the ragged trousered philanthropists-第25章

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do　'em　no　'arm！'

At　this　some　of　the　others　furtively　exchanged　significant　glances；　and　Harlow　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　and　passed　it　over　to　the　new　hand。

Their　conjectures　regarding　the　cause　of　Hunter's　good　humour　were　all　wrong。　　As　the　reader　knows；　Owen　had　not　been　discharged　at　all；　and　there　was　nobody　dead。　　The　real　reason　was　that；　having　decided　to　take　on　another　man；　Hunter　had　experienced　no　difficulty　in　getting　one　at　the　same　reduced　rate　as　that　which　Newman　was　working　for；　there　being　such　numbers　of　men　out　of　employment。　　Hitherto　the　usual　rate　of　pay　in　Mugsborough　had　been　sevenpence　an　hour　for　skilled　painters。　　The　reader　will　remember　that　Newman　consented　to　accept　a　job　at　sixpence　halfpenny。　　So　far　none　of　the　other　workmen　knew　that　Newman　was　working　under　price：　he　had　told　no　one；　not　feeling　sure　whether　he　was　the　only　one　or　not。　　The　man　whom　Hunter　had　taken　on　that　morning　also　decided　in　his　mind　that　he　would　keep　his　own　counsel　concerning　what　pay　he　was　to　receive；　until　he　found　out　what　the　others　were　getting。

Just　before　half　past　eight　Owen　arrived　and　was　immediately　assailed　with　questions　as　to　what　had　transpired　at　the　office。　　Crass　listened　with　ill…concealed　chagrin　to　Owen's　account；　but　most　of　the　others　were　genuinely　pleased。

‘But　what　a　way　to　speak　to　anybody！'　observed　Harlow；　referring　to　Hunter's　manner　on　the　previous　Monday　night。

‘You　know；　I　reckon　if　ole　Misery　'ad　four　legs；　'e'd　make　a　very　good　pig；'　said　Philpot；　solemnly；　‘and　you　can't　expect　nothin'　from　a　pig　but　a　grunt。'

During　the　morning；　as　Easton　and　Owen　were　working　together　in　the　drawing…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　of　chap；　don't　you？'

‘Yes；　I　suppose　he　is；'　replied　Owen；　hesitatingly。　　‘I　know　nothing　against　him。'

‘Of　course；　we'd　rather　'ave　the　'ouse　to　ourselves　if　we　could　afford　it；　but　work　is　so　scarce　lately。　　I've　been　figuring　out　exactly　what　my　money　has　averaged　for　the　last　twelve　months　and　how　much　a　week　do　you　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　reckon　we're　lucky　to　get　a　respectable　sort　of　chap　like　Slyme；　religious　and　teetotal　and　all　that；　you　know。　　Don't　you　think　so？'

‘Yes；　I　suppose　you　are；'　said　Owen；　who；　although　he　intensely　disliked　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　that　compared　with　them；　we　may　be　said　to　be　living　in　luxury。　　You　know　that；　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　this　when　there's　such　a　lot　of　chaps　walkin'　about　doin'　nothing。'

‘Yes；'　said　Owen：　‘we're　lucky！　　Although　we're　in　a　condition　of　abject；　miserable　poverty　we　must　consider　ourselves　lucky　that　we're　not　actually　starving。'

Owen　was　painting　the　door；　Easton　was　doing　the　skirting。　　This　work　caused　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　for　the　rest　of　our　lives　under　such　conditions　as　that？'

‘No；　certainly　not；'　replied　Easton；　‘but　things　are　sure　to　get　better　presently。　　Trade　hasn't　always　been　as　bad　as　it　is　now。　　Why；　you　can　remember　as　well　as　I　can　a　few　years　ago　there　was　so　much　work　that　we　was　putting　in　fourteen　and　sixteen　hours　a　day。　　I　used　to　be　so　done　up　by　the　end　of　the　week　that　I　used　to　stay　in　bed　nearly　all　day　on　Sunday。'

‘But　don't　you　think　it's　worth　while　trying　to　find　out　whether　it's　possible　to　so　arrange　things　that　we　may　be　able　to　live　like　civilized　human　beings　without　being　alternately　worked　to　death　or　starved？'

‘I　don't　see　how　we're　goin'　to　alter　things；'　answered　Easton。　　‘At　the　present　time；　from　what　I　hear；　work　is　scarce　everywhere。　　WE　can't　MAKE　work；　can　we？'

‘Do　you　think；　then；　that　the　affairs　of　the　world　are　something　like　the　wind　or　the　weather　…　altogether　beyond　our　control？　　And　that　if　they're　bad　we　can　do　nothing　but　just　sit　down　and　wait　for　them　to　get　better？'

‘Well；　I　don't　see　'ow　we　can　odds　it。　　If　the　people　wot's　got　the　money　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　you　have　about　another　thirty　years　to　live。　　Of　course；　if　you　had　proper　food　and　clothes　and　hadn't　to　work　more　than　a　reasonable　number　of　hours　every　day；　there　is　no　natural　reason　why　you　should　not　live　for　another　fifty　or　sixty　years：　but　we'll　say　thirty。　　Do　you　mean　to　say　that　you　are　able　to　contemplate　with　indifference　the　prospect　of　living　for　another　thirty　years　under　such　conditions　as　those　we　endure　at　present？'

Easton　made　no　reply。

‘If　you　were　to　commit　some　serious　breach　of　the　law；　and　were　sentenced　next　week　to　ten　years'　penal　servitude；　you'd　probably　think　your　fate　a　very　pitiable　one：　yet　you　appear　to　submit　quite　cheerfully　to　this　other　sentence；　which　is　…　that　you　shall　die　a　premature　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　he　spoke　and　starting　on　one　of　the　lower　panels　of　the　door；　‘when　there's　no　work；　you　will　either　starve　or　get　into　debt。　　When　…　as　at　present　…　there　is　a　little　work；　you　will　live　in　a　state　of　semi…starvation。　　When　times　are　what　you　call　〃good〃；　you　will　work　for　twelve　or　fourteen　hours　a　day　and　…　if　you're　VERY　lucky　…　occasionally　all　night。　　The　extra　money　you　then　earn　will　go　to　pay　your　debts　so　that　you　may　be　able　to　get　credit　again　when　there'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　twenty　years　sooner　than　is　natural；　or；　should　you　have　an　unusually　strong　constitution　and　live　after　you　cease　to　be　able　to　work；　you　will　be　put　into　a　kind　of　jail　and　treated　like　a　criminal　for　the　remainder　of　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　were　to　be　put　to　death　…　smothered；　or　hung；　or　poisoned；　or　put　into　a　lethal　chamber　…　as　soon　as　they　reached　the　age　of　fifty　years；　there　is　not　the　slightest　doubt　that　you　would　join　in　the　uproar　of　protest　that　would　ensue。　　Yet　you　submit　tamely　to　have　your　life　shortened　by　slow　starvation；　overwork；　lack　of　proper　boots　and　clothing；　and　though　having　often　to　turn　out　and　go　to　work　when　you　are　so　ill　that　you　ought　to　be　in　bed　receiving　medical　care。'

Easton　made　no　reply：　he　knew　that　all　this　was　true；　but　he　was　not　without　a　large　share　of　the　false　pride　which　prompts　us　to　hide　our　poverty　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　Ruth　had　bought　for　him；　but　he　had　told　Harlow　…　who　had　passed　some　remark　about　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　Owen　perceived　it；　but　nevertheless　he　continued：

‘Unless　the　present　system　is　altered；　that　is　all　we　have　to　look　forward　to；　and　yet　you're　one　of　the　upholders　of　the　present　system　…　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　are　trying　to　bring　a　better　state　of　things　into　existence。　　Even　if　you　are　indifferent　to　your　own　fate　…　as　you　seem　to　be　…　you　have　no　right　to　be　indifferent　to　that　of　the　child　for　whose　existence　in　this　world　you　are　responsible。　　Every　man　who　is　not　helping　to　bring　about　a　better　state　of　affairs　for　the　future　is　helping　to　perpetuate　the　present　misery；　and　is　therefore　the　enemy　of　his　own　children。　There　is　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　a　minit。'

It　was　not　often　that　Easton　was　glad　to　hear　of　the　approach　of　Nimrod；　but　on　this　occasion　he　heard　Bert's　message　with　a　sigh　of　relief。

‘I　say；'　added　the　boy　in　a　whisper　to　Owen；　‘if　it　comes　orf　…　I　mean　if　you　gets　the　job　to　do　this　room　…　will　you　ask　to　'ave　me　along　of　you？'

‘Yes；　all　right；　sonny；'　replied　Owen；　and　Bert　went　off　to　warn　the　others。

‘Unaware　that　he　had　been　observed；　Nimrod　sneaked　stealthily　into　the　house　and　began　softly　crawling　about　from　room　to　room；　peeping　around　corners　and　squinting　through　the　cracks　of　doors；　and　looking　through　keyholes。　　He　was　almost　pleased　to　see　that　everybody　was　very　hard　at　work；　but　on　going　into　Newman's　room　Misery　was　not　satisfied　with　the　progress　made　since　his　last　visit。　　The　fact　was　that　Newman　had　been　forgetting　himself　again　this　morning。　　He　had　been　taking　a　little　pains　with　the　work；　doing　it　something　like　properly；　instead　of　scamping　and　rushing　it　in　the　usual　way。　　The　result　was　that　he　had　not　done　enough。

‘You　know；　Newman；　this　kind　of　thing　won't　do！'　Nimrod　howled。　　‘You　must　get　over　a　bit　more　than　this　or　you　won't　suit　me！　　If　you　can't　move　yourself　a　bit　quicker　I　shall　'ave　to　get　someone　else。　　You've　been　in　this　room　since　seven　o'clock　this　morning　and　it's　dam　near　time　you　was　out　of　it！'

Newman　muttered　something　about　being　nearly　finished　now；　and　Hunter　ascended　to　the　next　landing　…　the　attics；　where　the　cheap　man　…　Sawkins；　the　labourer　…　was　at　work。　　Harlow　had　been　taken　away　from　the　attics　to　go　on　with　some　of　the　better　work；　so　Sawkins　was　now　working　alone。　　He　had　been　slogging　into　it　like　a　Trojan　and　had　done　quite　a　lot。　　He　had　painted　not　only　the　sashes　of　the　window；　but　also　a　large　part　of　the　glass；　and　when　doing　the　skirting　he　had　included　part　of　the　floor；　sometimes　an　inch；　sometimes　half　an　inch。

The　paint　was　of　a　dark　drab　colour　and　the　surface　of　the　newly　painted　doors　bore　a　strong　resemblance　to　corduroy　cloth；　and　from　the　bottom　corners　of　nearly　every　panel　there　was　trickling　down　a　large　tear；　as　if　the　doors　were　weeping　for　the　degenerate　condition　of　the　decorative　arts。　　But　these　tears　caused　to　throb　of　pity　in　the　bosom　of　Misery：　neither　did　the　corduroy…like　surface　of　the　work　grate　upon　his　feelings。　　He　perceived　them　not。　　He　saw　only　that　there　was　a　Lot　of　Work　done　and　his　soul　was　filled　with　rapture　as　he　reflected　that　the　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　was　sa