the ragged trousered philanthropists-第12章

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started　it　going　again。　　He　then　removed　his　overcoat　and　lay　down　on　the　bed　in　his　clothes；　covering　himself　with　the　quilt。　After　a　while　he　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　of　consumption　when　the　boy　was　only　five　years　old。　　After　that　his　mother　earned　a　scanty　living　as　a　needle…woman。　　When　Frank　was　thirteen　he　went　to　work　for　a　master　decorator　who　was　a　man　of　a　type　that　has　now　almost　disappeared；　being　not　merely　an　employer　but　a　craftsman　of　a　high　order。

He　was　an　old　man　when　Frank　Owen　went　to　work　for　him。　　At　one　time　he　had　had　a　good　business　in　the　town；　and　used　to　boast　that　he　had　always　done　good　work；　had　found　pleasure　in　doing　it　and　had　been　well　paid　for　it。　　But　of　late　years　the　number　of　his　customers　had　dwindled　considerably；　for　there　had　arisen　a　new　generation　which　cared　nothing　about　craftsmanship　or　art；　and　everything　for　cheapness　and　profit。　　From　this　man　and　by　laborious　study　and　practice　in　his　spare　time；　aided　by　a　certain　measure　of　natural　ability；　the　boy　acquired　a　knowledge　of　decorative　painting　and　design；　and　graining　and　signwriting。

Frank's　mother　died　when　he　was　twenty…four；　and　a　year　afterwards　he　married　the　daughter　of　a　fellow　workman。　　In　those　days　trade　was　fairly　good　and　although　there　was　not　much　demand　for　the　more　artistic　kinds　of　work；　still　the　fact　that　he　was　capable　of　doing　them；　if　required；　made　it　comparatively　easy　for　him　to　obtain　employment。　　Owen　and　his　wife　were　very　happy。　　They　had　one　child　…　a　boy　…　and　for　some　years　all　went　well。　　But　gradually　this　state　of　things　altered：　broadly　speaking；　the　change　came　slowly　and　imperceptibly；　although　there　were　occasional　sudden　fluctuations。

Even　in　summer　he　could　not　always　find　work：　and　in　winter　it　was　almost　impossible　to　get　a　job　of　any　sort。　　At　last；　about　twelve　months　before　the　date　that　this　story　opens；　he　determined　to　leave　his　wife　and　child　at　home　and　go　to　try　his　fortune　in　London。　　When　he　got　employment　he　would　send　for　them。

It　was　a　vain　hope。　　He　found　London；　if　anything；　worse　than　his　native　town。　　Wherever　he　went　he　was　confronted　with　the　legend：　‘No　hands　wanted'。　　He　walked　the　streets　day　after　day；　pawned　or　sold　all　his　clothes　save　those　he　stood　in；　and　stayed　in　London　for　six　months；　sometimes　starving　and　only　occasionally　obtaining　a　few　days　or　weeks　work。

At　the　end　of　that　time　he　was　forced　to　give　in。　　The　privations　he　had　endured；　the　strain　on　his　mind　and　the　foul　atmosphere　of　the　city　combined　to　defeat　him。　　Symptoms　of　the　disease　that　had　killed　his　father　began　to　manifest　themselves；　and　yielding　to　the　repeated　entreaties　of　his　wife　he　returned　to　his　native　town；　the　shadow　of　his　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'　until　something　came　in。

Ever　since　his　return　from　London；　Owen　had　been　gradually　abandoning　himself　to　hopelessness。　　Every　day　he　felt　that　the　disease　he　suffered　from　was　obtaining　a　stronger　grip　on　him。　　The　doctor　told　him　to　‘take　plenty　of　nourishing　food'；　and　prescribed　costly　medicines　which　Owen　had　not　the　money　to　buy。

Then　there　was　his　wife。　　Naturally　delicate；　she　needed　many　things　that　he　was　unable　to　procure　for　her。　　And　the　boy　…　what　hope　was　there　for　him？　　Often　as　Owen　moodily　thought　of　their　circumstances　and　prospects　he　told　himself　that　it　would　be　far　better　if　they　could　all　three　die　now；　together。

He　was　tired　of　suffering　himself；　tired　of　impotently　watching　the　sufferings　of　his　wife；　and　appalled　at　the　thought　of　what　was　in　store　for　the　child。

Of　this　nature　were　his　reflections　as　he　walked　homewards　on　the　evening　of　the　day　when　old　Linden　was　dismissed。　　There　was　no　reason　to　believe　or　hope　that　the　existing　state　of　things　would　be　altered　for　a　long　time　to　come。

Thousands　of　people　like　himself　dragged　out　a　wretched　existence　on　the　very　verge　of　starvation；　and　for　the　greater　number　of　people　life　was　one　long　struggle　against　poverty。　　Yet　practically　none　of　these　people　knew　or　even　troubled　themselves　to　inquire　why　they　were　in　that　condition；　and　for　anyone　else　to　try　to　explain　to　them　was　a　ridiculous　waste　of　time；　for　they　did　not　want　to　know。

The　remedy　was　so　simple；　the　evil　so　great　and　so　glaringly　evident　that　the　only　possible　explanation　of　its　continued　existence　was　that　the　majority　of　his　fellow　workers　were　devoid　of　the　power　of　reasoning。　　If　these　people　were　not　mentally　deficient　they　would　of　their　own　accord　have　swept　this　silly　system　away　long　ago。　　It　would　not　have　been　necessary　for　anyone　to　teach　them　that　it　was　wrong。

Why；　even　those　who　were　successful　or　wealthy　could　not　be　sure　that　they　would　not　eventually　die　of　want。　　In　every　workhouse　might　be　found　people　who　had　at　one　time　occupied　good　positions；　and　their　downfall　was　not　in　every　case　their　own　fault。

No　matter　how　prosperous　a　man　might　be；　he　could　not　be　certain　that　his　children　would　never　want　for　bread。　　There　were　thousands　living　in　misery　on　starvation　wages　whose　parents　had　been　wealthy　people。

As　Owen　strode　rapidly　along；　his　mind　filled　with　these　thoughts；　he　was　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　yet　been　able　to　redeem　it。　　His　boots　were　leaky　and　sodden　with　mud　and　rain。

He　was　nearly　home　now。　　At　the　corner　of　the　street　in　which　he　lived　there　was　a　newsagent's　shop　and　on　a　board　outside　the　door　was　displayed　a　placard：

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　TERRIBLE　DOMESTIC　TRAGEDY　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　DOUBLE　MURDER　AND　SUICIDE

He　went　in　to　buy　a　copy　of　the　paper。　　He　was　a　frequent　customer　here；　and　as　he　entered　the　shopkeeper　greeted　him　by　name。

‘Dreadful　weather；'　he　remarked　as　he　handed　Owen　the　paper。　　‘It　makes　things　pretty　bad　in　your　line；　I　suppose？'

‘Yes；'　responded　Owen；　‘there's　a　lot　of　men　idle；　but　fortunately　I　happen　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　a　little　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　once　or　twice　himself。

‘The　foreman　was　in　here　today；'　the　shopkeeper　went　on。　　‘He　said　they're　going　to　make　a　start　Monday　morning　if　it's　fine。'

‘Well；　I　hope　it　will　be；'　said　Owen；　‘because　things　are　very　quiet　just　now。'

Wishing　the　other　‘Good　nigh'；　Owen　again　proceeded　homewards。

Half…way　down　the　street　he　paused　irresolutely：　he　was　thinking　of　the　news　he　had　just　heard　and　of　Jack　Linden。

As　soon　as　it　became　generally　known　that　this　work　was　about　to　be　started　there　was　sure　to　be　a　rush　for　it；　and　it　would　be　a　case　of　first　come；　first　served。　　If　he　saw　Jack　tonight　the　old　man　might　be　in　time　to　secure　a　job。

Owen　hesitated：　he　was　wet　through：　it　was　a　long　way　to　Linden's　place；　nearly　twenty　minutes'　walk。　　Still；　he　would　like　to　let　him　know；　because　unless　he　was　one　of　the　first　to　apply；　Linden　would　not　stand　such　a　good　chance　as　a　younger　man。　　Owen　said　to　himself　that　if　he　walked　very　fast　there　was　not　much　risk　of　catching　cold。　Standing　about　in　wet　clothes　might　be　dangerous；　but　so　long　as　one　kept　moving　it　was　all　right。

He　turned　back　and　set　off　in　the　direction　of　Linden's　house：　although　he　was　but　a　few　yards　from　his　own　home；　he　decided　not　to　go　in　because　his　wife　would　be　sure　to　try　to　persuade　him　not　to　go　out　again。

As　he　hurried　along　he　presently　noticed　a　small　dark　object　on　the　doorstep　of　an　untenanted　house。　　He　stopped　to　examine　it　more　closely　and　perceived　that　it　was　a　small　black　kitten。　　The　tiny　creature　came　towards　him　and　began　walking　about　his　feet；　looking　into　his　face　and　crying　piteously。　　He　stooped　down　and　stroked　it；　shuddering　as　his　hands　came　in　contact　with　its　emaciated　body。　　Its　fur　was　saturated　with　rain　and　every　joint　of　its　backbone　was　distinctly　perceptible　to　the　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　put　it　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　loving　God；　how　was　it　that　this　helpless　creature　that　He　had　made　was　condemned　to　suffer？　　It　had　never　done　any　harm；　and　was　in　no　sense　responsible　for　the　fact　that　it　existed。　　Was　God　unaware　of　the　miseries　of　His　creatures？　　If　so；　then　He　was　not　all…knowing。　　Was　God　aware　of　their　sufferings；　but　unable　to　help　them？　　Then　He　was　not　all…powerful。　　Had　He　the　power　but　not　the　will　to　make　His　creatures　happy？　　Then　He　was　not　good。　　No；　it　was　impossible　to　believe　in　the　existence　of　an　individual；　infinite　God。。　　In　fact；　no　one　did　so　believe；　and　least　of　all　those　who　pretended　for　various　reasons　to　be　the　disciples　and　followers　of　Christ。　　The　anti…Christs　who　went　about　singing　hymns；　making　long　prayers　and　crying　Lord；　Lord；　but　never　doing　the　things　which　He　said；　who　were　known　by　their　words　to　be　unbelievers　and　infidels；　unfaithful　to　the　Master　they　pretended　to　serve；　their　lives　being　passed　in　deliberate　and　systematic　disregard　of　His　teachings　and　Commandments。　　It　was　not　necessary　to　call　in　the　evidence　of　science；　or　to　refer　to　the　supposed　inconsistencies；　impossibilities；　contradictions　and　absurdities　contained　in　the　Bible；　in　order　to　prove　there　was　no　truth　in　the　Christian　religion。　　All　that　was　necessary　was　to　look　at　the　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　this　house　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　that　although　the　house　itself　was　not　of　much　account　he　had　managed　to　get　it　into　very　good　order；　and　as　a　result　it　was　very　clean　and　comfortable。

Another　result　of　his　industry　was　that　…　seeing　the　improved　appearance　of　the　place　…　the　landlord　had　on　two　occasions　raised　the　rent。　　When　Linden　first　took　the　house　the　rent　was　six　shillings　a　week。　　Five　years　after；　it　was　raised　to　seven　shillings；　and　after　the　lapse　of　another　five　years　it　had　been　increased　to　eight　shillings。

During　the　thirty　years　of　his　tenancy　he　had　paid　altogether　nearly　six　hundred　pounds　in　rent；　more　than　double　the　amount　of　the　present　value　of　the　house。　　Jack　did　not　complain　of　this　…　in　fact　he　was　very　well　satisfied。　　He　often　said　that　Mr　Sweater　was　a　very　good　landlord；　because　on　several　occasio