Ragged Trousered Philanthropists - Robert Tressell (best pdf ebook reader .txt) 📗

had

made when he happened to be employed with others painting the outside

of 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

he knew that, taking good times with bad, his wages did no average a

pound a week. At the end of that time, however, he found that he

could not honourably 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 of

work; he always had enough to live on and pocket money besides; but

now that he was married it was different; the fear of being `out’

haunted him all the time.

 

He had started for Rushton & Co. on the previous Monday after having

been idle for three weeks, and as the house where he was working had

to be done right through he had congratulated himself on having

secured a job that would last till Christmas; but he now began to fear

that what had befallen Jack Linden might also happen to himself at any

time. He would have to be very careful not to offend Crass in any

way. He was afraid the latter did not like him very much as it was.

Easton knew that Crass could get him the sack at any time, and would

not scruple to do so if he wanted to make room for some crony of his

own. Crass was the `coddy’ or foreman of the job. Considered as a

workman he had no very unusual abilities; he was if anything inferior

to the majority of his fellow workmen. But although he had but little

real ability he pretended to know everything, and the vague references

he was in the habit of making to `tones’, and `shades’, and `harmony’,

had so impressed Hunter that the latter had a high opinion of him as a

workman. It was by pushing himself forward in this way and by

judicious toadying to Hunter that Crass managed to get himself put in

charge of work.

 

Although Crass did as little work as possible himself he took care

that the others worked hard. Any man who failed to satisfy him in

this respect he reported to Hunter as being `no good’, or `too slow

for a funeral’. The result was that this man was dispensed with at

the end of the week. The men knew this, and most of them feared the

wily Crass accordingly, though there were a few whose known abilities

placed them to a certain extent above the reach of his malice. Frank

Owen was one of these.

 

There were others who by the judicious administration of pipefuls of

tobacco and pints of beer, managed to keep in Crass’s good graces and

often retained their employment when better workmen were `stood off’.

 

As he walked home through the rain thinking of these things, Easton

realized that it was not possible to foresee what a day or even an

hour might bring forth.

 

By this time he had arrived at his home; it was a small house, one of

a long row of similar ones, and it contained altogether four rooms.

 

The front door opened into a passage about two feet six inches wide

and ten feet in length, covered with oilcloth. At the end of the

passage was a flight of stairs leading to the upper part of the house.

The first door on the left led into the front sitting-room, an

apartment about nine feet square, with a bay window. This room was

very rarely used and was always very tidy and clean. The mantelpiece

was of wood painted black and ornamented with jagged streaks of red

and yellow, which were supposed to give it the appearance of marble.

On the walls was a paper with a pale terra-cotta ground and a pattern

consisting of large white roses with chocolate coloured leaves and

stalks.

 

There was a small iron fender with fire-irons to match, and on the

mantelshelf stood a clock in a polished wood case, a pair of blue

glass vases, and some photographs in frames. The floor was covered

with oilcloth of a tile pattern in yellow and red. On the walls were

two or three framed coloured prints such as are presented with

Christmas numbers of illustrated papers. There was also a photograph

of a group of Sunday School girls with their teachers with the church

for the background. In the centre of the room was a round deal table

about three feet six inches across, with the legs stained red to look

like mahogany. Against one wall was an old couch covered with faded

cretonne, four chairs to match standing backs to wall in different

parts of the room. The table was covered with a red cloth with a

yellow crewel work design in the centre and in each of the four

corners, the edges being overcast in the same material. On the table

were a lamp and a number of brightly bound books.

 

Some of these things, as the couch and the chairs, Easton had bought

second-hand and had done up himself. The table, oilcloth, fender,

hearthrug, etc, had been obtained on the hire system and were not yet

paid for. The windows were draped with white lace curtains and in the

bay 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 its

pages were as clean as the other things in the room, and on the

flyleaf might have been read the following inscription: `To dear Ruth,

from her loving friend Mrs Starvem with the prayer that God’s word may

be her guide and that Jesus may be her very own Saviour. Oct. 12.

19—’

 

Mrs Starvem was Ruth’s former mistress, and this had been her parting

gift when Ruth left to get married. It was supposed to be a keepsake,

but as Ruth never opened the book and never willingly allowed her

thoughts to dwell upon the scenes of which it reminded her, she had

forgotten the existence of Mrs Starvem almost as completely as that

well-to-do and pious lady had forgotten hers.

 

For Ruth, the memory of the time she spent in the house of `her loving

friend’ was the reverse of pleasant. It comprised a series of

recollections of petty tyrannies, insults and indignities. Six years

of cruelly excessive work, beginning every morning two or three hours

before the rest of the household were awake and ceasing only when she

went exhausted to bed, late at night.

 

She had been what is called a `slavey’ but if she had been really a

slave her owner would have had some regard for her health and welfare:

her `loving friend’ had had none. Mrs Starvem’s only thought had been

to get out of Ruth the greatest possible amount of labour and to give

her as little as possible in return.

 

When Ruth looked back upon that dreadful time she saw it, as one might

say, surrounded by a halo of religion. She never passed by a chapel

or heard the name of God, or the singing of a hymn, without thinking

of her former mistress. To have looked into this Bible would have

reminded her of Mrs Starvem; that was one of the reasons why the book

reposed, unopened and unread, a mere ornament on the table in the bay

window.

 

The second door in the passage near the foot of the stairs led into

the kitchen 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 asked

him not to make a noise as the child had just gone to sleep. They

kissed each other and she helped him to remove his wet overcoat. Then

they both went softly into the kitchen.

 

This room was about the same size as the sitting-room. At one end was

a small range with an oven and a boiler, and a high mantelpiece

painted black. On the mantelshelf was a small round alarm clock and

some brightly polished tin canisters. At the other end of the room,

facing the fireplace, was a small dresser on the shelves of which were

nearly arranged a number of plates and dishes. The walls were papered

with oak paper. On one wall, between two coloured almanacks, hung a

tin lamp with a reflector behind the light. In the middle of the room

was an oblong deal table with a white tablecloth upon which the tea

things were set ready. There were four kitchen chairs, two of which

were placed close to the table. Overhead, across the room, about

eighteen inches down from the ceiling, were stretched several cords

upon which were drying a number of linen or calico undergarments, a

coloured shirt, and Easton’s white apron and jacket. On the back of a

chair at one side of the fire more clothes were drying. At the other

side on the floor was a wicker cradle in which a baby was sleeping.

Nearby stood a chair with a towel hung on the back, arranged so as to

shade the infant’s face from the light of the lamp. An air of homely

comfort pervaded the room; the atmosphere was warm, and the fire

blazed cheerfully over the whitened hearth.

 

They walked softly over and stood by the cradle side looking at the

child; as they looked the baby kept moving uneasily in its sleep. Its

face was very flushed and its eyes were moving under the half-closed

lids. Every now and again its lips were drawn back slightly, showing

part of the gums; presently it began to whimper, drawing up its knees

as 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

restless all 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

and I’ve nursed him several times today. And then at dinner-time he

had a whole saucer full of fried potatoes with little bits of bacon in

it.’

 

Again the infant whimpered and twisted in its sleep, its lips drawn

back showing the gums: its knees pressed closely to its body, the

little fists clenched, and face flushed. Then after a few seconds it

became placid: the mouth resumed its usual shape; the limbs relaxed

and the 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’s

wearing 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 a

very beautiful child: he would be eight months old on Sunday. They

were sorry they could do nothing to ease his pain, but consoled

themselves with the reflection that he would be all right once those

teeth 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 of

the fire to dry and put on dry socks and a pair of slippers in their

stead, Ruth half filled a tin basin with hot water from the boiler and

gave it to him, and he then went to the scullery, added some cold

water and began to wash the paint off his hands. This done he

returned to