of thepassage. 

'I shall be very glad when it's all over, ' she said, as she led the wayup the narrow stairs, closely followed by Hunter, who carried thetressels, Crass and Sawkins, bringing up the rear with the coffin. 'Ishall be very glad when it's all over, for I'm sick and tired ofanswerin' the door to undertakers. If there's been one 'ere sinceFriday there's been a dozen, all after the job, not to mention all thecards what's been put under the door, besides the one's what I've hadgive to me by different people. I had a pair of boots bein' mended andthe man took the trouble to bring 'em 'ome when they was finished--athing 'e's never done before--just for an excuse to give me anundertaker's card. 

'Then the milkman brought one, and so did the baker, and thegreengrocer give me another when I went in there on Saturday to buysome vegetables for Sunday dinner. '

Arrived at the top landing the old woman opened a door and entered asmall and wretchedly furnished room. 

Across the lower sash of the window hung a tattered piece of lacecurtain. The low ceiling was cracked and discoloured. 

There was a rickety little wooden washstand, and along one side of theroom a narrow bed covered with a ragged grey quilt, on which lay abundle containing the clothes that the dead man was wearing at the timeof the accident. 

There was a little table in front of the window, with a smalllooking-glass upon it, and a cane-seated chair was placed by thebedside and the floor was covered with a faded piece of drab-colouredcarpet of no perceptible pattern, worn into holes in several places. 

In the middle of this dreary room, upon a pair of tressels, was thecoffin containing Philpot's body. Seen by the dim and flickering lightof the candle, the aspect of this coffin, covered over with a whitesheet, was terrible in its silent, pathetic solitude. 

Hunter placed the pair of tressels he had been carrying against thewall, and the other two put the empty coffin on the floor by the sideof the bed. The old woman stood the candlestick on the mantelpiece, and withdrew, remarking that they would not need her assistance. Thethree men then removed their overcoats and laid them on the end of thebed, and from the pocket of his Crass took out two large screwdrivers, one of which he handed to Hunter. Sawkins held the candle while theyunscrewed and took off the lid of the coffin they had brought withthem: it was not quite empty, for they had brought a bag of toolsinside it. 

'I think we shall be able to work better if we takes the other one orfthe trussels and puts it on the floor, ' remarked Crass. 

'Yes, I think so, too, ' replied Hunter. 

Crass took off the sheet and threw it on the bed, revealing the othercoffin, which was very similar in appearance to the one they hadbrought with them, being of elms with the usual imitation brassfurniture. Hunter took hold of the head and Crass the foot and theylifted it off the tressels on to the floor. 

''E's not very 'eavy; that's one good thing, ' observed Hunter. 

''E always was a very thin chap, ' replied Crass. 

The screws that held down the lid had been covered over withlarge-headed brass nails which had to be wrenched off before they couldget at the screws, of which there were eight altogether. It wasevident from the appearance of the beads of these screws that they wereold ones that had been used for some purpose before: they were rustyand of different sizes, some being rather larger or smaller, than theyshould have been. They were screwed in so firmly that by the time theyhad drawn half of them out the two men were streaming withperspiration. After a while Hunter took the candle from Sawkins andthe latter had a try at the screws. 

'Anyone would think the dam' things had been there for a 'undredyears, ' remarked Hunter, savagely, as he wiped the sweat from his faceand neck with his handkerchief. 

Kneeling on the lid of the coffin and panting and grunting with theexertion, the other two continued to struggle with their task. SuddenlyCrass uttered an obscene curse; he had broken off one side of the headof the screw he was trying to turn and almost at the same instant asimilar misfortune happened to Sawkins. 

After this, Hunter again took a screwdriver himself, and when they gotall the screws out with the exception of the two broken ones, Crasstook a hammer and chisel out of the bag and proceeded to cut off whatwas left of the tops of the two that remained. But even after this wasdone the two screws still held the lid on the coffin, and so they hadto hammer the end of the blade of the chisel underneath and lever thelid up so that they could get hold of it with their fingers. It splitup one side as they tore it off, exposing the dead man to view. 

Although the marks of the cuts and bruises were still visible onPhilpot's face, they were softened down by the pallor of death, and aplacid, peaceful expression pervaded his features. His hands werecrossed upon his breast, and as he lay there in the snow-white graveclothes, almost covered in by the white lace frill that bordered thesides of the coffin, he looked like one in a profound and tranquilsleep. 

They laid the broken lid on the bed, and placed the two coffins side byside on the floor as close together as possible. Sawkins stood at oneside holding the candle in his left hand and ready to render with hisright any assistance that might unexpectedly prove to be necessary. Crass, standing at the foot, took hold of the body by the ankles, whileHunter at the other end seized it by the shoulders with his huge, clawlike hands, which resembled the talons of some obscene bird ofprey, and they dragged it out and placed it in the other coffin. 

Whilst Hunter--hovering ghoulishly over the corpse--arranged the graveclothes and the frilling, Crass laid the broken cover on the top of theother coffin and pushed it under the bed out of the way. Then heselected the necessary screws and nails from the bag, and Hunter havingby this time finished, they proceeded to screw down the lid. Then theylifted the coffin on to the tressels, covering it over with the sheet, and the appearance it then presented was so exactly similar to whatthey had seen when they first entered the room, that it caused the samethought to occur to all of them: Suppose Snatchum took it into his headto come there and take the body out again? If he were to do so andtake it up to the cemetery they might be compelled to give up thecertificate to him and then all their trouble would be lost. 

After a brief consultation, they resolved that it would be safer totake the corpse on the handcart to the yard and keep it in thecarpenter's shop until the funeral, which could take place from there. Crass and Sawkins accordingly lifted the coffin off the tressels, and--while Hunter held the light--proceeded to carry it downstairs, atask of considerable difficulty owing to the narrowness of thestaircase and the landing. However, they got it down at last and, having put it on the handcart, covered it over with the black wrapper. It was still raining and the lamp in the cart was nearly out, soSawkins trimmed the wick and relit it before they started. 

Hunter wished them 'Good-night' at the corner of the street, because itwas not necessary for him to accompany them to the yard--they would beable to manage all that remained to be done by themselves. He said hewould make the arrangements for the funeral as soon as he possiblycould the next morning, and he would come to the job and let them know, as soon as he knew himself, at what time they would have to be inattendance to act as bearers. He had gone a little distance on his waywhen he stopped and turned back to them. 

'It's not necessary for either of you to make a song about thisbusiness, you know, ' he said. 

The two men said that they quite understood that: he could depend ontheir keeping their mouths shut. 

When Hunter had gone, Crass drew out his watch. It was a quarter toeleven. A little way down the road the lights of a public house weregleaming through the mist. 

'We shall be just in time to get a drink before closing time if we buckup, ' he said. And with this object they hurried on as fast as theycould. 

When they reached the tavern they left the cart standing by the kerb, and went inside, where Crass ordered two pints of four-ale, which hepermitted Sawkins to pay for. 

'How are we going on about this job?' inquired the latter after theyhad each taken a long drink, for they were thirsty after theirexertions. 'I reckon we ought to 'ave more than a bob for it, don'tyou? It's not like a ordinary "lift in". '

'Of course it ain't, ' replied Crass. 'We ought to 'ave about, say'--reflecting--'say arf a dollar each at the very least. '

'Little enough too, ' said Sawkins. 'I was going to say arf a crown, myself. '

Crass agreed that even half a crown would not be too much. 

''Ow are we going' on about chargin' it on our time sheets?' askedSawkins, after a pause. 'If we just put a "lift in", they might onlypay us a bob as usual. '

As a rule when they had taken a coffin home, they wrote on their timesheets, 'One lift in', for which they were usually paid one shilling, unless it happened to be a very high-class funeral, when they sometimesgot one and sixpence. They were never paid by the hour for these jobs. 

Crass smoked reflectively. 

'I think the best way will be to put it like this, ' he said at length. '"Philpot's funeral. One lift out and one lift in. Also takin' corpseto carpenter's shop. " 'Ow would that do?'

Sawkins said that would be a very good way to put it, and they finishedtheir beer just as the landlord intimated that it was closing time. The cart was standing where they left it, the black cloth saturatedwith the rain, which dripped mournfully from its sable folds. 

When they reached the plot of waste ground over which they had to passin order to reach the gates of the yard, they had to proceed verycautiously, for it was very dark, and the lantern did not give muchlight. A number of carts and lorries were standing there, and the pathwound through pools of water and heaps of refuse. After muchdifficulty and jolting, they reached the gate, which Crass unlockedwith the key he had obtained from the office earlier in the evening. They soon opened the door of the carpenter's shop and, after lightingthe gas, they arranged the tressels and then brought in the coffin andplaced it upon them. Then they locked the door and placed the key inits usual hiding-place, but the key of the outer gate they took withthem and dropped into the letter-box at the office, which they had topass on their way home. 

As they turned away from the door, they were suddenly confronted by apoliceman who flashed his lantern in their faces and demanded to knowwhy they had tried the lock. .. 

The next morning was a very busy one for Hunter, who had to see severalnew jobs commenced. They were all small affairs. Most of them wouldonly take two or three days from start to finish. 

Attending to this work occupied most of his morning, but all the samehe managed to do the necessary business connected with the funeral, which he arranged to take place at two o'clock on Wednesday afternoonfrom the mortuary, where the coffin had been removed during the day, Hunter deciding that it would not look well to have the funeral startfrom the workshop. 

Although Hunter had kept it as quiet as possible, there was a smallcrowd, including several old workmates of Philpot's who happened to beout of work, waiting outside the mortuary to see the funeral start, andamongst them were Bill Bates and the Semi-drunk, who were both sober. Barrington and Owen were also there, having left work for the day inorder to go to the funeral. They were there too in a sense as therepresentatives of the other workmen, for Barrington carried a largewreath which had been subscribed for voluntarily by Rushton's men. They could not all afford to lose the time to attend the funeral, although most of them would have liked to pay that tribute of regard totheir old mate, so they had done this as the next best thing. Attachedto the wreath was a strip of white satin ribbon, upon which Owen hadpainted a suitable inscription. 

Promptly at two o'clock the hearse and the mourning coach drove up withHunter and the four bearers--Crass, Slyme, Payne and Sawkins, alldressed in black with frock coats and silk hats. Although they werenominally attired in the same way, there was a remarkable dissimilarityin their appearance. Crass's coat was of smooth, intensely blackcloth, having been recently dyed, and his hat was rather low in thecrown, being of that shape that curved outwards towards the top. Hunter's coat was a kind of serge with a rather rusty cast of colourand his hat was very tall and straight, slightly narrower at the crownthan at the brim. As for the others, each of them had a hat of adifferent fashion and date, and their 'black' clothes ranged from rustybrown to dark blue. 

These differences were due to the fact that most of the garments hadbeen purchased at different times from different second-hand clothesshops, and never being used except on such occasions as the present, they lasted for an indefinite time. 

When the coffin was brought out and placed in the hearse, Hunter laidupon it the wreath that Barrington gave him, together with the anotherhe had brought himself, which had a similar ribbon with the words:'From Rushton & Co. With deep sympathy. '

Seeing that Barrington and Owen were the only occupants of thecarriage, Bill Bates and the Semi-drunk came up to the door and askedif there was any objection to their coming and as neither Owen norBarrington objected, they did not think it necessary to ask anyoneelse's permission, so they got in. 

Meanwhile, Hunter had taken his position a few yards in front of thehearse and the bearers each his proper position, two on each side. Asthe procession turned into the main road, they saw Snatchum standing atthe corner looking very gloomy. Hunter kept his eyes fixed straightahead and affected not to see him, but Crass could not resist thetemptation to indulge in a jeering smile, which so enraged Snatchumthat he shouted out:

'It don't matter! I shan't lose much! I can use it for someone else!'

The distance to the cemetery was about three miles, so as soon as theygot out of the busy streets of the town, Hunter called a halt, and gotup on the hearse beside the driver, Crass sat on the other side, andtwo of the other bearers stood in the space behind the driver's seat, the fourth getting up beside the driver of the coach; and then theyproceeded at a rapid pace. 

As they drew near to the cemetery they slowed down, and finally stoppedwhen about fifty yards from the gate. Then Hunter and the bearersresumed their former position, mid they passed through the open gateand up to the door of the church, where they were received by theclerk--a man in a rusty black cassock, who stood by while they carriedthe coffin in and placed it on a kind of elevated table which revolvedon a pivot. They brought it in footfirst, and as soon as they hadplaced it upon the table, the clerk swung it round so as to bring thefoot of the coffin towards the door ready to be carried out again. 

There was a special pew set apart for the undertakers, and in thisHunter and the bearers took their seats to await the arrival of theclergyman. Barrington and the three others sat on the opposite side. There was no altar or pulpit in this church, but a kind of reading deskstood on a slightly raised platform at the other end of the aisle. 

After a wait of about ten minutes, the clergyman entered and, at onceproceeding to the desk, began to recite in a rapid and whollyunintelligible manner the usual office. If it had not been for thefact that each of his hearers had a copy of the words--for there was alittle book in each pew--none of them would have been able to gatherthe sense of what the man was gabbling. Under any other circumstances, the spectacle of a human being mouthing in this absurd way would havecompelled laughter, and so would the suggestion that this individualreally believed that he was addressing the Supreme Being. His attitudeand manner were contemptuously indifferent. While he recited, intoned, or gabbled, the words of the office, he was reading the certificate andsome other paper the clerk had placed upon the desk, and when he hadfinished reading these, his gaze wandered abstractedly round thechapel, resting for a long time with an expression of curiosity uponBill Bates and the Semi-drunk, who were doing their best to follow intheir books the words he was repeating. He next turned his attention tohis fingers, holding his hand away from him nearly at arm's length andcritically examining the nails. 

From time to time as this miserable mockery proceeded the clerk in therusty black cassock mechanically droned out a sonorous 'Ah-men', andafter the conclusion of the lesson the clergyman went out of thechurch, taking a short cut through the grave-stones and monuments, while the bearers again shouldered the coffin and followed the clerk tothe grave. When they arrived within a few yards of their destination, they were rejoined by the clergyman, who was waiting for them at thecorner of one of the paths. He put himself at the head of theprocession with an open book in his hand, and as they walked slowlyalong, he resumed his reading or repetition of the words of the service. 

He had on an old black cassock and a much soiled and slightly tornsurplice. The unseemly appearance of this dirty garment was heightenedby the circumstance that he had not taken the trouble to adjust itproperly. It hung all lop-sided, showing about six inches more of theblack cassock underneath one side than the other. However, perhaps itis not right to criticize this person's appearance so severely, becausethe poor fellow was paid only seven-and-six for each burial, and asthis was only the fourth funeral he had officiated at that day, probably he could not afford to wear clean linen--at any rate, not forthe funerals of the lower classes. 

He continued his unintelligible jargon while they were lowering thecoffin into the grave, and those who happened to know the words of theoffice by heart were, with some difficulty, able to understand what hewas saying:

'Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of His great mercy to takeunto Himself the soul of our Dear Brother here departed, we thereforecommit his body to the ground; earth to earth; ashes to ashes, dust todust--'

The earth fell from the clerk's hand and rattled on the lid of thecoffin with a mournful sound, and when the clergyman had finishedrepeating the remainder of the service, he turned and walked away inthe direction of the church. Hunter and the rest of the funeral partymade their way back towards the gate of the cemetery where the hearseand the carriage were waiting. 

On their way they saw another funeral procession coming towards them. It was a very plain-looking closed hearse with only one horse. Therewas no undertaker in front and no bearers walked by the sides. 

It was a pauper's funeral. 

Three men, evidently dressed in their Sunday clothes, followed behindthe hearse. As they reached the church door, four old men who weredressed in ordinary everyday clothes, came forward and opening thehearse took out the coffin and carried it into the church, followed bythe other three, who were evidently relatives of the deceased. Thefour old men were paupers--inmates of the workhouse, who were paidsixpence each for acting as bearers. 

They were just taking out the coffin from the hearse as Hunter's partywas passing, and most of the latter paused for a moment and watchedthem carry it into the church. The roughly made coffin was of whitedeal, not painted or covered in any way, and devoid of any fittings orornament with the exception of a square piece of zinc on the lid. Noneof Rushton's party was near enough to recognize any of the mourners orto read what was written on the zinc, but if they had been they wouldhave seen, roughly painted in black letters

 J. L. Aged 67

and some of them would have recognized the three mourners who were JackLinden's sons. 

As for the bearers, they were all retired working men who had come intotheir 'titles'. One of them was old Latham, the venetian blind maker. 

Chapter 48

The Wise men of the East

At the end of the following week there was a terrible slaughter atRushton's. Barrington and all the casual hands were sacked, includingNewman, Easton and Harlow, and there was so little work that it lookedas if everyone else would have to stand off also. The summer waspractically over, so those who were stood off had but a poor chance ofgetting a start anywhere else, because most other firms weredischarging hands as well. 

There was only one other shop in the town that was doing anything atall to speak of, and that was the firm of Dauber and Botchit. Thisfirm had come very much to the front during the summer, and hadcaptured several big jobs that Rushton & Co. Had expected to get, besides taking away several of the latter's old customers. 

This firm took work at almost half the price that Rushton's could do itfor, and they had a foreman whose little finger was thicker thanNimrod's thigh. Some of the men who had worked for both firms duringthe summer, said that after working for Dauber and Botchit, working forRushton seemed like having a holiday. 

'There's one bloke there, ' said Newman, in conversation with Harlow andEaston. 'There's one bloke there wot puts up twenty-five rolls o'paper in a day an' trims and pastes for 'imself; and as for thepainters, nearly everyone of 'em gets over as much work as us three puttogether, and if you're working there you've got to do the same or getthe sack. '

However much truth or falsehood or exaggeration there may have been inthe stories of the sweating and driving that prevailed at Dauber andBotchit's, it was an indisputable fact that the other builders found itvery difficult to compete with them, and between the lot of them whatwork there was to do was all finished or messed up in about a quarterof the time that it would have taken to do it properly. 

By the end of September there were great numbers of men out ofemployment, and the practical persons who controlled the town werealready preparing to enact the usual farce of 'Dealing' with thedistress that was certain to ensue. The Rev. Mr Bosher talked ofreopening the Labour Yard; the secretary of the OBS appealed for moremoney and cast-off clothing and boots--the funds of the Society hadbeen depleted by the payment of his quarter's salary. There wererumours that the Soup Kitchen would be reopened at an early date forthe sale of 'nourishment', and charitable persons began to talk ofRummage Sales and soup tickets. 

Now and then, whenever a 'job' 'came in', a few of Rushton's men wereable to put in a few hours' work, but Barrington never went back. Hismanner of life was the subject of much speculation on the part of hisformer workmates, who were not a little puzzled by the fact that he wasmuch better dressed than they had ever known him to be before, and thathe was never without money. He generally had a tanner or a bob tolend, and was always ready to stand a drink, to say nothing of what itmust have cost him for the quantities of Socialist pamphlets andleaflets that he gave away broadcast. He lodged over at Windley, buthe used to take his meals at a little coffee tavern down town, where heused often to invite one or two of his old mates to take dinner withhim. It sometimes happened that one of them would invite him home ofan evening, to drink a cup of tea, or to see some curiosity that theother thought would interest him, and on these occasions--if there wereany children in the house to which they were going--Barrington usuallymade a point of going into a shop on their way, and buying a bag ofcakes or fruit for them. 

All sorts of theories were put forward to account for his apparentaffluence. Some said he was a toff in disguise; others that he hadrich relations who were ashamed of him because he was a Socialist, andwho allowed him so much a week so long as he kept away from them anddid not use his real name. Some of the Liberals said that he was inthe pay of the Tories, who were seeking by underhand methods to splitup the Progressive Liberal Party. Just about that time severalburglaries took place in the town, the thieves getting clear away withthe plunder, and this circumstance led to a dark rumour that Barringtonwas the culprit, and that it was these ill-gotten gains that he wasspending so freely. 

About the middle of October an event happened that drew the town into astate of wild excitement, and such comparatively unimportant subjectsas unemployment and starvation were almost forgotten. 

Sir Graball D'Encloseland had been promoted to yet a higher post in theservice of the country that he owned such a large part of; he was notonly to have a higher and more honourable position, but also--as wasnothing but right--a higher salary. His pay was to be increased toseven thousand five hundred a year or one hundred and fifty pounds perweek, and in consequence of this promotion it was necessary for him toresign his seat and seek re-election. 

The ragged-trousered Tory workmen as they loitered about the streets, their stomachs empty, said to each other that it was a great honour forMugsborough that their Member should be promoted in this way. Theyboasted about it and assumed as much swagger in their gait as theirbroken boots permitted. 

They stuck election cards bearing Sir Graball's photograph in theirwindows and tied bits of blue and yellow ribbon--Sir Graball'scolours--on their underfed children. 

The Liberals were furious. They said that an election had been sprungon them--they had been taken a mean advantage of--they had no candidateready. 

They had no complaint to make about the salary, all they complained ofwas the short notice. It wasn't fair because while they--the leadingLiberals--had been treating the electors with the contemptuousindifference that is customary, Sir Graball D'Encloseland had been mostactive amongst his constituents for months past, cunningly preparingfor the contest. He had really been electioneering for the past sixmonths! Last winter he had kicked off at quite a number of footballmatches besides doing all sorts of things for the local teams. He hadjoined the Buffalos and the Druids, been elected President of the Skulland Crossbones Boys' Society, and, although he was not himself anabstainer, he was so friendly to Temperance that he had on severaloccasions, taken the chair at teetotal meetings, to say nothing of theteas to the poor school children and things of that sort. In short, hehad been quite an active politician, in the Tory sense of the word, formonths past and the poor Liberals had not smelt a rat until theelection was sprung upon them. 

A hurried meeting of the Liberal Three Hundred was held, and adeputation sent to London to find a candidate but as there was only aweek before polling day they were unsuccessful in their mission. Another meeting was held, presided over by Mr Adam Sweater--Rushton andDidlum also being present. 

Profound dejection was depicted on the countenances of those assembledslave-drivers as they listened to the delegates' report. The sombresilence that followed was broken at length by Mr Rushton, who suddenlystarted up and said that he began to think they had made a mistake ingoing outside the constituency at all to look for a man. It wasstrange but true that a prophet never received honour in his own land. They had been wasting the precious time running about all over thecountry, begging and praying for a candidate, and overlooking the factthat they had in their midst a gentleman--a fellow townsman, who, hebelieved, would have a better chance of success than any stranger. Surely they would all agree--if they could only prevail upon him tostand--that Adam Sweater would be an ideal Liberal Candidate!

While Mr Rushton was speaking the drooping spirits of the Three Hundredwere reviving, and at the name of Sweater they all began to clap theirhands and stamp their feet. Loud shouts of enthusiastic approval burstforth, and cries of 'Good old Sweater' resounded through the room. 

When Sweater rose to reply, the tumult died away as suddenly as it hadcommenced. He thanked them for the honour they were conferring uponhim. There was no time to waste in words or idle compliments; ratherthan allow the Enemy to have a walk-over, he would accede to theirrequest and contest the seat. 

A roar of applause burst from the throats of the delighted ThreeHundred. 

Outside the hail in which the meeting was being held a large crowd ofpoverty-stricken Liberal working men, many of them wearing broken bootsand other men's cast-off clothing, was waiting to hear the report ofthe slave-drivers' deputation, and as soon as Sweater had consented tobe nominated, Didlum rushed and opened the window overlooking thestreet and shouted the good news down to the crowd, which joined in thecheering. In response to their demands for a speech, Sweater broughthis, obese carcass to the window and addressed a few words to them, reminding them of the shortness of the time at their disposal, andintreating them to work hard in order that the Grand old Flag might becarried to victory. 

At such times these people forgot all about unemployment andstarvation, and became enthusiastic about 'Grand old Flags'. Theirdevotion to this flag was so great that so long as they were able tocarry it to victory, they did not mind being poverty stricken andhungry and ragged; all that mattered was to score off their hated'enemies' their fellow countrymen the Tories, and carry the grand oldflag to victory. The fact that they had carried the flag to victory sooften in the past without obtaining any of the spoils, did not seem todamp their ardour in the least. Being philanthropists, they werecontent--after winning the victory--that their masters should always dothe looting. 

At the conclusion of Sweater's remarks the philanthropists gave threefrantic cheers and then someone in the crowd shouted 'What's thecolour?' After a hasty consultation with Rushton, who being a 'master'decorator, was thought to be an authority on colours--green--grassgreen--was decided upon, and the information was shouted down to thecrowd, who cheered again. Then a rush was made to Sweater's Emporiumand several yards of cheap green ribbon were bought, and divided upinto little pieces, which they tied into their buttonholes, and thusappropriately decorated, formed themselves into military order, fourdeep, and marched through all the principal streets, up and down theGrand Parade, round and round the Fountain, and finally over the hillto Windley, singing to the tune of 'Tramp, tramp, tramp, the Boys aremarching':

 'Vote, Vote, Vote for Adam Sweater! Hang old Closeland on a tree! Adam Sweater is our man, And we'll have him if we can, Then we'll always have the biggest loaf for tea. '

The spectacle presented by these men--some of them with grey heads andbeards--as they marked time or tramped along singing this childishtwaddle, would have been amusing if it had not been disgusting. 

By way of variety they sang several other things, including:

 'We'll hang ole Closeland On a sour apple tree, '

and

 'Rally, Rally, men of Windley For Sweater's sure to win. '

As they passed the big church in Quality Street, the clock began tostrike. It was one of those that strike four chimes at each quarter ofthe hour. It was now ten o'clock so there were sixteen musical chimes:

 Ding, dong! Ding Dong! Ding dong! Ding dong! Ding dong! Ding dong! Ding dong! Ding dong!

They all chanted A-dam Sweat-er' in time with the striking clock. Inthe same way the Tories would chant:

 'Grab--all Close--land! Grab--all Close--land! Grab--all Close--land! Grab--all Close--land!'

The town was soon deluged with mendacious literature and smothered withhuge posters:

 'Vote for Adam Sweater! The Working-man's Friend!' 'Vote for Sweater and Temperance Reform. ' 'Vote for Sweater--Free Trade and Cheap Food. '

 or

 'Vote for D'Encloseland: Tariff Reform and Plenty of Work!'

This beautiful idea--'Plenty of Work'--appealed strongly to the Toryworkmen. They seemed to regard themselves and their children as a sortof machines or beasts of burden, created for the purpose of working forthe benefit of other people. They did not think it right that theyshould Live, and enjoy the benefits of civilization. All they desiredfor themselves and their children was 'Plenty of Work'. 

They marched about the streets singing their Marseillaise, 'Work, Boys, Work and be contented', to the tune of 'Tramp, tramp, tramp the Boysare marching', and at intervals as they tramped along, they gave threecheers for Sir Graball, Tariff Reform, and--Plenty of Work. 

Both sides imported gangs of hired orators who held forth every nightat the corners of the principal streets, and on the open spaces fromportable platforms, and from motor cars and lorries. The Tories saidthat the Liberal Party in the House of Commons was composed principallyof scoundrels and fools, the Liberals said that the Tory Party werefools and scoundrels. A host of richly dressed canvassers descendedupon Windley in carriages and motor cars, and begged for votes from thepoverty-stricken working men who lived there. 

One evening a Liberal demonstration was held at the Cross Roads onWindley Hill. Notwithstanding the cold weather, there was a greatcrowd of shabbily dressed people, many of whom had not had a reallygood meal for months. It was a clear night. The moon was at the full, and the scene was further illuminated by the fitful glare of severaltorches, stuck on the end of twelve-foot poles. The platform was alarge lorry, and there were several speakers, including Adam Sweaterhimself and a real live Liberal Peer--Lord Ammenegg. This individualhad made a considerable fortune in the grocery and provision line, andhad been elevated to the Peerage by the last Liberal Government onaccount of his services to the Party, and in consideration of otherconsiderations. 

Both Sweater and Ammenegg were to speak at two other meetings thatnight and were not expected at Windley until about eight-thirty, so tokeep the ball rolling till they arrived, several other gentlemen, including Rushton--who presided--and Didlum, and one of the five poundsa week orators, addressed the meeting. Mingled with the crowd wereabout twenty rough-looking men--strangers to the town--who wore hugegreen rosettes and loudly applauded the speakers. They alsodistributed Sweater literature and cards with lists of the differentmeetings that were to be held during the election. These men werebullies hired by Sweater's agent. They came from the neighbourhood ofSeven Dials in London and were paid ten shillings a day. One of theirduties was to incite the crowd to bash anyone who disturbed themeetings or tried to put awkward questions to the speakers. 

The hired orator was a tall, slight man with dark hair, beard andmoustache, he might have been called well-looking if it had not beenfor a ugly scar upon his forehead, which gave him a rather sinisterappearance. He was an effective speaker; the audience punctuated hisspeech with cheers, and when he wound up with an earnest appeal tothem--as working men--to vote for Adam Sweater, their enthusiasm knewno bounds. 

'I've seen him somewhere before, ' remarked Barrington, who was standingin the crowd with Harlow, Owen and Easton. 

'So have I, ' said Owen, with a puzzled expression. 'But for the lifeof me, I can't remember where. '

Harlow and Easton also thought they had seen the man before, but theirspeculations were put an end to by the roar of cheering that heraldedthe arrival of the motor car, containing Adam Sweater and his friend, Lord Ammenegg. Unfortunately, those who had arranged the meeting hadforgotten to provide a pair of steps, so Sweater found it a matter ofconsiderable difficulty to mount the platform. However, while hisfriends were hoisting and pushing him up, the meeting beguiled the timeby singing:

 'Vote, vote, vote for Adam Sweater. '

After a terrible struggle they succeeded in getting him on to the cart, and while he was recovering his wind, Rushton made a few remarks to thecrowd. Sweater then advanced to the front, but in consequence of thecheering and singing, he was unable to make himself heard for severalminutes. 

When at length he was able to proceed, ho made a very clever speech--ithad been specially written for him and had cost ten guineas. A largepart of it consisted of warnings against the dangers of Socialism. Sweater had carefully rehearsed this speech and he delivered it veryeffectively. Some of those Socialists, he said, were well-meaning butmistaken people, who did not realize the harm that would result iftheir extraordinary ideas were ever put into practice. He lowered hisvoice to a blood-curdling stage whisper as he asked:

'What is this Socialism that we hear so much about, but which so fewunderstand? What is it, and what does it mean?'

Then, raising his voice till it rang through the air and fell upon theears of the assembled multitude like the clanging of a funeral bell, hecontinued:

'It is madness! Chaos! Anarchy! It means Ruin! Black Ruin for therich, and consequently, of course, Blacker Ruin still for the poor!'

As Sweater paused, a thrill of horror ran through the meeting. Menwearing broken boots and with patches upon the seats and knees, andragged fringes round the bottoms of the legs of their trousers, grewpale, and glanced apprehensively at each other. If ever Socialism didcome to pass, they evidently thought it very probable that they wouldhave to walk about in a sort of prehistoric highland costume, withoutany trousers or boots at all. 

Toil-worn women, most of them dressed in other women's shabby cast-offclothing--weary, tired-looking mothers who fed their children for themost part on adulterated tea, tinned skimmed milk and bread andmargarine, grew furious as they thought of the wicked Socialists whowere trying to bring Ruin upon them. 

It never occurred to any of these poor people that they were in acondition of Ruin, Black Ruin, already. But if Sweater had suddenlyfound himself reduced to the same social condition as the majority ofthose he addressed, there is not much doubt that he would have thoughtthat he was in a condition of Black Ruin. 

The awful silence that had fallen on the panic-stricken crowd, waspresently broken by a ragged-trousered Philanthropist, who shouted out:

'We knows wot they are, sir. Most of 'em is chaps wot's got tired ofworkin' for their livin', so they wants us to keep 'em. '

Encouraged by numerous expressions of approval from the otherPhilanthropists, the man continued:

'But we ain't such fools as they thinks, and so they'll find out nextMonday. Most of 'em wants 'angin', and I wouldn't mind lendin' a 'andwith the rope myself. '

Applause and laughter greeted these noble sentiments, and Sweaterresumed his address, when another man--evidently a Socialist--for hewas accompanied by three or four others who like himself wore redties--interrupted and said that he would like to ask him a question. No notice was taken of this request either by Mr Sweater or thechairman, but a few angry cries of 'Order!' came from the crowd. Sweater continued, but the man again interrupted and the cries of thecrowd became more threatening. Rushton started up and said that hecould not allow the speaker to be interrupted, but if the gentlemanwould wait till the end of the meeting, he would have an opportunity ofasking his question then. 

The man said he would wait as desired; Sweater resumed his oration, andpresently the interrupter and his friends found themselves surroundedby the gang of hired bullies who wore the big rosettes and who glaredmenacingly at them. 

Sweater concluded his speech with an appeal to the crowd to deal a'Slashing Bow at the Enemy' next Monday, and then amid a storm ofapplause, Lord Ammenegg stepped to the front. He said that he did notintend to inflict a long speech upon them that evening, and as it wasnomination day tomorrow he would not be able to have the honour ofaddressing them again during the election; but even if he had wished tomake a long speech, it would be very difficult after the brilliant andeloquent address they had just listened to from Mr Sweater, for itseemed to him (Ammenegg) that Adam Sweater had left nothing for anyoneelse to say. But he would like to tell them of a Thought that hadoccurred to him that evening. They read in the Bible that the Wise Mencame from the East. Windley, as they all knew, was the East end of thetown. They were the men of the East, and he was sure that next Mondaythey would prove that they were the Wise Men of the East, by voting forAdam Sweater and putting him at the top of the poll with a 'ThumpingMajority'. 

The Wise Men of the East greeted Ammenegg's remarks with prolonged, imbecile cheers, and amid the tumult his Lordship and Sweater got intothe motor car and cleared off without giving the man with the red tieor anyone else who desired to ask questions any opportunity of doingso. Rushton and the other leaders got into another motor car, andfollowed the first to take part in another meeting down-town, which wasto be addressed by the great Sir Featherstone Blood. 

The crowd now resolved itself into military order, headed by the menwith torches and a large white banner on which was written in hugeblack letters, 'Our man is Adam Sweater'. 

They marched down the hill singing, and when they reached the Fountainon the Grand Parade they saw another crowd holding a meeting there. These were Tories and they became so infuriated at the sound of theLiberal songs and by the sight of the banner, that they abandoned theirmeeting and charged the processionists. A free fight ensued. Bothsides fought like savages, but as the Liberals were outnumbered byabout three to one, they were driven off the field with greatslaughter; most of the torch poles were taken from them, and the bannerwas torn to ribbons. Then the Tories went back to the Fountaincarrying the captured torches, and singing to the tune of 'Has anyoneseen a German Band?'

 'Has anyone seen a Lib'ral Flag, Lib'ral Flag, Lib'ral Flag?'

While the Tories resumed their meeting at the Fountain, the Liberalsrallied in one of the back streets. Messengers were sent in variousdirections for reinforcements, and about half an hour afterwards theyemerged from their retreat and swooped down upon the Tory meeting. Theyoverturned the platform, recaptured their torches, tore the enemy'sbanner to tatters and drove them from their position. Then theLiberals in their turn paraded the streets singing 'Has anyone seen aTory Flag?' and proceeded to the hall where Sir Featherstone wasspeaking, arriving as the audience left. 

The crowd that came pouring out of the hall was worked up to a frenzyof enthusiasm, for the speech they had just listened to had been a sortof manifesto to the country. 

In response to the cheering of the processionists--who, of course, hadnot heard the speech, but were cheering from force of habit--SirFeatherstone Blood stood up in the carriage and addressed the crowd, briefly outlining the great measures of Social Reform that his partyproposed to enact to improve the condition of the working classes; andas they listened, the Wise Men grew delirious with enthusiasm. Hereferred to Land Taxes and Death Duties which would provide money tobuild battleships to protect the property of the rich, and provide Workfor the poor. Another tax was to provide a nice, smooth road for therich to ride upon in motor cars--and to provide Work for the poor. Another tax would be used for Development, which would also make Workfor the poor. And so on. A great point was made of the fact that therich were actually to be made to pay something towards the cost oftheir road themselves! But nothing was said about how they would getthe money to do it. No reference was made to how the workers would besweated and driven and starved to earn Dividends and Rent and Interestand Profits to put into the pockets of the rich before the latter wouldbe able to pay for anything at all. 

These are the things, Gentlemen, that we propose to do for you, and, atthe rate of progress which we propose to adopt, I say without fear orcontradiction, that within the next Five Hundred years we shall soreform social conditions in this country, that the working classes willbe able to enjoy some of the benefits of civilization. 

'The only question before you is: Are you willing to wait for FiveHundred Years?'

'Yes, sir, ' shouted the Wise Men with enthusiasm at the gloriousprospect. 

'Yes, Sir: we'll wait a thousand years if you like, Sir!'

'I've been waiting all my life, ' said one poor old veteran, who hadassisted to 'carry the "Old Flag" to victory' times out of number inthe past and who for his share of the spoils of those victories was nowin a condition of abject, miserable poverty, with the portals of theworkhouse yawning open to receive him; 'I've waited all my life, hopingand trusting for better conditions so a few more years won't make muchdifference to me. '

'Don't you trouble to 'urry yourself, Sir, ' shouted another Solomon inthe crowd. 'We don't mind waiting. Take your own time, Sir. You knowbetter than the likes of us 'ow long it ought to take. '

In conclusion, the great man warned them against being led away by theSocialists, those foolish, unreasonable, impractical people who wantedto see an immediate improvement in their condition; and he remindedthem that Rome was not built in a day. 

The Wise Men applauded lustily. It did not appear to occur to any ofthem that the rate at which the ancient Roman conducted their buildingoperations had nothing whatever to do with the case. 

Sir Featherstone Blood sat down amid a wild storm of cheering, and thenthe procession reformed, and, reinforced by the audience from the hall, they proceeded to march about the dreary streets, singing, to the tuneof the 'Men of Harlech':

 'Vote for Sweater, Vote for Sweater! Vote for Sweater, VOTE FOR SWEATER! 'He's the Man, who has a plan, To liberate and reinstate the workers! 'Men of Mugs'bro', show your mettle, Let them see that you're in fettle! Once for all this question settle Sweater shall Prevail!'

The carriage containing Sir Featherstone, Adam Sweater, and Rushton andDidlum was in the middle of the procession. The banner and the torcheswere at the head, and the grandeur of the scene was heightened by fourmen who walked--two on each side of the carriage, burning green fire infrying pans. As they passed by the Slave Market, a poor, shabbilydressed wretch whose boots were so worn and rotten that they werealmost falling off his feet, climbed up a lamp-post, and taking off hiscap waved it in the air and shrieked out: 'Three Cheers for SirFeatherstone Blood, our future Prime Minister!'

The Philanthropists cheered themselves hoarse and finally took thehorses out of the traces and harnessed themselves to the carriageinstead. 

''Ow much wages will Sir Featherstone get if 'e is made PrimeMinister?' asked Harlow of another Philanthropist who was also pushingup behind the carriage. 

'Five thousand a year, ' replied the other, who by some strange chancehappened to know. 'That comes to a 'underd pounds a week. '

'Little enough, too, for a man like 'im, ' said Harlow. 

'You're right, mate, ' said the other, with deep sympathy in his voice. 'Last time 'e 'eld office 'e was only in for five years, so 'e onlymade twenty-five thousand pounds out of it. Of course 'e got a pensionas well--two thousand a year for life, I think it is; but after all, what's that--for a man like 'im?'

'Nothing, ' replied Harlow, in a tone of commiseration, and Newman, whowas also there, helping to drag the carriage, said that it ought to beat least double that amount. 

However, they found some consolation in knowing that Sir Featherstonewould not have to wait till he was seventy before he obtained hispension; he would get it directly he came out of office. 

The following evening Barrington, Owen and a few others of the same wayof thinking, who had subscribed enough money between them to purchase alot of Socialist leaflets, employed themselves distributing them to thecrowds at the Liberal and Tory meetings, and whilst they were doingthis they frequently became involved in arguments with the supportersof the capitalist system. In their attempts to persuade others torefrain from voting for either of the candidates, they were opposedeven by some who professed to believe in Socialism, who said that asthere was no better Socialist candidate the thing to do was to vote forthe better of the two. This was the view of Harlow and Easton, whomthey met. Harlow had a green ribbon in his buttonhole, but Easton woreD'Encloseland's colours. 

One man said that if he had his way, all those who had votes should becompelled to record them--whether they liked it or not--or bedisenfranchised! Barrington asked him if he believed in Tarrif Reform. The man said no. 

'Why not?' demanded Barrington. 

The other replied that he opposed Tariff Reform because he believed itwould ruin the country. Barrington inquired if he were a supporter ofSocialism. The man said he was not, and when further questioned hesaid that he believed if it were ever adopted it would bring black ruinupon the country--he believed this because Mr Sweater had said so. WhenBarrington asked him--supposing there were only two candidates, one aSocialist and the other a Tariff Reformer--how would he like to becompelled to vote for one of them, he was at a loss for an answer. 

During the next few days the contest continued. The hired oratorscontinued to pour forth their streams of eloquence; and tons ofliterature flooded the town. The walls were covered with huge posters:'Another Liberal Lie. ' 'Another Tory Fraud. '

Unconsciously each of these two parties put in some splendid work forSocialism, in so much that each of them thoroughly exposed thehypocrisy of the other. If the people had only had the sense, theymight have seen that the quarrel between the Liberal and Tory leaderswas merely a quarrel between thieves over the spoil; but unfortunatelymost of the people had not the sense to perceive this. They wereblinded by bigoted devotion to their parties, and--inflamed withmaniacal enthusiasm--thought of nothing but 'carrying their flags tovictory'. 

At considerable danger to themselves, Barrington, Owen and the otherSocialists continued to distribute their leaflets and to heckle theLiberal and Tory speakers. They asked the Tories to explain theprevalence of unemployment and poverty in protected countries, likeGermany and America, and at Sweater's meetings they requested to beinformed what was the Liberal remedy for unemployment. From bothparties the Socialists obtained the same kinds of answer--threats ofviolence and requests 'not to disturb the meeting'. 

These Socialists held quite a lot of informal meetings on their own. Every now and then when they were giving their leaflets away, someunwary supporter of the capitalist system would start an argument, andsoon a crowd would gather round and listen. 

Sometimes the Socialists succeeded in arguing their opponents to anabsolute standstill, for the Liberals and Tones found it impossible todeny that machinery is the cause of the overcrowded state of the labourmarket; that the overcrowded labour market is the cause ofunemployment; that the fact of there being always an army of unemployedwaiting to take other men's jobs away from them destroys theindependence of those who are in employment and keeps them insubjection to their masters. They found it impossible to deny thatthis machinery is being used, not for the benefit of all, but to makefortunes for a few. In short, they were unable to disprove that themonopoly of the land and machinery by a comparatively few persons, isthe cause of the poverty of the majority. But when these argumentsthat they were unable to answer were put before them and when it waspointed out that the only possible remedy was the Public Ownership andManagement of the Means of production, they remained angrily silent, having no alternative plan to suggest. 

At other times the meeting resolved itself into a number of quarrelsomedisputes between the Liberals and Tories that formed the crowd, whichsplit itself up into a lot of little groups and whatever the originalsubject might have been they soon drifted to a hundred other things, for most of the supporters of the present system seemed incapable ofpursuing any one subject to its logical conclusion. A discussion wouldbe started about something or other; presently an unimportant sideissue would crop up, then the original subject would be leftunfinished, and they would argue and shout about the side issue. In alittle while another side issue would arise, and then the first sideissue would be abandoned also unfinished, and an angry wrangle aboutthe second issue would ensue, the original subject being altogetherforgotten. 

They did not seem to really desire to discover the truth or to find outthe best way to bring about an improvement in their condition, theironly object seemed to be to score off their opponents. 

Usually after one of these arguments, Owen would wander off by himself, with his head throbbing and a feeling of unutterable depression andmisery at his heart; weighed down by a growing conviction of thehopelessness of everything, of the folly of expecting that his fellowworkmen would ever be willing to try to understand for themselves thecauses that produced their sufferings. It was not that those causeswere so obscure that it required exceptional intelligence to perceivethem; the causes of all the misery were so apparent that a little childcould easily be made to understand both the disease and the remedy; butit seemed to him that the majority of his fellow workmen had become soconvinced of their own intellectual inferiority that they did not dareto rely on their own intelligence to guide them, preferring to resignthe management of their affairs unreservedly into the hands of thosewho battened upon and robbed them. They did not know the causes of thepoverty that perpetually held them and their children in its cruelgrip, and--they did not want to know! And if one explained thosecauses to them in such language and in such a manner that they werealmost compelled to understand, and afterwards pointed out to them theobvious remedy, they were neither glad nor responsive, but remainedsilent and were angry because they found themselves unable to answerand disprove. 

They remained silent; afraid to trust their own intelligence, and thereason of this attitude was that they had to choose between theevidence and their own intelligence, and the stories told them by theirmasters and exploiters. And when it came to making this choice theydeemed it safer to follow their old guides, than to rely on their ownjudgement, because from their very infancy they had had drilled intothem the doctrine of their own mental and social inferiority, and theirconviction of the truth of this doctrine was voiced in the degradedexpression that fell so frequently from their lips, when speaking ofthemselves and each other--'The Likes of Us!'

They did not know the causes of their poverty, they did not want toknow, they did not want to hear. 

All they desired was to be left alone so that they might continue toworship and follow those who took advantage of their simplicity, androbbed them of the fruits of their toil; their old leaders, the foolsor scoundrels who fed them with words, who had led them into thedesolation where they now seemed to be content to grind out treasurefor their masters, and to starve when those masters did not find itprofitable to employ them. It was as if a flock of foolish sheepplaced themselves under the protection of a pack of ravening wolves. 

Several times the small band of Socialists narrowly escaped beingmobbed, but they succeeded in disposing of most of their leafletswithout any serious trouble. Towards the latter part of one eveningBarrington and Owen became separated from the others, and shortlyafterwards these two lost each other in the crush. 

About nine o'clock, Barrington was in a large Liberal crowd, listeningto the same hired orator who had spoken a few evenings before on thehill--the man with the scar on his forehead. The crowd was applaudinghim loudly and Barrington again fell to wondering where he had seenthis man before. As on the previous occasion, this speaker made noreference to Socialism, confining himself to other matters. Barringtonexamined him closely, trying to recall under what circumstances theyhad met previously, and presently he remembered that this was one ofthe Socialists who had come with the band of cyclists into the townthat Sunday morning, away back at the beginning of the summer, the manwho had come afterwards with the van, and who had been struck down by astone while attempting to speak from the platform of the van, the manwho had been nearly killed by the upholders of the capitalist system. It was the same man! The Socialist had been clean-shaven--this manwore beard and moustache--but Barrington was certain he was the same. 

When the man had concluded his speech he got down and stood in theshade behind the platform, while someone else addressed the meeting, and Barrington went round to where he was standing, intending to speakto him. 

All around them, pandemonium reigned supreme. They were in thevicinity of the Slave Market, near the Fountain, on the Grand Parade, where several roads met; there was a meeting going on at every corner, and a number of others in different, parts of the roadway and on thepavement of the Parade. Some of these meetings were being carried on bytwo or three men, who spoke in turn from small, portable platforms theycarried with them, and placed wherever they thought there was a chanceof getting an audience. 

Every now and then some of these poor wretches--they were all paidspeakers--were surrounded and savagely mauled and beaten by a hostilecrowd. If they were Tariff Reformers the Liberals mobbed them, andvice versa. Lines of rowdies swaggered to and fro, arm in arm, singing, 'Vote, Vote, Vote, for good ole Closeland' or 'good oleSweater', according as they were green or blue and yellow. Gangs ofhooligans paraded up and down, armed with sticks, singing, howling, cursing and looking for someone to hit. Others stood in groups on thepavement with their hands thrust in their pockets, or leaned againstwalls or the shutters of the shops with expressions of ecstaticimbecility on their faces, chanting the mournful dirge to the tune ofthe church chimes, 'Good--ole--Sweat--er Good--ole--Sweat--er Good--ole--Sweat--er Good--ole--Sweat--er. '

Other groups--to the same tune--sang 'Good--ole--Close--land'; andevery now and again they used to leave off singing and begin to beateach other. Fights used to take place, often between workmen, aboutthe respective merits of Adam Sweater and Sir Graball D'Encloseland. 

The walls were covered with huge Liberal and Tory posters, which showedin every line the contempt of those who published them for theintelligence of the working men to whom they were addressed. There wasone Tory poster that represented the interior of a public house; infront of the bar, with a quart pot in his hand, a clay pipe in hismouth, and a load of tools on his back, stood a degraded-looking brutewho represented the Tory ideal of what an Englishman should be; theletterpress on the poster said it was a man! This is the ideal ofmanhood that they hold up to the majority of their fellow countrymen, but privately--amongst themselves--the Tory aristocrats regard such'men' with far less respect than they do the lower animals. Horses ordogs, for instance. 

The Liberal posters were not quite so offensive. They were morecunning, more specious, more hypocritical and consequently morecalculated to mislead and deceive the more intelligent of the voters. 

When Barrington got round to the back of the platform, he found the manwith the scarred face standing alone and gloomily silent in the shadow. Barrington gave him one of the Socialist leaflets, which he took, andafter glancing at it, put it in his coat pocket without making anyremark. 

'I hope you'll excuse me for asking, but were you not formerly aSocialist?' said Barrington. 

Even in the semi-darkness Barrington saw the other man flush deeply andthen become very pale, and the unsightly scar upon his forehead showedwith ghastly distinctiveness. 

'I am still a Socialist: no man who has once been a Socialist can evercease to be one. '

'You seem to have accomplished that impossibility, to judge by the workyou are at present engaged in. You must have changed your opinionssince you were here last. '

'No one who has been a Socialist can ever cease to be one. It isimpossible for a man who has once acquired knowledge ever to relinquishit. A Socialist is one who understands the causes of the misery anddegradation we see all around us; who knows the only remedy, and knowsthat that remedy--the state of society that will be calledSocialism--must eventually be adopted; is the only alternative to theextermination of the majority of the working people; but it does notfollow that everyone who has sense enough to acquire that amount ofknowledge, must, in addition, be willing to sacrifice himself in orderto help to bring that state of society into being. When I firstacquired that knowledge, ' he continued, bitterly, 'I was eager to tellthe good news to others. I sacrificed my time, my money, and my healthin order that I might teach others what I had learned myself. I did itwillingly and happily, because I thought they would be glad to hear, and that they were worth the sacrifices I made for their sakes. But Iknow better now. '

'Even if you no longer believe in working for Socialism, there's noneed to work AGAINST it. If you are not disposed to sacrifice yourselfin order to do good to others, you might at least refrain from doingevil. If you don't want to help to bring about a better state ofaffairs, there's no reason why you should help to perpetuate thepresent system. '

The other man laughed bitterly. 'Oh yes, there is, and a very goodreason too. '

'I don't think you could show me a reason, ' said Barrington. 

The man with the scar laughed again, the same unpleasant, mirthlesslaugh, and thrusting his hand into his trouser pocket drew it out againfull of silver coins, amongst which one or two gold pieces glittered. 

'That is my reason. When I devoted my life and what abilities Ipossess to the service of my fellow workmen; when I sought to teachthem how to break their chains; when I tried to show them how theymight save their children from poverty and shameful servitude, I didnot want them to give me money. I did it for love. And they paid mewith hatred and injury. But since I have been helping their masters torob them, they have treated me with respect. '

Barrington made no reply and the other man, having returned the moneyto his pocket, indicated the crowd with a sweep of his hand. 

'Look at them!' he continued with a contemptuous laugh. 'Look at them!the people you are trying to make idealists of! Look at them! Some ofthem howling and roaring like wild beasts, or laughing like idiots, others standing with dull and stupid faces devoid of any trace ofintelligence or expression, listening to the speakers whose wordsconvey no meaning to their stultified minds, and others with their eyesgleaming with savage hatred of their fellow men, watching eagerly foran opportunity to provoke a quarrel that they may gratify their brutalnatures by striking someone--their eyes are hungry for the sight ofblood! Can't you see that these people, whom you are trying to makeunderstand your plan for the regeneration of the world, your doctrineof universal brotherhood and love are for the mostpart--intellectually--on level with Hottentots? The only things theyfeel any real interest in are beer, football, betting and--ofcourse--one other subject. Their highest ambition is to be allowed toWork. And they desire nothing better for their children!

'They have never had an independent thought in their lives. These arethe people whom you hope to inspire with lofty ideals! You might justas well try to make a gold brooch out of a lump of dung! Try to reasonwith them, to uplift them, to teach them the way to higher things. Devote your whole life and intelligence to the work of trying to getbetter conditions for them, and you will find that they themselves arethe enemy you will have to fight against. They'll hate you, and, ifthey get the chance, they'll tear you to pieces. But if you're asensible man you'll use whatever talents and intelligence you possessfor your own benefit. Don't think about Socialism or any other "ism". Concentrate your mind on getting money--it doesn't matter how you getit, but--get it. If you can't get it honestly, get it dishonestly, butget it! it is the only thing that counts. Do as I do--rob them!exploit them! and then they'll have some respect for you. '

'There's something in what you say, ' replied Barrington, after a longpause, 'but it's not all. Circumstances make us what we are; andanyhow, the children are worth fighting for. '

'You may think so now, ' said the other, 'but you'll come to see it myway some day. As for the children--if their parents are satisfied tolet them grow up to be half-starved drudges for other people, I don'tsee why you or I need trouble about it. If you like to listen toreason, ' he continued after a pause, 'I can put you on to somethingthat will be worth more to you than all your Socialism. '

'What do you mean?'

'Look here: you're a Socialist; well, I'm a Socialist too: that is, Ihave sense enough to believe that Socialism is practical and inevitableand right; it will come when the majority of the people aresufficiently enlightened to demand it, but that enlightenment willnever be brought about by reasoning or arguing with them, for thesepeople are simply not intellectually capable of abstractreasoning--they can't grasp theories. You know what the late LordSalisbury said about them when somebody proposed to give them some freelibraries: He said: "They don't want libraries: give them a circus. "You see these Liberals and Tories understand the sort of people theyhave to deal with; they know that although their bodies are the bodiesof grown men, their minds are the minds of little children. That iswhy it has been possible to deceive and bluff and rob them for so long. But your party persists in regarding them as rational beings, andthat's where you make a mistake--you're simply wasting your time. 

'The only way in which it is possible to teach these people is by meansof object lessons, and those are being placed before them in increasingnumbers every day. The trustification of industry--the object lessonwhich demonstrates the possibility of collective ownership--will intime compel even these to understand, and by the time they have learntthat, they will also have learned by bitter experience and not fromtheoretical teaching, that they must either own the trusts or perish, and then, and not, till then, they will achieve Socialism. Butmeanwhile we have this election. Do you think it will make any realdifference--for good or evil--which of these two men is elected?'

'No. '

'Well, you can't keep them both out--you have no candidate of yourown--why should you object to earning a few pounds by helping one ofthem to get in? There are plenty of voters who are doubtful whet todo; as you and I know there is every excuse for them being unable tomake up their minds which of these two candidates is the worse, a wordfrom your party would decide them. Since you have no candidate of yourown you will be doing no harm to Socialism and you will be doingyourself a bit of good. If you like to come along with me now, I'llintroduce you to Sweater's agent--no one need know anything about it. '

He slipped his arm through Barrington's, but the latter releasedhimself. 

'Please yourself, ' said the other with an affectation of indifference. 'You know your own business best. You may choose to be a Jesus Christif you like, but for my part I'm finished. For the future I intend tolook after myself. As for these people--they vote for what they want;they get--what they vote for; and by God, they deserve nothing better!They are being beaten with whips of their own choosing and if I had myway they should be chastised with scorpions! For them, the presentsystem means joyless drudgery, semi-starvation, rags and prematuredeath. They vote for it all and uphold it. Well, let them have whatthey vote for--let them drudge--let them starve!'

The man with the scarred face ceased speaking, and for some momentsBarrington did not reply. 

'I suppose there is some excuse for your feeling as you do, ' he saidslowly at last, 'but it seems to me that you do not make enoughallowance for the circumstances. From their infancy most of them havebeen taught by priests and parents to regard themselves and their ownclass with contempt--a sort of lower animals--and to regard those whopossess wealth with veneration, as superior beings. The idea that theyare really human creatures, naturally absolutely the same as theirso-called betters, naturally equal in every way, naturally differentfrom them only in those ways in which their so-called superiors differfrom each other, and inferior to them only because they have beendeprived of education, culture and opportunity--you know as well as Ido that they have all been taught to regard that idea as preposterous. 

'The self-styled "Christian" priests who say--with their tongues intheir cheeks--that God is our Father and that all men are brethren, have succeeded in convincing the majority of the "brethren" that it istheir duty to be content in their degradation, and to order themselveslowly and reverently towards their masters. Your resentment should bedirected against the deceivers, not against the dupes. '

The other man laughed bitterly. 

'Well, go and try to undeceive them, ' he said, as he returned to theplatform in response to a call from his associates. 'Go and try toteach them that the Supreme Being made the earth and all its fullnessfor the use and benefit of all His children. Go and try to explain tothem that they are poor in body and mind and social condition, notbecause of any natural inferiority, but because they have been robbedof their inheritance. Go and try to show them how to secure thatinheritance for themselves and their children--and see how gratefulthey'll be to you. '

For the next hour Barrington walked about the crowded streets in adispirited fashion. His conversation with the renegade seemed to havetaken all the heart out of him. He still had a number of the leaflets, but the task of distributing them had suddenly grown distasteful andafter a while he discontinued it. All his enthusiasm was gone. Likeone awakened from a dream he saw the people who surrounded him in adifferent light. For the first time he properly appreciated theoffensiveness of most of those to whom he offered the handbills; some, without even troubling to ascertain what they were about, rudelyrefused to accept them; some took them and after glancing at theprinting, crushed them in their hands and ostentatiously threw themaway. Others, who recognized him as a Socialist, angrily orcontemptuously declined them, often with curses or injurious words. 

His attention was presently attracted to a crowd of about thirty orforty people, congregated near a gas lamp at the roadside. The soundof many angry voices rose from the centre of this group, and as hestood on the outskirts of the crowd, Barrington, being tall, was ableto look into the centre, where he saw Owen. The light of the streetlamp fell full upon the latter's pale face, as he stood silent in themidst of a ring of infuriated men, who were all howling at him at once, and whose malignant faces bore expressions of savage hatred, as theyshouted out the foolish accusations and slanders they had read in theLiberal and Tory papers. 

Socialists wished to do away with religion and morality! to establishfree love and atheism! All the money that the working classes hadsaved up in the Post Office and the Friendly Societies, was to beRobbed from them and divided up amongst a lot of drunken loafers whowere too lazy to work. The King and all the Royal Family were to beDone Away with! and so on. 

Owen made no attempt to reply, and the manner of the crowd became everymoment more threatening. It was evident that several of them found itdifficult to refrain from attacking him. It was a splendid opportunityof doing a little fighting without running any risks. This fellow wasall by himself, and did not appear to be much of a man even at that. Those in the middle were encouraged by shouts from others in the crowd, who urged them to 'Go for him' and at last--almost at the instant ofBarrington's arrival--one of the heroes, unable to contain himself anylonger, lifted a heavy stick and struck Owen savagely across the face. The sight of the blood maddened the others, and in an instant everyonewho could get within striking distance joined furiously in theonslaught, reaching eagerly over each other's shoulders, showeringblows upon him with sticks and fists, and before Barrington could reachhis side, they had Owen down on the ground, and had begun to use theirboots upon him. 

Barrington felt like a wild beast himself, as he fiercely fought hisway through the crowd, spuming them to right and left with fists andelbows. He reached the centre in time to seize the uplifted arm of theman who had led the attack and wrenching the stick from his hand, hefelled him to the ground with a single blow. The remainder shrankback, and meantime the crowd was augmented by others who came runningup. 

Some of these newcomers were Liberals and some Tories, and as these didnot know what the row was about they attacked each other. The Liberalswent for those who wore Tory colours and vice versa, and in a fewseconds there was a general free fight, though most of the originalcrowd ran away, and in the confusion that ended, Barrington and Owengot out of the crowd without further molestation. 

Monday was the last day of the election--polling day--and inconsequence of the number of motor cars that were flying about, thestreets were hardly safe for ordinary traffic. The wealthy persons whoowned these carriages. .. 

The result of the poll was to be shown on an illuminated sign at theTown Hall, at eleven o'clock that night, and long before that hour avast crowd gathered in the adjacent streets. About ten o'clock itbegan to rain, but the crowd stood its ground and increased in numbersas the time went by. At a quarter to eleven the rain increased to aterrible downpour, but the people remained waiting to know which herohad conquered. Eleven o'clock came and an intense silence fell uponthe crowd, whose eyes were fixed eagerly upon the window where the signwas to be exhibited. To judge by the extraordinary interest displayedby these people, one might have thought that they expected to reap somegreat benefit or to sustain some great loss from the result, but ofcourse that was not the case, for most of them knew perfectly well thatthe result of this election would make no more real difference to themthan all the other elections that had gone before. 

They wondered what the figures would be. There were ten thousandvoters on the register. At a quarter past eleven the sign wasilluminated, but the figures were not yet shown. Next, the names ofthe two candidates were slid into sight, the figures were stillmissing, but D'Encloseland's name was on top, and a hoarse roar oftriumph came from the throats of his admirers. Then the two slideswith the names were withdrawn, and the sign was again left blank. Aftera time the people began to murmur at all this delay and messing about, and presently some of them began to groan and hoot. 

After a few minutes the names were again slid into view, this time withSweater's name on top, and the figures appeared immediately afterwards:

 Sweater . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4, 221 D'Encloseland . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4, 200

It was several seconds before the Liberals could believe their eyes; itwas too good to be true. It is impossible to say what was the reasonof the wild outburst of delighted enthusiasm that followed, butwhatever the reason, whatever the benefit was that they expected toreap--there was the fact. They were all cheering and dancing andshaking hands with each other, and some of them were so overcome withinexplicable joy that they were scarcely able to speak. It wasaltogether extraordinary and unaccountable. 

A few minutes after the declaration, Sweater appeared at the window andmade a sort of a speech, but only fragments of it were audible to thecheering crowd who at intervals caught such phrases as 'Slashing Blow', 'Sweep the Country', 'Grand Old Liberal Flag', and so on. NextD'Encloseland appeared and he was seen to shake hands with Mr Sweater, whom he referred to as 'My friend'. 

When the two 'friends' disappeared from the window, the part of theLiberal crowd that was not engaged in hand-to-hand fights with theirenemies--the Tories--made a rush to the front entrance of the TownHall, where Sweater's carriage was waiting, and as soon as he hadplaced his plump rotundity inside, they took the horses out and amidfrantic cheers harnessed themselves to it instead and dragged itthrough the mud and the pouring rain all the way to 'The Cave'--most ofthem were accustomed to acting as beasts of burden--where he againaddressed a few words to them from the porch. 

Afterwards as they walked home saturated with rain and covered fromhead to foot with mud, they said it was a great victory for the causeof progress!

Truly the wolves have an easy prey. 

Chapter 49

The Undesired

That evening about seven o'clock, whilst Easton was down-town seeingthe last of the election, Ruth's child was born. 

After the doctor was gone, Mary Linden stayed with her during the hoursthat elapsed before Easton came home, and downstairs Elsie andCharley--who were allowed to stay up late to help their mother becauseMrs Easton was ill--crept about very quietly, and conversed in hushedtones as they washed up the tea things and swept the floor and tidiedthe kitchen. 

Easton did not return until after midnight, and all through theintervening hours, Ruth, weak and tired, but unable to sleep, was lyingin bed with the child by her side. Her wide-open eyes appearedunnaturally large and brilliant, in contrast with the almost death-likepaleness of her face, and there was a look of fear in them, as shewaited and listened for the sound of Easton's footsteps. 

Outside, the silence of the night was disturbed by many unusual noises:a far-off roar, as of the breaking of waves on a seashore, arose fromthe direction of the town, where the last scenes of the election werebeing enacted. Every few minutes motor cars rushed past the house at afurious rate, and the air was full of the sounds of distant shouts andsinging. 

Ruth listened and started nervously at every passing footstep. Thosewho can imagine the kind of expression there would be upon the face ofa hunted thief, who, finding himself encompassed and brought to bay byhis pursuers, looks wildly around in a vain search for some way ofescape, may be able to form some conception of the terror-stricken wayin which she listened to every sound that penetrated into the stillnessof the dimly lighted room. And ever and again, when her wanderingglance reverted to the frail atom of humanity nestling by her side, herbrows contracted and her eyes filled with bitter tears, as she weaklyreached out her trembling hand to adjust its coverings, faintlymurmuring, with quivering lips and a bursting heart, some words ofendearment and pity. And then--alarmed by the footsteps of some chancepasserby, or by the closing of the door of a neighbouring house, andfearing that it was the sound she had been waiting for and dreadingthrough all those weary hours, she would turn in terror to Mary Linden, sitting in the chair at the bedside, sewing by the light of the shadedlamp, and take hold of her arm as if seeking protection from someimpending danger. 

It was after twelve o'clock when Easton came home. Ruth recognized hisfootsteps before he reached the house, and her heart seemed to stopbeating when she heard the clang of the gate, as it closed after he hadpassed through. 

It had been Mary's intention to withdraw before he came into the room, but the sick woman clung to her in such evident fear, and entreated herso earnestly not to go away, that she remained. 

It was with a feeling of keen disappointment that Easton noticed howRuth shrank away from him, for he had expected and hoped, that afterthis, they would be good friends once more; but he tried to think thatit was because she was ill, and when she would not let him touch thechild lest he should awaken it, he agreed without question. 

The next day, and for the greater part of the time during the nextfortnight, Ruth was in a raging fever. There were intervals whenalthough weak and exhausted, she was in her right mind, but most of thetime she was quite unconscious of her surroundings and often delirious. Mrs Owen came every day to help to look after her, because Mary justthen had a lot of needlework to do, and consequently could only givepart of her time to Ruth, who, in her delirium, lived and told over andover again all the sorrow and suffering of the last few months. And sothe two friends, watching by her bedside, learned her dreadful secret. 

Sometimes--in her delirium--she seemed possessed of an intense andterrible loathing for the poor little creature she had brought into theworld, and was with difficulty prevented from doing it violence. Onceshe seized it cruelly and threw it fiercely from her to the foot of thebed, as if it had been some poisonous or loathsome thing. And so itoften became necessary to take the child away out of the room, so thatshe could not see or hear it, but when her senses came back to her, herfirst thought was for the child, and there must have been in her mindsome faint recollection of what she had said and done in her madness, for when she saw that the baby was not in its accustomed place herdistress and alarm were painful to see, as she entreated them withtears to give it back to her. And then she would kiss and fondle itwith all manner of endearing words, and cry bitterly. 

Easton did not see or hear most of this; he only knew that she was veryill; for he went out every day on the almost hopeless quest for work. Rushton's had next to nothing to do, and most of the other shops werein a similar plight. Dauber and Botchit had one or two jobs going on, and Easton tried several times to get a start for them, but was alwaystold they were full up. The sweating methods of this firm continued toform a favourite topic of conversation with the unemployed workmen, whorailed at and cursed them horribly. It had leaked out that they werepaying only sixpence an hour to most of the skilled workmen in theiremployment, and even then the conditions under which they worked were, if possible, worse than those obtaining at most other firms. The menwere treated like so many convicts, and every job was a hell wheredriving and bullying reigned supreme, and obscene curses and blasphemypolluted the air from morning till night. The resentment of those whowere out of work was directed, not only against the heads of the firm, but also against the miserable, half-starved drudges in theiremployment. These poor wretches were denounced as 'scabs' and'wastrels' by the unemployed workmen but all the same, whenever Dauberand Botchit wanted some extra hands they never had any difficulty inobtaining them, and it often happened that those who had been loudestand bitterest in their denunciations were amongst the first to rush offeagerly to apply there for a job whenever there was a chance of gettingone. 

Frequently the light was seen burning late at night in Rushton'soffice, where Nimrod and his master were figuring out prices andwriting out estimates, cutting down the amounts to the lowest possiblepoint in the hope of underbidding their rivals. Now and then they weresuccessful but whether they secured the work or not, Nimrod alwaysappeared equally miserable. If they got the 'job' it often showed sucha small margin of profit that Rushton used to grumble at him andsuggest mismanagement. If their estimates were too high and they lostthe work, he used to demand of Nimrod why it was possible for Dauberand Botchit to do work so much more cheaply. 

As the unemployed workmen stood in groups at the corners or walkedaimlessly about the streets, they often saw Hunter pass by on hisbicycle, looking worried and harassed. He was such a picture ofmisery, that it began to be rumoured amongst the men, that he had neverbeen the same since the time he had that fall off the bike; and some ofthem declared, that they wouldn't mind betting that ole Misery wouldfinish up by going off his bloody rocker. 

At intervals--whenever a job came in--Owen, Crass, Slyme, Sawkins andone or two others, continued to be employed at Rushton's, but theyseldom managed to make more than two or three days a week, even whenthere was anything to do. 

Chapter 50

Sundered

During the next few weeks Ruth continued very ill. Although thedelirium had left her and did not return, her manner was still verystrange, and it was remarkable that she slept but little and at longintervals. Mrs Owen came to look after her every day, not going backto her own home till the evening. Frankie used to call for her as hecame out of school and then they used to go home together, takinglittle Freddie Easton with them also, for his own mother was not ableto look after him and Mary Linden had so much other work to do. 

On Wednesday evening, when the child was about five weeks old, as MrsOwen was wishing her good night, Ruth took hold of her hand and aftersaying how grateful she was for all that she had done, she askedwhether--supposing anything happened to herself--Nora would promise totake charge of Freddie for Easton. Owen's wife gave the requiredpromise, at the same time affecting to regard the supposition asaltogether unlikely, and assuring her that she would soon be better, but she secretly wondered why Ruth had not mentioned the other child aswell. 

Nora went away about five o'clock, leaving Ruth's bedroom door open sothat Mrs Linden could hear her call if she needed anything. About aquarter of an hour after Nora and the two children had gone, MaryLinden went upstairs to see Ruth, who appeared to have fallen fastasleep; so she returned to her needlework downstairs. The weather hadbeen very cloudy all day, there had been rain at intervals and it was adark evening, so dark that she had to light the lamp to see her work. Charley sat on the hearthrug in front of the fire repairing one of thewheels of a wooden cart that he had made with the assistance of anotherboy, and Elsie busied herself preparing the tea. 

Easton was not yet home; Rushton & Co. Had a few jobs to do and he hadbeen at work since the previous Thursday. The place where he wasworking was some considerable distance away, so it was nearly half pastsix when he came home. They heard him at the gate and at her mother'sdirection Elsie went quickly to the front door, which was ajar, to askhim to walk as quietly as possible so as not to wake Ruth. 

Mary had prepared the table for his tea in the kitchen, where there wasa bright fire with the kettle singing on the hob. He lit the lamp andafter removing his hat and overcoat, put the kettle on the fire andwhile he was waiting for it to boil he went softly upstairs. There wasno lamp burning in the bedroom and the place would have been in utterdarkness but for the red glow of the fire, which did not dispel theprevailing obscurity sufficiently to enable him to discern thedifferent objects in the room distinctly. The intense silence thatreigned struck him with a sudden terror. He crossed swiftly over tothe bed and a moment's examination sufficed to tell him that it wasempty. He called her name, but there was no answer, and a hurriedsearch only made it certain that she was nowhere in the house. 

Mrs Linden now remembered what Owen's wife had told her of the strangerequest that Ruth had made, and as she recounted it to Easton, hisfears became intensified a thousandfold. He was unable to form anyopinion of the reason of her going or of where she had gone, as herushed out to seek for her. Almost unconsciously he directed his stepsto Owen's house, and afterwards the two men went to every place wherethey thought it possible she might have gone, but without finding anytrace of her. 

Her father lived a short distance outside the town, and this was one ofthe first places they went to, although Easton did not think it likelyshe would go there, for she had not been on friendly terms with herstepmother, and as he had anticipated, it was a fruitless journey. 

They sought for her in every conceivable place, returning often toEaston's house to see if she had come home, but they found no trace ofher, nor met anyone who had seen her, which was, perhaps, because thedreary, rain-washed streets were deserted by all except those whosebusiness compelled them to be out. 

About eleven o'clock Nora was standing at the front door waiting forOwen and Easton, when she thought she could discern a woman's figure inthe shadow of the piers of the gate opposite. It was an unoccupiedhouse with a garden in front, and the outlines of the bushes itcontained were so vague in the darkness that it was impossible to becertain; but the longer she looked the more convinced she became thatthere was someone there. At last she summoned sufficient courage tocross over the road, and as she nervously drew near the gate it becameevident that she had not been mistaken. There was a woman standingthere--a woman with a child in her arms, leaning against one of thepillars and holding the iron bars of the gate with her left hand. Itwas Ruth. Nora recognized her even in the semi-darkness. Her attitudewas one of extreme exhaustion, and as Nora touched her, she perceivedthat she was wet through and trembling; but although she was almostfainting with fatigue she would not consent to go indoors untilrepeatedly assured that Easton was not there, and that Nora would notlet him see her if he came. And when at length she yielded and wentinto the house she would not sit down or take off her hat or jacketuntil--crouching on the floor beside Nora's chair with her face hiddenin the latter's lap--she had sobbed out her pitiful confession, thesame things that she had unwittingly told to the same hearer so oftenbefore during the illness, the only fact that was new was the accountof her wanderings that night. 

She cried so bitterly and looked so forlorn and heartbroken and ashamedas she faltered out her woeful story; so consumed withself-condemnation, making no excuse for herself except to repeat overand over again that she had never meant to do wrong, that Nora couldnot refrain from weeping also as she listened. 

It appeared that, unable to bear the reproach that Easton's presenceseemed to imply, or to endure the burden of her secret any longer, andalways haunted by the thought of the lake in the park, Ruth had formedthe dreadful resolution of taking her own life and the child's. Whenshe arrived at the park gates they were closed and locked for the nightbut she remembered that there was another means of entering--the placeat the far end of the valley where the park was not fenced in, so shehad gone there--nearly three miles--only to find that railings hadrecently been erected and therefore it was no longer possible to getinto the park by that way. And then, when she found it impossible toput her resolve into practice, she had realized for the first time thefolly and wickedness of the act she had meant to commit. But althoughshe had abandoned her first intention, she said she could never go homeagain; she would take a room somewhere and get some work to do, orperhaps she might be able to get a situation where they would allow herto have the child with her, or failing that she would work and paysomeone to look after it; but she could never go home any more. If sheonly had somewhere to stay for a few days until she could get somethingto do, she was sure she would be able to earn her living, but she couldnot go back home; she felt that she would rather walk about the streetsall night than go there again. 

It was arranged that Ruth should have the small apartment which hadbeen Frankie's playroom, the necessary furniture being obtained from asecond-hand shop close by. Easton did not learn the real reason of herflight until three days afterwards. At first he attributed it to arecurrence of the mental disorder that she had suffered from after thebirth of the child, and he had been glad to leave her at Owen's placein Nora's care, but on the evening of the third day when he returnedhome from work, he found a letter in Ruth's handwriting which told himall there was to tell. 

When he recovered from the stupefaction into which he was thrown by theperusal of this letter, his first thought was to seek out Slyme, but hefound upon inquiring that the latter had left the town the previousmorning. Slyme's landlady said he had told her that he had beenoffered several months' work in London, which he had accepted. Thetruth was that Slyme had heard of Ruth's flight--nearly everyone knewabout it as a result of the inquiries that had been made for her--and, guessing the cause, he had prudently cleared out. 

Easton made no attempt to see Ruth, but he went to Owen's and tookFreddie away, saying he would pay Mrs Linden to look after the childwhilst he was at work. His manner was that of a deeply injuredman--the possibility that he was in any way to blame for what hadhappened did not seem to occur to his mind at all. 

As for Ruth she made no resistance to his taking the child away fromher, although she cried about it in secret. She got some work a fewdays afterwards--helping the servants at one of the largeboarding-houses on the Grand Parade. 

Nora looked after the baby for her while she was at work, anarrangement that pleased Frankie vastly; he said it was almost as goodas having a baby of their very own. 

For the first few weeks after Ruth went away Easton tried to persuadehimself that he did not very much regret what had happened. Mrs Lindenlooked after Freddie, and Easton tried to believe that he would reallybe better off now that he had only himself and the child to provide for. 

At first, whenever he happened to meet Owen, they used to speak ofRuth, or to be more correct, Easton used to speak of her; but one daywhen the two men were working together Owen had expressed himselfrather offensively. He seemed to think that Easton was more to blamethan she was; and afterwards they avoided the subject, although Eastonfound it difficult to avoid the thoughts the other man's wordssuggested. 

Now and then he heard of Ruth and learnt that she was still working atthe same place; and once he met her suddenly and unexpectedly in thestreet. They passed each other hurriedly and he did not see thescarlet flush that for an instant dyed her face, nor the deathly pallorthat succeeded it. 

He never went to Owen's place or sent any communication to Ruth, nordid she ever send him any; but although Easton did not know it shefrequently saw Freddie, for when Elsie Linden took the child out sheoften called to see Mrs Owen. 

As time went on and the resentment he had felt towards her lost itsfirst bitterness, Easton began to think there was perhaps some littlejustification for what Owen had said, and gradually there grew withinhim an immense desire for reconciliation--to start afresh and to forgetall that had happened; but the more he thought of this the morehopeless and impossible of realization it seemed. 

Although perhaps he was not conscious of it, this desire arose solelyfrom selfish motives. The money he earned seemed to melt away almostas soon as he received it; to his surprise he found that he was notnearly so well off in regard to personal comfort as he had beenformerly, and the house seemed to grow more dreary and desolate as thewintry days dragged slowly by. Sometimes--when he had the money--hesought forgetfulness in the society of Crass and the other frequentersof the Cricketers, but somehow or other he could not take the samepleasure in the conversation of these people as formerly, when he hadfound it--as he now sometimes wondered to remember--so entertaining asto almost make him forget Ruth's existence. 

One evening about three weeks before Christmas, as he and Owen werewalking homewards together from work, Easton reverted for the firsttime to their former conversation. He spoke with a superior air: hismanner and tone indicating that he thought he was behaving with greatgenerosity. He would be willing to forgive her and have her back, hesaid, if she would come: but he would never be able to tolerate thechild. Of course it might be sent to an orphanage or some similarinstitution, but he was afraid Ruth would never consent to that, and heknew that her stepmother would not take it. 

'If you can persuade her to return to you, we'll take the child, ' saidOwen. 

'Do you think your wife would be willing?'

'She has already suggested doing so. '

'To Ruth?'

'No: to me. We thought it a possible way for you, and my wife wouldlike to have the child. '

'But would you be able to afford it?' said Easton. 

'We should manage all right. '

'Of course, ' said Easton, 'if Slyme comes back he might agree to paysomething for its keep. '

Owen flushed. 

'I wouldn't take his money. '

After a long pause Easton continued: 'Would you mind asking Mrs Owen tosuggest it to Ruth?'

'If you like I'll get her to suggest it--as a message from you. '

'What I meant, ' said Easton hesitatingly, 'was that your wife mightjust suggest it--casual like--and advise her that it would be the bestway, and then you could let me know what Ruth said. '

'No, ' replied Owen, unable any longer to control his resentment of theother's manner, 'as things stand now, if it were not for the otherchild, I should advise her to have nothing further to do with you. Youseem to think that you are acting a very generous part in being"willing" to have her back, but she's better off now than she was withyou. I see no reason--except for the other child--why she should goback to you. As far as I understand it, you had a good wife and youill-treated her. '

'I never ill-treated her! I never raised my hand to her--at least onlyonce, and then I didn't hurt her. Does she say I ill-treated her. '

'Oh no: from what my wife tells me she only blames herself, but I'mdrawing my own conclusions. You may not have struck her, but you didworse--you treated her with indifference and exposed her to temptation. What has happened is the natural result of your neglect and want ofcare for her. The responsibility for what has happened is mainlyyours, but apparently you wish to pose now as being very generous andto "forgive her"--you're "willing" to take her back; but it seems to methat it would be more fitting that you should ask her to forgive you. '

Easton made no answer and after a long silence the other continued:

'I would not advise her to go back to you on such terms as you seem tothink right, because if you became reconciled on such terms I don'tthink either of you could be happy. Your only chance of happiness isto realize that you have both done wrong; that each of you hassomething to forgive; to forgive and never speak of it again. '

Easton made no reply and a few minutes afterwards, their waysdiverging, they wished each other 'Good night'. 

They were working for Rushton--painting the outside of a newconservatory at Mr Sweater's house, 'The Cave'. This job was finishedthe next day and at four o'clock the boy brought the handcart, whichthey loaded with their ladders and other materials. They took theseback to the yard and then, as it was Friday night, they went up to thefront shop and handed in their time sheets. Afterwards, as they wereabout to separate, Easton again referred to the subject of theirconversation of the previous evening. He had been very reserved andsilent all day, scarcely uttering a word except when the work they hadbeen engaged in made it necessary to do so, and there was now a sort ofcatch in his voice as he spoke. 

'I've been thinking over what you said last night; it's quite true. I've been a great deal to blame. I wrote to Ruth last night andadmitted it to her. I'll take it as a favour if you and your wife willsay what you can to help me get her back. '

Owen stretched out his hand and as the other took it, said: 'You mayrely on us both to do our best. '

Chapter 51

The Widow's Son

The next morning when they went to the yard at half past eight o'clockHunter told them that there was nothing to do, but that they had bettercome on Monday in case some work came in. They accordingly went on theMonday, and Tuesday and Wednesday, but as nothing 'came in' of coursethey did not do any work. On Thursday morning the weather was dark andbitterly cold. The sky presented an unbroken expanse of dull grey anda keen north wind swept through the cheerless streets. Owen--who hadcaught cold whilst painting the outside of the conservatory atSweater's house the previous week--did not get to the yard until teno'clock. He felt so ill that he would not have gone at all if they hadnot needed the money he would be able to earn if there was anything todo. Strange though it may appear to the advocates of thrift, althoughhe had been so fortunate as to be in employment when so many otherswere idle, they had not saved any money. On the contrary, during allthe summer they had not been able to afford to have proper food orclothing. Every week most of the money went to pay arrears of rent orsome other debts, so that even whilst he was at work they had often togo without some of the necessaries of life. They had broken boots, shabby, insufficient clothing, and barely enough to eat. 

The weather had become so bitterly cold that, fearing he would be laidup if he went without it any longer, he took his overcoat out of pawn, and that week they had to almost starve. Not that it was much betterother weeks, for lately he had only been making six and a half hours aday--from eight-thirty in the morning till four o'clock in the evening, and on Saturday only four and a half hours--from half past eight tillone. This made his wages--at sevenpence an hour--twenty-one shillingsand sevenpence a week--that is, when there was work to do every day, which was not always. Sometimes they had to stand idle three days outof six. The wages of those who got sixpence halfpenny came out at onepound and twopence--when they worked every day--and as for thosewho--like Sawkins--received only fivepence, their week's wages amountedto fifteen and sixpence. 

When they were only employed for two or three days or perhaps only afew hours, their 'Saturday night' sometimes amounted to half asovereign, seven and sixpence, five shillings or even less. Then mostof them said that it was better than nothing at all. 

Many of them were married men, so, in order to make existence possible, their wives went out charing or worked in laundries. They had childrenwhom they had to bring up for the most part on 'skim' milk, bread, margarine, and adulterated tea. Many of these children--little mitesof eight or nine years--went to work for two or three hours in themorning before going to school; the same in the evening after school, and all day on Saturday, carrying butchers' trays loaded with meat, baskets of groceries and vegetables, cans of paraffin oil, selling ordelivering newspapers, and carrying milk. As soon as they were oldenough they got Half Time certificates and directly they were fourteenthey left school altogether and went to work all the day. When theywere old enough some of them tried to join the Army or Navy, but werefound physically unfit. 

It is not much to be wondered at that when they became a little olderthey were so degenerate intellectually that they imagined that thesurest way to obtain better conditions would be to elect gangs ofLiberal and Tory land-grabbers, sweaters, swindlers and lawyers to ruleover them. 

When Owen arrived at the yard he found Bert White cleaning out thedirty pots in the paint-shop. The noise he made with the scrapingknife prevented him from hearing Owen's approach and the latter stoodwatching him for some minutes without speaking. The stone floor of thepaint shop was damp and shiny and the whole place was chilly as a tomb. The boy was trembling with cold and he looked pitifully undersized andfrail as he bent over his work with an old apron girt about him. Because it was so cold he was wearing his jacket with the ends of thesleeves turned back to keep them clean, or to prevent them getting anydirtier, for they were already in the same condition as the rest of hisattire, which was thickly encrusted with dried paint of many colours, and his hands and fingernails were grimed with it. 

As he watched the poor boy bending over his task, Owen thought ofFrankie, and with a feeling akin to terror wondered whether he wouldever be in a similar plight. 

When he saw Owen, the boy left off working and wished him good morning, remarking that it was very cold. 

'Why don't you light a fire? There's lots of wood lying about theyard. '

'No, ' said Bert shaking his head. 'That would never do! Miserywouldn't 'arf ramp if 'e caught me at it. I used to 'ave a fire 'erelast winter till Rushton found out, and 'e kicked up an orful row andtold me to move meself and get some work done and then I wouldn't feelthe cold. '

'Oh, he said that, did he?' said Owen, his pale face becoming suddenlysuffused with blood. 'We'll see about that. '

He went out into the yard and crossing over to where--under ashed--there was a great heap of waste wood, stuff that had been takenout of places where Rushton & Co. Had made alterations, he gathered anarmful of it and was returning to the paintshop when Sawkins accostedhim. 

'You mustn't go burnin' any of that, you know! That's all got to besaved and took up to the bloke's house. Misery spoke about it onlythis mornin'. '

Owen did not answer him. He carried the wood into the shop and afterthrowing it into the fireplace he poured some old paint over it, and, applying a match, produced a roaring fire. Then he brought in severalmore armfuls of wood and piled them in a corner of the shop. Bert tookno part in these proceedings, and at first rather disapproved of thembecause he was afraid there would be trouble when Misery came, but whenthe fire was an accomplished fact he warmed his hands and shifted hiswork to the other side of the bench so as to get the benefit of theheat. 

Owen waited for about half an hour to see if Hunter would return, butas that disciple did not appear, he decided not to wait any longer. Before leaving he gave Bert some instructions:

'Keep up the fire with all the old paint that you can scrape off thosethings and any other old paint or rubbish that's here, and whenever itgrows dull put more wood on. There's a lot of old stuff here that's ofno use except to be thrown away or burnt. Burn it all. If Hunter saysanything, tell him that I lit the fire, and that I told you to keep itburning. If you want more wood, go out and take it. '

'All right, ' replied Bert. 

On his way out Owen spoke to Sawkins. His manner was so menacing, hisface so pale, and there was such a strange glare in his eyes, that thelatter thought of the talk there had been about Owen being mad, andfelt half afraid of him. 

'I am going to the office to see Rushton; if Hunter comes here, you sayI told you to tell him that if I find the boy in that shop againwithout a fire, I'll report it to the Society for the Prevention ofCruelty to Children. And as for you, if the boy comes out here to getmore wood, don't you attempt to interfere with him. '

'I don't want to interfere with the bloody kid, ' grunted Sawkins. 'Itseems to me as if he's gorn orf 'is bloody crumpet, ' he added as hewatched Owen walking rapidly down the street. 'I can't understand whypeople can't mind their own bloody business: anyone would think the boybelonged to 'IM. '

That was just how the matter presented itself to Owen. The idea thatit was his own child who was to be treated in this way possessed andinfuriated him as he strode savagely along. In the vicinity of theSlave Market on the Grand Parade he passed--without seeingthem--several groups of unemployed artisans whom he knew. Some of themwere offended and remarked that he was getting stuck up, but others, observing how strange he looked, repeated the old prophecy that one ofthese days Owen would go out of his mind. 

As he drew near to his destination large flakes of snow began to fall. He walked so rapidly and was in such a fury that by the time he reachedthe shop he was scarcely able to speak. 

'Is--Hunter--or Rushton here?' he demanded of the shopman. 

'Hunter isn't, but the guv'nor is. What was it you wanted?'

'He'll soon--know--that, ' panted Owen as he strode up to the officedoor, and without troubling to knock, flung it violently open andentered. 

The atmosphere of this place was very different from that of the dampcellar where Bert was working. A grate fitted with asbestos blocks andlit with gas communicated a genial warmth to the air. 

Rushton was standing leaning over Miss Wade's chair with his left armround her neck. Owen recollected afterwards that her dress wasdisarranged. She retired hastily to the far end of the room as Rushtonjumped away from her, and stared in amazement and confusion at theintruder--he was too astonished and embarrassed to speak. Owen stoodpanting and quivering in the middle of the office and pointed atrembling finger at his employer:

'I've come--here--to tell--you--that--if I find young--BertWhite--working--down in that shop--without a fire--I'll have youprosecuted. The place is not good enough for a stable--if you owned avaluable dog--you wouldn't keep it there--I give you fair warning--Iknow--enough--about you--to put you--where you deserve to be--if youdon't treat him better I'll have you punished I'll show you up. '

Rushton continued to stare at him in mingled confusion, fear andperplexity; he did not yet comprehend exactly what it was all about; hewas guiltily conscious of so many things which he might reasonably fearto be shown up or prosecuted for if they were known, and the fact ofbeing caught under such circumstances with Miss Wade helped to reducehim to a condition approaching terror. 

'If the boy has been there without a fire, I 'aven't known anythingabout it, ' he stammered at last. 'Mr 'Unter has charge of all thosematters. '

'You--yourself--forbade him--to make a fire last winter--andanyhow--you know about it now. You obtained money from his motherunder the pretence--that you were going--to teach him a trade--but forthe last twelve months--you have been using him--as if he were--a beastof burden. I advise you to see to it--or I shall--find--means--to makeyou--wish you had done so. '

With this Owen turned and went out, leaving the door open, and Rushtonin a state of mind compounded of fear, amazement and anger. 

As he walked homewards through the snow-storm, Owen began to realizethat the consequence of what he had done would be that Rushton wouldnot give him any more work, and as he reflected on all that this wouldmean to those at home, for a moment he doubted whether he had doneright. But when he told Nora what had happened she said there wereplenty of other firms in the town who would employ him--when they hadthe work. He had done without Rushton before and could do so again;for her part--whatever the consequences might be--she was glad that hehad acted as he did. 

'We'll get through somehow, I suppose, ' said Owen, wearily. 'There'snot much chance of getting a job anywhere else just now, but I shalltry to get some work on my own account. I shall do some samples ofshow-cards the same as I did last winter and try to get orders fromsome of the shops--they usually want something extra at this time, butI'm afraid it is rather too late: most of them already have all theywant. '

'I shouldn't go out again today if I were you, ' said Nora, noticing howill he looked. 'You should stay at home and read, or write up thoseminutes. '

The minutes referred to were those of the last meeting of the localbranch of the Painters' Society, of which Owen was the secretary, andas the snow continued to fall, he occupied himself after dinner in themanner his wife suggested, until four o'clock, when Frankie returnedfrom school bringing with him a large snowball, and crying out as apiece of good news that the snow was still falling heavily, and that hebelieved it was freezing!

They went to bed very early that night, for it was necessary toeconomize the coal, and not only that, but--because the rooms were sonear the roof--it was not possible to keep the place warm no matter howmuch coal was used. The fire seemed, if anything, to make the placecolder, for it caused the outer air to pour in through the joints ofthe ill-fitting doors and windows. 

Owen lay awake for the greater part of the night. The terror of thefuture made rest or sleep impossible. He got up very early the nextmorning--long before it was light--and after lighting the fire, setabout preparing the samples he had mentioned to Nora, but found that itwould not be possible to do much in this direction without buying morecardboard, for most of what he had was not in good condition. 

They had bread and butter and tea for breakfast. Frankie had his inbed and it was decided to keep him away from school until after dinnerbecause the weather was so very cold and his only pair of boots were sosaturated with moisture from having been out in the snow the previousday. 

'I shall make a few inquiries to see if there's any other work to behad before I buy the cardboard, ' said Owen, 'although I'm afraid it'snot much use. '

Just as he was preparing to go out, the front door bell rang, and as hewas going down to answer it he saw Bert White coming upstairs. The boywas carrying a flat, brown-paper parcel under his arm. 

'A corfin plate, ' he explained as he arrived at the door. 'Wanted atonce--Misery ses you can do it at 'ome, an' I've got to wait for it. '

Owen and his wife looked at each other with intense relief. So he wasnot to be dismissed after all. It was almost too good to be true. 

'There's a piece of paper inside the parcel with the name of the partywhat's dead, ' continued Bert, 'and here's a little bottle of Brunswickblack for you to do the inscription with. '

'Did he send any other message?'

'Yes: he told me to tell you there's a job to be started Mondaymorning--a couple of rooms to be done out somewhere. Got to befinished by Thursday; and there's another job 'e wants you to do thisafternoon--after dinner--so you've got to come to the yard at oneo'clock. 'E told me to tell you 'e meant to leave a message for youyesterday morning, but 'e forgot. '

'What did he say to you about the fire--anything?'

'Yes: they both of 'em came about an hour after you went away--Miseryand the Bloke too--but they didn't kick up a row. I wasn't arffrightened, I can tell you, when I saw 'em both coming, but they wasquite nice. The Bloke ses to me, "Ah, that's right, my boy, " 'e ses. "Keep up a good fire. I'm going to send you some coke, " 'e ses. Andthen they 'ad a look round and 'e told Sawkins to put some new panes ofglass where the winder was broken, and--you know that great bigpacking-case what was under the truck shed?'

'Yes. '

'Well, 'e told Sawkins to saw it up and cover over the stone floor ofthe paint-shop with it. It ain't 'arf all right there now. I'vecleared out all the muck from under the benches and we've got two sacksof coke sent from the gas-works, and the Bloke told me when that's allused up I've got to get a order orf Miss Wade for another lot. '

At one o'clock Owen was at the yard, where he saw Misery, whoinstructed him to go to the front shop and paint some numbers on theracks where the wallpapers were stored. Whilst he was doing this workRushton came in and greeted him in a very friendly way. 

'I'm very glad you let me know about the boy working in thatpaint-shop, ' he observed after a few preliminary remarks. 'I canassure you as I don't want the lad to be uncomfortable, but you know Ican't attend to everything myself. I'm much obliged to you for tellingme about it; I think you did quite right; I should have done the samemyself. '

Owen did not know what to reply, but Rushton walked off withoutwaiting. .. 

Chapter 52

'It's a Far, Far Better Thing that I do, than I have Ever Done'

Although Owen, Easton and Crass and a few others were so lucky as tohave had a little work to do during the last few months, the majorityof their fellow workmen had been altogether out of employment most ofthe time, and meanwhile the practical business-men, and the pretendeddisciples of Christ--the liars and hypocrites who professed to believethat all men are brothers and God their Father--had continued to enactthe usual farce that they called 'Dealing' with the misery thatsurrounded them on every side. They continued to organize 'Rummage'and 'Jumble' sales and bazaars, and to distribute their rotten cast-offclothes and boots and their broken victuals and soup to such of theBrethren as were sufficiently degraded to beg for them. The beautifulDistress Committee was also in full operation; over a thousand Brethrenhad registered themselves on its books. Of this number--after carefulinvestigation--the committee had found that no fewer than six hundredand seventy-two were deserving of being allowed to work for theirliving. The Committee would probably have given these six hundred andseventy-two the necessary permission, but it was somewhat handicappedby the fact that the funds at its disposal were only sufficient toenable that number of Brethren to be employed for about three days. However, by adopting a policy of temporizing, delay, and general artfuldodging, the Committee managed to create the impression that they wereDealing with the Problem. 

If it had not been for a cunning device invented by Brother Rushton, amuch larger number of the Brethren would have succeeded in registeringthemselves as unemployed on the books of the Committee. In previousyears it had been the practice to issue an application form called a'Record Paper' to any Brother who asked for one, and the Brotherreturned it after filling it in himself. At a secret meeting of theCommittee Rushton proposed--amid laughter and applause, it was such agood joke--a new and better way, calculated to keep down the number ofapplicants. The result of this innovation was that no more forms wereissued, but the applicants for work were admitted into the office oneat a time, and were there examined by a junior clerk, somewhat afterthe manner of a French Juge d'Instruction interrogating a criminal, theclerk filling in the form according to the replies of the culprit. 

'What's your name?'

'Where do you live?'

'How long have you been living there?'

'Where did you live before you went there?'

'How long were you living at that place?'

'Why did you move?'

'Did you owe any rent when you left?'

'What was your previous address?'

'How old are you? When was your last birthday?'

'What is your Trade, Calling, Employment, or Occupation?'

'Are you Married or single or a Widower or what?'

'How many children have you? How many boys? How many girls? Do theygo to work? What do they earn?'

'What kind of a house do you live in? How many rooms are there?'

'How much rent do you owe?'

'Who was your last employer? What was the foreman's name? How longdid you work there? What kind of work did you do? Why did you leave?'

'What have you been doing for the last five years? What kind of work, how many hours a day? What wages did you get?'

'Give the full names and addresses of all the different employers youhave worked for during the last five years, and the reasons why youleft them?'

'Give the names of all the foremen you have worked under during thelast five years?'

'Does your wife earn anything? How much?'

'Do you get any money from any Club or Society, or from any Charity, orfrom any other source?'

'Have you ever received Poor Relief?'

'Have you ever worked for a Distress Committee before?'

'Have you ever done any other kinds of work than those you havementioned? Do you think you would be fit for any other kind? 'Have youany references?' and so on and so forth. 

When the criminal had answered all the questions, and when his answershad all been duly written down, he was informed that a member of theCommittee, or an Authorized Officer, or some Other Person, would in duecourse visit his home and make inquiries about him, after which theAuthorized Officer or Other Person would make a report to theCommittee, who would consider it at their next meeting. 

As the interrogation of each criminal occupied about half an hour, tosay nothing of the time he was kept waiting, it will be seen that as ameans of keeping down the number of registered unemployed the ideaworked splendidly. 

When Rushton introduced this new rule it was carried unanimously, DrWeakling being the only dissentient, but of course he--as BrotherGrinder remarked--was always opposed to any sensible proposal. Therewas one consolation, however, Grinder added, they was not likely to bepestered with 'im much longer; the first of November was coming and ifhe--Grinder--knowed anything of working men they was sure to giveWeakling the dirty kick out directly they got the chance. 

A few days afterwards the result of the municipal election justifiedBrother Grinder's prognostications, for the working men voters of DrWeakling's ward did give him the dirty kick out: but Rushton, Didlum, Grinder and several other members of the band were triumphantlyreturned with increased majorities. 

Mr Dauber, of Dauber and Botchit, had already been elected a Guardianof the Poor. 

During all this time Hunter, who looked more worried and miserable asthe dreary weeks went by, was occupied every day in supervising whatwork was being done and in running about seeking for more. Nearlyevery night he remained at the office until a late hour, poring overspecifications and making out estimates. The police had become soaccustomed to seeing the light in the office that as a rule they tookno notice of it, but one Thursday night--exactly one week after thescene between Owen and Rushton about the boy--the constable on the beatobserved the light there much later than usual. At first he paid noparticular attention to the fact, but when night merged into morningand the light still remained, his curiosity was aroused. 

He knocked at the door, but no one came in answer, and no sounddisturbed the deathlike stillness that reigned within. The door waslocked, but he was not able to tell whether it had been closed from theinside or outside, because it had a spring latch. The office windowwas low down, but it was not possible to see in because the back of theglass had been painted. 

The constable thought that the most probable explanation of the mysterywas that whoever had been there earlier in the evening had forgotten toturn out the light when they went away; it was not likely that thievesor anyone who had no business to be there would advertise theirpresence by lighting the gas. 

He made a note of the incident in his pocket-book and was about toresume his beat when he was joined by his inspector. The latter agreedthat the conclusion arrived at by the constable was probably the rightone and they were about to pass on when the inspector noticed a smallspeck of light shining through the lower part of the painted window, where a small piece of the paint had either been scratched or hadshelled off the glass. He knelt down and found that it was possible toget a view of the interior of the office, and as he peered through hegave a low exclamation. When he made way for his subordinate to lookin his turn, the constable was with some difficulty able to distinguishthe figure of a man lying prone upon the floor. 

It was an easy task for the burly policeman to force open the officedoor: a single push of his shoulder wrenched it from its fastenings andas it flew back the socket of the lock fell with a splash into a greatpool of blood that had accumulated against the threshold, flowing fromthe place where Hunter was lying on his back, his arms extended and hishead nearly severed from his body. On the floor, close to his righthand, was an open razor. An overturned chair lay on the floor by theside of the table where he usually worked, the table itself beinglittered with papers and drenched with blood. 

Within the next few days Crass resumed the role he had played whenHunter was ill during the summer, taking charge of the work andgenerally doing his best to fill the dead man's place, although--as heconfided to certain of his cronies in the bar of the Cricketers--he hadno intention of allowing Rushton to do the same as Hunter had done. One of his first jobs--on the morning after the discovery of thebody--was to go with Mr Rushton to look over a house where some workwas to be done for which an estimate had to be given. It was thisestimate that Hunter had been trying to make out the previous eveningin the office, for they found that the papers on his table were coveredwith figures and writing relating to this work. These papers justifiedthe subsequent verdict of the Coroner's jury that Hunter committedsuicide in a fit of temporary insanity, for they were covered with alot of meaningless scribbling, the words wrongly spelt and having nointelligible connection with each other. There was one sum that he hadevidently tried repeatedly to do correctly, but which came wrong in adifferent way every time. The fact that he had the razor in hispossession seemed to point to his having premeditated the act, but thiswas accounted for at the inquest by the evidence of the last person whosaw him alive, a hairdresser, who stated that Hunter had left the razorwith him to be sharpened a few days previously and that he had calledfor it on the evening of the tragedy. He had ground this razor for MrHunter several times before. 

Crass took charge of all the arrangements for the funeral. He bought anew second-hand pair of black trousers at a cast-off clothing shop inhonour of the occasion, and discarded his own low-crowned silkhat--which was getting rather shabby--in favour of Hunter's tall one, which he found in the office and annexed without hesitation or scruple. It was rather large for him, but he put some folded strips of paperinside the leather lining. Crass was a proud man as he walked inHunter's place at the head of the procession, trying to look solemn, but with a half-smile on his fat, pasty face, destitute of colourexcept one spot on his chin near his underlip, where there was a smallpatch of inflammation about the size of a threepenny piece. This spothad been there for a very long time. At first--as well as he couldremember--it was only a small pimple, but it had grown larger, withsomething the appearance of scurvy. Crass attributed its continuationto the cold having 'got into it last winter'. It was rather strange, too, because he generally took care of himself when it was cold: healways wore the warm wrap that had formerly belonged to the old ladywho died of cancer. However, Crass did not worry much about thislittle sore place; he just put a little zinc ointment on itoccasionally and had no doubt that it would get well in time. 

Chapter 53

Barrington Finds a Situation

The revulsion of feeling that Barrington experienced during theprogress of the election was intensified by the final result. Theblind, stupid, enthusiastic admiration displayed by the philanthropistsfor those who exploited and robbed them; their extraordinary apathywith regard to their own interests; the patient, broken-spirited way inwhich they endured their sufferings, tamely submitting to live inpoverty in the midst of the wealth they had helped to create; theircallous indifference to the fate of their children, and the savagehatred they exhibited towards anyone who dared to suggest thepossibility of better things, forced upon him the thought that thehopes he cherished were impossible of realization. The words of therenegade Socialist recurred constantly to his mind:

'You can be a Jesus Christ if you like, but for my part I'm finished. For the future I intend to look after myself. As for these people, they vote for what they want, they get what they vote for, and, by God!they deserve nothing better! They are being beaten with whips of theirown choosing, and if I had my way they should be chastised withscorpions. For them, the present system means joyless drudgery, semi-starvation, rags and premature death; and they vote for it anduphold it. Let them have what they vote for! Let them drudge and letthem starve!'

These words kept ringing in his ears as he walked through the crowdedstreets early one fine evening a few days before Christmas. The shopswere all brilliantly lighted for the display of their Christmas stores, and the pavements and even the carriageways were thronged withsightseers. 

Barrington was specially interested in the groups of shabbily dressedmen and women and children who gathered in the roadway in front of thepoulterers' and butchers' shops, gazing at the meat and the serriedrows of turkeys and geese decorated with coloured ribbons and rosettes. He knew that to come here and look at these things was the only sharemany of these poor people would have of them, and he marvelled greatlyat their wonderful patience and abject resignation. 

But what struck him most of all was the appearance of many of thewomen, evidently working men's wives. Their faded, ill-fittinggarments and the tired, sad expressions on their pale and carewornfaces. Some of them were alone; others were accompanied by littlechildren who trotted along trustfully clinging to their mothers' hands. The sight of these poor little ones, their utter helplessness anddependence, their patched unsightly clothing and broken boots, and thewistful looks on their pitiful faces as they gazed into the windows ofthe toy-shops, sent a pang of actual physical pain to his heart andfilled his eyes with tears. He knew that these children--naked of joyand all that makes life dear--were being tortured by the sight of thethings that were placed so cruelly before their eyes, but which theywere not permitted to touch or to share; and, like Joseph of old, hisheart yearned over to his younger brethren. 

He felt like a criminal because he was warmly clad and well fed in themidst of all this want and unhappiness, and he flushed with shamebecause he had momentarily faltered in his devotion to the noblestcause that any man could be privileged to fight for--the uplifting ofthe disconsolate and the oppressed. 

He presently came to a large toy shop outside which several childrenwere standing admiring the contents of the window. He recognized someof these children and paused to watch them and to listen to their talk. They did not notice him standing behind them as they ranged to and frobefore the window, and as he looked at them, he was reminded of the wayin which captive animals walk up and down behind the bars of theircages. These children wandered repeatedly, backwards and forwards fromone end of the window to the other, with their little hands pressedagainst the impenetrable plate glass, choosing and pointing out to eachother the particular toys that took their fancies. 

'That's mine!' cried Charley Linden, enthusiastically indicating alarge strongly built waggon. 'If I had that I'd give Freddie rides init and bring home lots of firewood, and we could play at fire enginesas well. '

'I'd rather have this railway, ' said Frankie Owen. 'There's a realtunnel and real coal in the tenders; then there's the station and thesignals and a place to turn the engine round, and a red lantern tolight when there's danger on the line. '

'Mine's this doll--not the biggest one, the one in pink with clothesthat you can take off, ' said Elsie; 'and this tea set; and thisneedlecase for Mother. '

Little Freddie had let go his hold of Elsie, to whom he usually clungtightly and was clapping his hands and chuckling with delight anddesire. 'Gee-gee?' he cried eagerly. 'Gee-gee. Pwetty Gee-gee!Fweddy want gee-gee!'

'But it's no use lookin' at them any longer, ' continued Elsie, with asigh, as she took hold of Freddie's hand to lead him away. 'It's nouse lookin' at 'em any longer; the likes of us can't expect to havesuch good things as them. '

This remark served to recall Frankie and Charley to the stern realitiesof life, and turning reluctantly away from the window they prepared tofollow Elsie, but Freddie had not yet learnt the lesson--he had notlived long enough to understand that the good things of the world werenot for the likes of him; so when Elsie attempted to draw him away hepursed up his underlip and began to cry, repeating that he wanted agee-gee. The other children dustered round trying to coax and comforthim by telling him that no one was allowed to have anything out of thewindows yet--until Christmas--and that Santa Claus would be sure tobring him a gee-gee then; but these arguments failed to make anyimpression on Freddie, who tearfully insisted upon being supplied atonce. 

Whilst they were thus occupied they caught sight of Barrington, whomthey hailed with evident pleasure born of the recollection of certaingifts of pennies and cakes they had at different times received fromhim. 

'Hello, Mr Barrington, ' said the two boys in a breath. 

'Hello, ' replied Barrington, as he patted the baby's cheek. 'What'sthe matter here? What's Freddie crying for?'

'He wants that there 'orse, mister, the one with the real 'air on, 'said Charley, smiling indulgently like a grown-up person who realizedthe absurdity of the demand. 

'Fweddie want gee-gee, ' repeated the child, taking hold of Barrington'shand and returning to the window. 'Nice gee-gee. '

'Tell him that Santa Claus'll bring it to him on Christmas, ' whisperedElsie. 'P'raps he'll believe you and that'll satisfy him, and he'ssure to forget all about it in a little while. '

'Are you still out of work, Mr Barrington?' inquired Frankie. 

'No, ' replied Barrington slowly. 'I've got something to do at last. '

'Well, that's a good job, ain't it?' remarked Charley. 

'Yes, ' said Barrington. 'And whom do you think I'm working for?'

'Who?'

'Santa Claus. '

'Santa Claus!' echoed the children, opening their eyes to the fullestextent. 

'Yes, ' continued Barrington, solemnly. 'You know, he is a very old mannow, so old that he can't do all his work himself. Last year he was sotired that he wasn't able to get round to all the children he wanted togive things to, and consequently a great many of them never gotanything at all. So this year he's given me a job to help him. He'sgiven me some money and a list of children's names, and against theirnames are written the toys they are to have. My work is to buy thethings and give them to the boys and girls whose names are on the list. '

The children listened to this narrative with bated breath. Incredibleas the story seemed, Barrington's manner was so earnest as to almostcompel belief. 

'Really and truly, or are you only having a game?' said Frankie atlength, speaking almost in a whisper. Elsie and Charley maintained anawestruck silence, while Freddie beat upon the glass with the palms ofhis hands. 

'Really and truly, ' replied Barrington unblushingly as he took out hispocket-book and turned over the leaves. 'I've got the list here;perhaps your names are down for something. '

The three children turned pale and their hearts beat violently as theylistened wide-eyed for what was to follow. 

'Let me see, ' continued Barrington, scanning the pages of the book, 'Why, yes, here they are! Elsie Linden, one doll with clothes that canbe taken off, one tea-set, one needlecase. Freddie Easton, one horsewith real hair. Charley Linden, one four-wheeled waggon full ofgroceries. Frankie Owen, one railway with tunnel, station, train withreal coal for engine, signals, red lamp and place to turn the enginesround. '

Barrington closed the book: 'So you may as well have your things now, 'he continued, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone. 'We'll buy them here;it will save me a lot of work. I shall not have the trouble of takingthem round to where you live. It's lucky I happened to meet you, isn'tit?'

The children were breathless with emotion, but they just managed togasp out that it was--very lucky. 

As they followed him into the shop, Freddie was the only one of thefour whose condition was anything like normal. All the others were ina half-dazed state. Frankie was afraid that he was not really awake atall. It couldn't be true; it must be a dream. 

In addition to the hair, the horse was furnished with four wheels. Theydid not have it made into a parcel, but tied some string to it andhanded it over to its new owner. The elder children were scarcelyconscious of what took place inside the shop; they knew that Barringtonwas talking to the shopman, but they did not hear what was said--thesound seemed far away and unreal. 

The shopman made the doll, the tea-set and the needlecase into oneparcel and gave it to Elsie. The railway, in a stout cardboard box, was also wrapped up in brown paper, and Frankie's heart nearly burstwhen the man put the package into his arms. 

When they came out of the toy shop they said 'Good night' to Frankie, who went off carrying his parcel very carefully and feeling as if hewere walking on air. The others went into a provision merchant's nearby, where the groceries were purchased and packed into the waggon. 

Then Barrington, upon referring to the list to make quite certain thathe had not forgotten anything, found that Santa Claus had put down apair of boots each for Elsie and Charley, and when they went to buythese, it was seen that their stockings were all ragged and full ofholes, so they went to a draper's and bought some stocking also. Barrington said that although they were not on the list, he was sureSanta Claus would not object--he had probably meant them to have them, but had forgotten to put them down. 

Chapter 54

The End

The following evening Barrington called at Owen's place. He said hewas going home for the holidays and had come to say goodbye for a time. 

Owen had not been doing very well during these last few months, although he was one of the few lucky ones who had had some small shareof work. Most of the money he earned went for rent, to pay which theyoften had to go short of food. Lately his chest had become so bad thatthe slightest exertion brought on fits of coughing and breathlessness, which made it almost impossible to work even when he had theopportunity; often it was only by an almost superhuman effort of willthat he was able to continue working at all. He contrived to keep upappearances to a certain extent before Rushton, who, although he knewthat Owen was not so strong as the other men, was inclined to overlookit so long as he was able to do his share of work, for Owen was a veryuseful hand when things were busy. But lately some of the men withwhom he worked began to manifest dissatisfaction at having him for amate. When two men are working together, the master expects to see twomen's work done, and if one of the two is not able to do his share itmakes it all the harder for the other. 

He never had the money to go to a doctor to get advice, but earlier inthe winter he had obtained from Rushton a ticket for the localhospital. Every Saturday throughout the year when the men were paidthey were expected to put a penny or twopence in the hospital box. Contributions were obtained in this way from every firm and workshop inthe town. The masters periodically handed these boxes over to thehospital authorities and received in return some tickets which theygave to anyone who needed and asked for them. The employer had to fillin the ticket or application form with the name and address of theapplicant, and to certify that in his opinion the individual was adeserving case, 'suitable to receive this charity'. In common with themajority of workmen, Owen had a sort of horror of going for advice tothis hospital, but he was so ill that he stifled his pride and went. It happened that it turned out to be more expensive than going to aprivate doctor, for he had to be at the hospital at a certain hour on aparticular morning. To do this he had to stay away from work. Themedicine they prescribed and which he had to buy did him no good, forthe truth was that it was not medicine that he--like thousands ofothers--needed, but proper conditions of life and proper food; thingsthat had been for years past as much out of his reach as if he had beendying alone in the middle of a desert. 

Occasionally Nora contrived--by going without some other necessary--tobuy him a bottle of one of the many much-advertised medicines; butalthough some of these things were good she was not able to buy enoughfor him to derive any benefit from them. 

Although he was often seized with a kind of terror of the future--ofbeing unable to work--he fought against these feelings and tried tobelieve that when the weather became warmer he would be all right oncemore. 

When Barrington came in Owen was sitting in a deck-chair by the fire inthe sitting-room. He had been to work that day with Harlow, washing offthe ceilings and stripping the old paper from the walls of two rooms inRushton's home, and he looked very haggard and exhausted. 

'I have never told you before, ' said Barrington, after they had beentalking for a while, 'but I suppose you have guessed that I did notwork for Rushton because I needed to do so in order to live. I justwanted to see things for myself; to see life as it is lived by themajority. My father is a wealthy man. He doesn't approve of myopinions, but at same time he does not interfere with me for holdingthem, and I have a fairly liberal allowance which I spent in my ownway. I'm going to pass Christmas with my own people, but in the springI intend to fit out a Socialist Van, and then I shall come back here. We'll have some of the best speakers in the movement; we'll holdmeetings every night; we'll drench the town with literature, and we'llstart a branch of the party. '

Owen's eye kindled and his pale face flushed. 

'I shall be able to do something to advertise the meetings, ' he said. For instance, I could paint some posters and placards. '

'And I can help to give away handbills, ' chimed in Frankie, looking upfrom the floor, where he was seated working the railway. 'I know a lotof boys who'll come along with me to put 'em under the doors as well. '

They were in the sitting-room and the door was shut. Mrs Owen was inthe next room with Ruth. While the two men were talking the front-doorbell was heard to ring and Frankie ran out to see who it was, closingthe door after him. Barrington and Owen continued their conversation, and from time to time they could hear a low murmur of voices from theadjoining room. After a little while they heard some one go out by thefront door, and almost immediately afterward Frankie--wild withexcitement, burst into the room, crying out:

'Dad and Mr Barrington! Three cheers!' And he began caperinggleefully about the room, evidently transported with joy. 

'What are the cheers to be for?' inquired Barrington, rather mystifiedby this extraordinary conduct. 

'Mr Easton came with Freddie to see Mrs Easton, and she's gone homeagain with them, ' replied Freddie, 'and--she's given the baby to us fora Christmas box!'

Barrington was already familiar with the fact of Easton's separationfrom his wife, and Owen now told him the Story of their reconciliation. 

Barrington took his leave shortly afterwards. His train left at eight;it was already nearly half past seven, and he said he had a letter towrite. Nora brought the baby in to show him before he went, and thenshe helped Frankie to put on his overcoat, for Barrington had requestedthat the boy might be permitted to go a little way with him. 

There was a stationer's shop at the end of the street. He went in hereand bought a sheet of notepaper and an envelope, and, having borrowedthe pen and ink, wrote a letter which he enclosed in the envelope withthe two other pieces that he took out of his pocketbook. Havingaddressed the letter he came out of the shop; Frankie was waiting forhim outside. He gave the letter to the boy. 

'I want you to take this straight home and give it to your dad. Idon't want you to stop to play or even to speak to anyone till you gethome. '

'All right, ' replied Frankie. 'I won't stop running all the way. '

Barrington hesitated and looked at his watch. 'I think I have time togo back with you as far as your front door, ' he said, 'then I shall bequite sure you haven't lost it. '

They accordingly retraced their steps and in a few minutes reached theentrance to the house. Barrington opened the door and stood for amoment in the hall watching Frankie ascend the stairs. 

'Will your train cross over the bridge?' inquired the boy, pausing andlooking over the banisters. 

'Yes. Why?'

'Because we can see the bridge from our front-room window, and if youwere to wave your handkerchief as your train goes over the bridge, wecould wave back. '

'All right. I'll do so. Goodbye. '

'Goodbye. '

Barrington waited till he heard Frankie open and close the door ofOwen's fiat, and then he hurried away. When he gained the main road heheard the sound of singing and saw a crowd at the corner of one of theside-streets. As he drew near he perceived that it was a religiousmeeting. 

There was a lighted lamp on a standard in the centre of the crowd andon the glass of this lamp was painted: 'Be not deceived: God is notmocked. '

Mr Rushton was preaching in the centre of the ring. He said that theyhad come hout there that evening to tell the Glad Tidings of Great Joyto hall those dear people that he saw standing around. The members ofthe Shining Light Chapel--to which he himself belonged--was theorganizers of that meeting but it was not a sectarian meeting, for hewas 'appy to say that several members of other denominations was thereco-operating with them in the good work. As he continued his address, Rushton repeatedly referred to the individuals who composed the crowdas his 'Brothers and Sisters' and, strange to say, nobody laughed. 

Barrington looked round upon the 'Brothers': Mr Sweater, resplendent ina new silk hat of the latest fashion, and a fur-trimmed overcoat. TheRev. Mr Bosher, Vicar of the Church of the Whited Sepulchre, MrGrinder--one of the churchwardens at the same place of allegedworship--both dressed in broadcloth and fine linen and glossy silkhats, while their general appearance testified to the fact that theyhad fared sumptuously for many days. Mr Didlum, Mrs Starvem, MrDauber, Mr Botchit, Mr Smeeriton, and Mr Leavit. 

And in the midst was the Rev. John Starr, doing the work for which hewas paid. 

As he stood there in the forefront of this company, there was nothingin his refined and comely exterior to indicate that his real functionwas to pander to and flatter them; to invest with an air ofrespectability and rectitude the abominably selfish lives of the gangof swindlers, slave-drivers and petty tyrants who formed the majorityof the congregation of the Shining Light Chapel. 

He was doing the work for which he was paid. By the mere fact of hispresence there, condoning and justifying the crimes of these typicalrepresentatives of that despicable class whose greed and inhumanityhave made the earth into a hell. 

There was also a number of 'respectable', well-dressed people wholooked as if they could do with a good meal, and a couple of shabbilydressed, poverty-stricken-looking individuals who seemed rather out ofplace in the glittering throng. 

The remainder of the Brothers consisted of half-starved, pale-facedworking men and women, most of them dressed in other people's cast-offclothing, and with broken, patched-up, leaky boots on their feet. 

Rushton having concluded his address, Didlum stepped forward to giveout the words of the hymn the former had quoted at the conclusion ofhis remarks:

 'Oh, come and jine this 'oly band, And hon to glory go. '

Strange and incredible as it may appear to the reader, although none ofthem ever did any of the things Jesus said, the people who wereconducting this meeting had the effrontery to claim to be followers ofChrist--Christians!

Jesus said: 'Lay not up for yourselves treasure upon earth', 'Love notthe world nor the things of the world', 'Woe unto you that are rich--itis easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a richman to enter the kingdom of heaven. ' Yet all these self-styled'Followers' of Christ made the accumulation of money the principalbusiness of their lives. 

Jesus said: 'Be ye not called masters; for they bind heavy burdens andgrievous to be borne, and lay them on men's shoulders, but theythemselves will not touch them with one of their fingers. For one isyour master, even Christ, and ye are all brethren. ' But nearly allthese alleged followers of the humble Workman of Nazareth claimed to beother people's masters or mistresses. And as for being all brethren, whilst most of these were arrayed in broadcloth and fine linen andfared sumptuously every day, they knew that all around them thousandsof those they hypocritically called their 'brethren', men, women andlittle children, were slowly perishing of hunger and cold; and we havealready seen how much brotherhood existed between Sweater and Rushtonand the miserable, half-starved wretches in their employment. 

Whenever they were asked why they did not practise the things Jesuspreached, they replied that it is impossible to do so! They did notseem to realize that when they said this they were saying, in effect, that Jesus taught an impracticable religion; and they appeared toforget that Jesus said, 'Wherefore call ye me Lord, Lord, when ye donot the things I say?. .. ' 'Whosoever heareth these sayings of mine anddoeth them not, shall be likened to a foolish man who built his houseupon the sand. '

But although none of these self-styled 'Followers' of Christ, ever didthe things that Jesus said, they talked a great deal about them, andsang hymns, and for a pretence made long prayers, and came out here toexhort those who were still in darkness to forsake their evil ways. Andthey procured this lantern and wrote a text upon it: 'Be not deceived, God is not mocked. '

They stigmatized as 'infidels' all those who differed from them, forgetting that the only real infidels are those who are systematicallyfalse and unfaithful to the Master they pretend to love and serve. 

Grinder, having a slight cold, had not spoken this evening, but severalother infidels, including Sweater, Didlum, Bosher, and Starr, hadaddressed the meeting, making a special appeal to the working people, of whom the majority of the crowd was composed, to give up all the vainpleasures of the world in which they at present indulged, and, asRushton had eloquently put it at the close of his remarks:

 'Come and jine this 'Oly band and hon to glory go!'

As Didlum finished reading out the words, the lady at the harmoniumstruck up the tune of the hymns, and the disciples all joined in thesinging:

 'Oh, come and join this 'oly band and hon to glory go. '

During the singing certain of the disciples went about amongst thecrowd distributing tracts. Presently one of them offered one toBarrington and as the latter looked at the man he saw that it wasSlyme, who also recognized him at the same instant and greeted him byname. Barrington made no reply except to decline the tract:

'I don't want that--from you, ' he said contemptuously. 

Slyme turned red. 'Oh, I know what you're thinking of, ' he said aftera pause and speaking in an injured tone; 'but you shouldn't judgeanyone too hard. It wasn't only my fault, and you don't know 'ow muchI've suffered for it. If it 'adn't been for the Lord, I believe Ishould 'ave drownded myself. '

Barrington made no answer and Slyme slunk off, and when the hymn wasfinished Brother Sweater stood forth and gave all those present ahearty invitation to attend the services to be held during the ensuingweek at the Chapel of the Shining Light. He invited them therespecially, of course, because it was the place with which he washimself connected, but he entreated and begged of them even if theywould not come there to go Somewhere; there were plenty of other placesof worship in the town; in fact, there was one at the corner of nearlyevery street. Those who did not fancy the services at the ShiningLight could go to the Church of the Whited Sepulchre, but he really didhope that all those dear people whom he saw standing round would goSomewhere. 

A short prayer from Bosher closed the meeting, and now the reason forthe presence of the two poverty-stricken-looking shabbily dresseddisciples was made manifest, for while the better dressed and thereforemore respectable Brothers were shaking hands with and grinning at eachother or hovering round the two clergymen and Mr Sweater, these twopoor wretches carried away the harmonium and the lantern, together withthe hymn books and what remained of the tracts. As Barrington hurriedoff to catch the train one of the 'Followers' gave him a card which heread by the light of a street lamp--

 Come and join the Brotherhood at the Shining Light Chapel PSA Every Sunday at 3 o'clock. Let Brotherly Love Continue. 'Oh come and join this Holy Band and on to Glory go. '

Barrington thought he would, rather go to hell--if there were such aplace--with some decent people, than share 'glory' with a crew likethis. 

Nora sat sewing by the fireside in the front room, with the baby asleepin her lap. Owen was reclining in the deck-chair opposite. They hadboth been rather silent and thoughtful since Barrington's departure. It was mainly by their efforts that the reconciliation between Eastonand Ruth had been effected and they had been so desirous ofaccomplishing that result that they had not given much thought to theirown position. 

'I feel that I could not bear to part with her for anything now, ' saidNora at last breaking the long silence, 'and Frankie is so fond of hertoo. But all the same I can't feel happy about it when I think how illyou are. '

'Oh, I shall be all right when the weather gets a little warmer, ' saidOwen, affecting a cheerfulness he did not feel. 'We have always pulledthrough somehow or other; the poor little thing is not going to makemuch difference, and she'll be as well off with us as she would havebeen if Ruth had not gone back. '

As he spoke he leaned over and touched the hand of the sleeping childand the little fingers closed round one of his with a clutch that senta thrill all through him. As he looked at this little helpless, dependent creature, he realized with a kind of thankfulness that hewould never have the heart to carry out the dreadful project he hadsometimes entertained in hours of despondency. 

'We've always got through somehow or other, ' he repeated, 'and we'll doso still. '

Presently they heard Frankie's footsteps ascending the stairs and amoment afterwards the boy entered the room. 

'We have to look out of the window and wave to Mr Barrington when histrain goes over the bridge, ' he cried breathlessly. 'And he's sentthis letter. Open the window, quick, Dad, or it may be too late. '

'There's plenty of time yet, ' replied Owen, smiling at the boy'simpetuosity. 'Nearly twenty minutes. We don't want the window openall that time. It's only a quarter to eight by our clock now, andthat's five minutes fast. '

However, so as to make quite certain that the train should not run pastunnoticed, Frankie pulled up the blind and, rubbing the steam off theglass, took up his station at the window to watch for its coming, whileOwen opened the letter:

'Dear Owen, 'Enclosed you will find two bank-notes, one for ten pounds and theother for five. The first I beg you will accept from me for yourselfin the same spirit that I offer it, and as I would accept it from youif our positions were reversed. If I were in need, I know that youwould willingly share with me whatever you had and I could not hurt youby refusing. The other note I want you to change tomorrow morning. Give three pounds of it to Mrs Linden and the remainder to Bert White'smother. 

'Wishing you all a happy Xmas and hoping to find you well and eager forthe fray when I come back in the spring, 'Yours for the cause, 'George Barrington. '

Owen read it over two or three times before he could properlyunderstand it and then, without a word of comment--for he could nothave spoken at that moment to save his life--he passed it to Nora, whofelt, as she read it in her turn, as if a great burden had been liftedfrom her heart. All the undefined terror of the future faded away asshe thought of all this small piece of paper made possible. 

Meanwhile, Frankie, at the window, was straining his eyes in thedirection of the station. 

'Don't you think we'd better have the window open now, Dad?' he said atlast as the clock struck eight. 'The steam keeps coming on the glassas fast as I wipe it off and I can't see out properly. I'm sure it'snearly time now; p'raps our clock isn't as fast as you think it is. '

'All right, we'll have it open now, so as to be on the safe side, ' saidOwen as he stood up and raised the sash, and Nora, having wrapped thechild up in a shawl, joined them at the window. 

'It can't be much longer now, you know, ' said Frankie. 'The line'sclear. They turned the red light off the signal just before you openedthe window. '

In a very few minutes they heard the whistle of the locomotive as itdrew out of the station, then, an instant before the engine itself cameinto sight round the bend, the brightly polished rails wereilluminated, shining like burnished gold in the glare of its headlight;a few seconds afterwards the train emerged into view, gathering speedas it came along the short stretch of straight way, and a moment laterit thundered across the bridge. It was too far away to recognize hisface, but they saw someone looking out of a carriage window waving ahandkerchief, and they knew it was Barrington as they waved theirs inreturn. Soon there remained nothing visible of the train except thelights at the rear of the guard's van, and presently even thosevanished into the surrounding darkness. 

The lofty window at which they were standing overlooked several of theadjacent streets and a great part of the town. On the other side of theroad were several empty houses, bristling with different house agents'advertisement boards and bills. About twenty yards away, the shopformerly tenanted by Mr Smallman, the grocer, who had become bankrupttwo or three months previously, was also plastered with similardecorations. A little further on, at the opposite corner, were thepremises of the Monopole Provision Stores, where brilliant lights werejust being extinguished, for they, like most of the other shops, wereclosing their premises for the night, and the streets took on a morecheerless air as one after another their lights disappeared. 

It had been a fine day, and during the earlier part of the evening themoon, nearly at the full, had been shining in a clear and starry sky;but a strong north-east wind had sprung up within the last hour; theweather had become bitterly cold and the stars were rapidly beingconcealed from view by the dense banks of clouds that were slowlyaccumulating overhead. 

As they remained at the window looking out over this scene for a fewminutes after the train had passed out of sight, it seemed to Owen thatthe gathering darkness was as a curtain that concealed from view theInfamy existing beyond. In every country, myriads of armed men waitingfor their masters to give them the signal to fall upon and rend eachother like wild beasts. All around was a state of dreadful anarchy;abundant riches, luxury, vice, hypocrisy, poverty, starvation, andcrime. Men literally fighting with each other for the privilege ofworking for their bread, and little children crying with hunger andcold and slowly perishing of want. 

The gloomy shadows enshrouding the streets, concealing for the timetheir grey and mournful air of poverty and hidden suffering, and theblack masses of cloud gathering so menacingly in the tempestuous sky, seemed typical of the Nemesis which was overtaking the CapitalistSystem. That atrocious system which, having attained to the fullestmeasure of detestable injustice and cruelty, was now fast crumblinginto ruin, inevitably doomed to be overwhelmed because it was all sowicked and abominable, inevitably doomed to sink under the blight andcurse of senseless and unprofitable selfishness out of existence forever, its memory universally execrated and abhorred. 

But from these ruins was surely growing the glorious fabric of theCo-operative Commonwealth. Mankind, awaking from the long night ofbondage and mourning and arising from the dust wherein they had lainprone so long, were at last looking upward to the light that was rivingasunder and dissolving the dark clouds which had so long concealed fromthem the face of heaven. The light that will shine upon the world wideFatherland and illumine the gilded domes and glittering pinnacles ofthe beautiful cities of the future, where men shall dwell together intrue brotherhood and goodwill and joy. The Golden Light that will bediffused throughout all the happy world from the rays of the risen sunof Socialism. 

Appendix

Mugsborough

Mugsborough was a town of about eighty thousand inhabitants, about twohundred miles from London. It was built in a verdant valley. Lookingwest, north or east from the vicinity of the fountain on the GrandParade in the centre of the town, one saw a succession of pine-cladhills. To the south, as far as the eye could see, stretched a vast, cultivated plain that extended to the south coast, one hundred milesaway. The climate was supposed to be cool in summer and mild in winter. 

The town proper nestled in the valley: to the west, the most beautifuland sheltered part was the suburb of Irene: here were the homes of thewealthy residents and prosperous tradespeople, and numerousboarding-houses for the accommodation of well-to-do visitors. East, the town extended up the slope to the top of the hill and down theother side to the suburb of Windley, where the majority of the workingclasses lived. 

Years ago, when the facilities for foreign travel were fewer and morecostly, Mugsborough was a favourite resort of the upper classes, but oflate years most of these patriots have adopted the practice of going onthe Continent to spend the money they obtain from the working people ofEngland. However, Mugsborough still retained some semblance ofprosperity. Summer or winter the place was usually fairly full of whatwere called good-class visitors, either holidaymakers or invalids. TheGrand Parade was generally crowded with well-dressed people andcarriages. The shops appeared to be well-patronized and at the time ofour story an air of prosperity pervaded the town. But this fairoutward appearance was deceitful. The town was really a vast whitedsepulchre; for notwithstanding the natural advantages of the place themajority of the inhabitants existed in a state of perpetual povertywhich in many cases bordered on destitution. One of the reasons forthis was that a great part of the incomes of the tradespeople andboarding-house-keepers and about a third of the wages of the workingclasses were paid away as rent and rates. 

For years the Corporation had been borrowing money for necessary publicworks and improvements, and as the indebtedness of the town increasedthe rates rose in proportion, because the only works and servicesundertaken by the Council were such as did not yield revenue. Everypublic service capable of returning direct profit was in the hands ofprivate companies, and the shares of the private companies were in thehands of the members of the Corporation, and the members of theCorporation were in the hands of the four most able and intellectual oftheir number, Councillors Sweater, Rushton, Didlum and Grinder, each ofwhom was a director of one or more of the numerous companies whichbattened on the town. 

The Tramway Company, the Water Works Company, the Public Baths Company, the Winter Gardens Company, the Grand Hotel Company and numerousothers. There was, however, one Company in which Sweater, Rushton, Didlum and Grinder had no shares, and that was the Gas Company, theoldest and most flourishing of them all. This institution had grownwith the place; most of the original promoters were dead, and thegreater number of the present shareholders were non-residents; althoughthey lived on the town, they did not live in it. 

The profits made by this Company were so great that, being prevented bylaw from paying a larger dividend than ten percent, they frequentlyfound it a difficult matter to decide what to do with the money. Theypaid the Directors and principal officials--themselves shareholders, ofcourse--enormous salaries. They built and furnished costly andluxurious offices and gave the rest to the shareholders in the form ofBonuses. 

There was one way in which the Company might have used some of theprofits: it might have granted shorter hours and higher wages to theworkmen whose health was destroyed and whose lives were shortened bythe terrible labour of the retort-houses and the limesheds; but ofcourse none of the directors or shareholders ever thought of doingthat. It was not the business of the Company to concern itself aboutthem. 

Years ago, when it might have been done for a comparatively smallamount, some hare-brained Socialists suggested that the town should buythe Gas Works, but the project was wrecked by the inhabitants, uponwhom the mere mention of the word Socialist had the same effect thatthe sight of a red rag is popularly supposed to have on a bull. 

Of course, even now it was still possible to buy out the Company, butit was supposed that it would cost so much that it was generallyconsidered to be impracticable. 

Although they declined to buy the Gas works, the people of Mugsboroughhad to buy the gas. The amount paid by the municipality to the Companyfor the public lighting of the town loomed large in the accounts of theCouncil. They managed to get some of their own back by imposing a dutyof two shillings a ton upon coals imported into the Borough, butalthough it cost the Gas Works a lot of money for coal dues the Companyin its turn got its own back by increasing the price of gas they soldto the inhabitants of the town. ..