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

Chapter 17

The Rev. John Starr

 

`What time is it now, Mum?’ asked Frankie as soon as he had finished

dinner on the following Sunday.

 

`Two o’clock.’

 

`Hooray! Only one more hour and Charley will be here! Oh, I wish it

was 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 out

of 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

staring at 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 and

then I should have the trouble all over again. Play with your toys a

little 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 the

next room rummaging in the box where he stored his collection of

`things’. At the end of that time, however, he returned to the

kitchen. `Is it time to dress me yet, Mum?’

 

`No, dear, not yet. You needn’t be afraid; you’ll be ready in plenty

of 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 dress

me now, because perhaps our clock’s wrong, or p’r’aps when you begin

dressing me you’ll find some buttons off or something, and then

there’ll be a lot of time wasted sewing them on; or p’r’aps you won’t

be able to find my clean stockings or something and then while you’re

looking for it Charley might come, and if he sees I’m not ready he

mightn’t wait for me.’

 

`Oh, dear!’ said Nora, pretending to be alarmed at this appalling list

of 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 wait

till he comes, because I don’t want the trouble of dressing you

twice.’

 

`Oh, I don’t mind sitting still,’ returned Frankie, loftily. `That’s

very easy.

 

`I don’t mind having to take care of my clothes,’ said Frankie as his

mother - having washed and dressed him, was putting the finishing

touches to his hair, brushing and combing and curling the long yellow

locks into ringlets round her fingers, `the only thing I don’t like is

having 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 mind

cutting them off.’

 

Nora did not answer: somehow or other she was unwilling to comply with

this often-repeated entreaty. It seemed to her that when this hair

was cut off the child would have become a different individual - more

separate and independent.

 

`If you don’t want to cut it off for your own sake, you might do it

for my sake, because I think it’s the reason some of the big boys

don’t want to play with me, and some of them shout after me and say

I’m a girl, and sometimes they sneak up behind me and pull it. Only

yesterday I had to have a fight with a boy for doing it: and even

Charley Linden laughs at me, and he’s my best friend - except you and

Dad 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

the matter, Mum? What are you crying for?’ Frankie was so concerned

that he 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 the matter, Mother?’

 

`I was thinking that when you’re over seven and you’ve had your hair

cut 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

them in 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 and stood with one leg on the back of each chair.

 

`I should like to see a baby who could do this,’ he cried, with his

face wet with tears. `You needn’t lift me down. I can get down by

myself. Babies can’t do tricks like these or even wipe up the spoons

and forks or sweep the passage. But you needn’t cut it off if you

don’t want to. I’ll bear it as long as you like. Only don’t cry any

more, because it makes me miserable. If I cry when I fall down or

when you pull my hair when you’re combing it you always tell me to

bear it like a man and not be a baby, and now you’re crying yourself

just because I’m not a baby. You ought to be jolly glad that I’m

nearly grown up into a man, because you know I’ve promised to build

you a house 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

can stop at home and sit by the fire and read the paper or play with

me and Maud 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 be able to go with Charley at all.’

 

When she had finished dressing him, Frankie sat for some time in

silence, apparently lost in thought. At last he said:

 

`Why don’t you get a baby, Mother? You could nurse it, and I could

have 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 the

money 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 not

to 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:

Charley said 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 ordeal

of sitting still were terminated by the loud peal at the bell

announcing Charley’s arrival, and Frankie, without troubling to

observe the usual formality of looking out of the window to see if it

was a runaway ring, had clattered half-way downstairs before he heard

his mother calling him to come back for the halfpenny; then he

clattered up again and then down again at such a rate and with so much

noise as to rouse the indignation of all the respectable people in the

house.