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born into the world, no matter

whether he is clever or full, whether he is physically perfect or

lame, or blind; no matter how much he may excel or fall short of his

fellows in other respects, in one thing at least he is their equal -

he is one of the heirs of all the ages that have gone before.’

 

Some of them began to wonder whether Owen was not sane after all. He

certainly 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 could

not understand one half of it.

 

`Why is it,’ continued Owen, `that we are not only deprived of our

inheritance - we are not only deprived of nearly all the benefits of

civilization, but we and our children and also often unable to obtain

even the bare necessaries of existence?’

 

No one answered.

 

`All these things,’ Owen proceeded, `are produced by those who work.

We do our full share of the work, therefore we should have a full

share of the things that are made by work.’

 

The others continued silent. Harlow thought of the over-population

theory, but decided not to mention it. Crass, who could not have

given an intelligent answer to save his life, for once had sufficient

sense to remain silent. He did think of calling out the patent

paint-pumping machine and bringing the hosepipe to bear on the

subject, but abandoned the idea; after all, he thought, what was the

use of arguing with such a 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 advantages

of civilization we are really worse off than slaves, for if we were

slaves our owners in their own interest would see to it that we always

had food and -‘

 

`Oh, I don’t see that,’ roughly interrupted old Linden, who had been

listening with evident anger and impatience. `You can speak for

yourself, but I can tell yer I don’t put MYSELF down as a slave.’

 

`Nor me neither,’ said Crass sturdily. `Let them call their selves

slaves as wants to.’

 

At this moment a footstep was heard in the passage leading to the

kitchen. Old Misery! or perhaps the bloke himself! Crass hurriedly

pulled out his watch.

 

`Jesus Christ!’ he gasped. `It’s four minutes past one!’

 

Linden frantically seized hold of a pair of steps and began wandering

about the room with them.

 

Sawkins scrambled hastily to his feet and, snatching a piece of

sandpaper from the pocket of his apron, began furiously rubbing down

the scullery door.

 

Easton threw down the copy of the Obscurer and scrambled hastily to

his feet.

 

The boy crammed the Chronicles of Crime into his trousers pocket.

 

Crass rushed over to the bucket and began stirring up the stale

whitewash it contained, and the stench which it gave forth was simply

appalling.

 

Consternation reigned.

 

They looked like a gang of malefactors suddenly interrupted in the

commission of a crime.

 

The door opened. It was only Bundy returning from his mission to the

Bookie.

Chapter 2:

Nimrod: a Mighty Hunter before the Lord

 

Mr Hunter, as he was called to his face and as he was known to his

brethren at the Shining Light Chapel, where he was superintendant of

the Sunday School, or `Misery’ or `Nimrod’; as he was named behind his

back by the workmen over whom he tyrannized, was the general or

walking foreman of `manager’ of the firm whose card is herewith

presented to the 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 THE

foreman.

 

He was a tall, thin man whose clothes hung loosely on the angles of

his round-shouldered, bony form. His long, thin legs, about which the

baggy trousers draped in ungraceful folds, were slightly knock-kneed

and terminated in large, flat feet. His arms were very long even for

such 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 with

a red handkerchief the sweat occasioned by furious bicycle riding, it

was seen that his forehead was high, flat and narrow. His nose was a

large, fleshy, hawklike beak, and from the side of each nostril a deep

indentation extended downwards until it disappeared in the dropping

moustache that concealed his mouth, the vast extent of which was

perceived only when he opened it to bellow at the workmen his

exhortations to greater exertions. His chin was large and

extraordinarily long. The eyes were pale blue, very small and close

together, surmounted by spare, light-coloured, almost invisible

eyebrows, with a deep vertical cleft between them over the nose. His

head, covered with thick, coarse brown hair, was very large at the

back; the ears were small and laid close to the head. If one were to

make a full-face drawing of his cadaverous visage it would be found

that the outline resembled that of the lid of a coffin.

 

This man had been with Rushton - no one had ever seen the `Co.’ - for

fifteen years, in fact almost from the time when the latter commenced

business. Rushton had at that period realized the necessity of having

a deputy who could be used to do all the drudgery and running about so

that he himself might be free to attend to the more pleasant or

profitable matters. Hunter was then a journeyman, but was on the

point of starting on his own account, when Rushton offered him a

constant job as foreman, two pounds a week, and two and a half per

cent of the profits of all work done. On the face of it this appeared

a generous offer. Hunter closed with it, gave up the idea of starting

for himself, and threw himself heart and mind into the business. When

an estimate was to be prepared it was Hunter who measured up the work

and laboriously figured out the probably cost. When their tenders

were accepted it was he who superintended the work and schemed how to

scamp it, where possible, using mud where mortar was specified, mortar

where there ought to have been cement, sheet zinc where they were

supposed to put sheet lead, boiled oil instead of varnish, and three

coats of paint where five were paid for. In fact, scamping the work

was with this man a kind of mania. It grieved him to see anything

done properly. Even when it was more economical to do a thing well,

he insisted from force of habit on having it scamped. Then he was

almost happy, because he felt that he was doing someone down. If

there were an architect superintending the work, Misery would square

him or bluff him. If it were not possible to do either, at least he

had a try; and in the intervals of watching, driving and bullying the

hands, his vulture eye was ever on the look out for fresh jobs. His

long red nose was thrust into every estate agent’s office in the town

in the endeavour to smell out what properties had recently changed

hands or been let, in order that he might interview the new owners and

secure the order for whatever alterations or repairs might be

required. He it was who entered into unholy compacts with numerous

charwomen and nurses of the sick, who in return for a small commission

would let him know when some poor sufferer was passing away and would

recommend Rushton & Co. to the bereaved and distracted relatives. By

these means often - after first carefully inquiring into the financial

position of the stricken family - Misery would contrive to wriggle his

unsavoury carcass into the house of sorrow, seeking, even in the

chamber of death, to further the interests of Rushton & Co. and to

earn his miserable two and a half per cent.

 

It was to make possible the attainment of this object that Misery

slaved and drove and schemed and cheated. It was for this that the

workers’ wages were cut down to the lowest possible point and their

offspring went ill clad, ill shod and ill fed, and were driven forth

to labour while they were yet children, because their fathers were

unable to earn enough to support their homes.

 

Fifteen years!

 

Hunter realized now that Rushton had had considerably the best of the

bargain. In the first place, it will be seen that the latter had

bought over one who might have proved a dangerous competitor, and now,

after fifteen years, the business that had been so laboriously built

up, mainly by Hunter’s energy, industry and unscrupulous cunning,

belonged to Rushton & Co. Hunter was but an employee, liable to

dismissal like any other workman, the only difference being that he

was entitled to a week’s notice instead of an hour’s notice, and was

but little 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

too late to turn back. He had not saved enough to make a successful

start on his own account even if he had felt mentally and physically

capable of beginning all over again, and if Rushton were to discharge

him right now he was too old to get a job as a journeyman. Further,

in his zeal for Rushton & Co. and his anxiety to earn his commission,

he had often done things that had roused the animosity of rival firms

to such an extent 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 of having to meet on an equal footing those workmen whom he

had tyrannized over and oppressed. It was for these reasons that

Hunter was as terrified of Rushton as the hands were of himself.

 

Over the men stood Misery, ever threatening them with dismissal and

their wives and children with hunger. Behind Misery was Rushton, ever

bullying and goading him on to greater excuses and efforts for the

furtherance of the good cause - which was to enable the head of the

firm to accumulate money.

 

Mr Hunter, at the moment when the reader first makes his acquaintance

on the afternoon of the day when the incidents recorded in the first

chapter took place, was executing a kind of strategic movement in the

direction of the house where Crass and his mates were working. He

kept to one side of the road because by so doing he could not be

perceived by those within the house until the instant of his arrival.

When he was within about a hundred yards of the gate he dismounted

from his bicycle, there being a sharp rise in the road just there, and

as he toiled up, pushing the bicycle in front, his breath showing in

white clouds 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, but where now out of a job . There were five men altogether;

three of them were standing in a group, the other two stood each by

himself, being apparently strangers to each other and the first three.

The three men who stood together were nearest to Hunter and as the

latter approached, one of them advanced to meet him.

 

`Good afternoon, sir.’

 

Hunter replied by

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