The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists Part 15

'And do you remember how much he gave us for it?'

'Five s.h.i.+llings,' replied Frankie, promptly. He was well acquainted with the details of the transaction, having often heard his father and mother discuss it.

'And when we saw it in his shop window a little while afterwards, what price was marked on it?'

'Fifteen s.h.i.+llings.'

Well, that's one way of getting money without working.

Frankie played with his toys in silence for some minutes. At last he said:

'What other ways?'

'Some people who have some money already get more in this way: they find some people who have no money and say to them, "Come and work for us." Then the people who have the money pay the workers just enough wages to keep them alive whilst they are at work. Then, when the things that the working people have been making are finished, the workers are sent away, and as they still have no money, they are soon starving. In the meantime the people who had the money take all the things that the workers have made and sell them for a great deal more money than they gave to the workers for making them. That's another way of getting lots of money without doing any useful work.'

'But is there no way to get rich without doing such things as that?'

'It's not possible for anyone to become rich without cheating other people.'

'What about our schoolmaster then? He doesn't do any work.'

'Don't you think it's useful and and also very hard work teaching all those boys every day? I don't think I should like to have to do it.'

'Yes, I suppose what he does is some use,' said Frankie thoughtfully.

'And it must be rather hard too, I should think. I've noticed he looks a bit worried sometimes, and sometimes he gets into a fine old wax when the boys don't pay proper attention.'

The child again went over to the window, and pulling back the edge of the blind looked down the deserted rain washed street.

'What about the vicar?' he remarked as he returned.

Although Frankie did not go to church or Sunday School, the day school that he had attended was that attached to the parish church, and the vicar was in the habit of looking in occasionally.

'Ah, he really is one of those who live without doing any necessary work, and of all the people who do nothing, the vicar is one of the very worst.'

Frankie looked up at his mother with some surprise, not because he entertained any very high opinion of clergymen in general, for, having been an attentive listener to many conversations between his parents, he had of course a.s.similated their opinions as far as his infant understanding permitted, but because at the school the scholars were taught to regard the gentleman in question with the most profound reverence and respect.

'Why, Mum?' he asked.

'For this reason, dearie. You know that all the beautiful things which the people who do nothing have are made by the people who work, don't you?'

'Yes.'

'And you know that those who work have to eat the very worst food, and wear the very worst clothes, and live in the very worst homes.'

'Yes,' said Frankie.

'And sometimes they have nothing to eat at all, and no clothes to wear except rags, and even no homes to live in.'

'Yes,' repeated the child.

'Well, the vicar goes about telling the Idlers that it's quite right for them to do nothing, and that G.o.d meant them to have nearly everything that is made by those who work. In fact, he tells them that G.o.d made the poor for the use of the rich. Then he goes to the workers and tells them that G.o.d meant them to work very hard and to give all the good things they make to those who do nothing, and that they should be very thankful to G.o.d and to the idlers for being allowed to have even the very worst food to eat and the rags, and broken boots to wear.

He also tells them that they mustn't grumble, or be discontented because they're poor in this world, but that they must wait till they're dead, and then G.o.d will reward them by letting them go to a place called Heaven.'

Frankie laughed.

'And what about the Idlers?' he asked.

'The vicar says that if they believe everything he tells them and give him some of the money they make out of the workers, then G.o.d will let them into heaven also.'

'Well, that's not fair doos, is it, Mum?' said Frankie with some indignation.

'It wouldn't be if it were true, but then you see it's not true, it can't be true.'

'Why can't it, Mum?'

'Oh, for many reasons: to begin with, the vicar doesn't believe it himself: he only pretends to. For instance, he pretends to believe the Bible, but if we read the Bible we find that Jesus said that G.o.d is our father and that all the people in the world are His children, all brothers and sisters. But the vicar says that although Jesus said "brothers and sisters" He really ought to have said "masters and servants". Again, Jesus said that His disciples should not think of tomorrow, or save up a lot of money for themselves, but they should be unselfish and help those who are in need. Jesus said that His disciples must not think about their own future needs at all, because G.o.d will provide for them if they only do as He commands. But the vicar says that is all nonsense.

'Jesus also said that if anyone tried to do His disciples harm, they must never resist, but forgive those who injured them and pray G.o.d to forgive them also. But the vicar says this is all nonsense too. He says that the world would never be able to go on if we did as Jesus taught. The vicar teaches that the way to deal with those that injure us is to have them put into prison, or--if they belong to some other country--to take guns and knives and murder them, and burn their houses. So you see the vicar doesn't really believe or do any of the things that Jesus said: he only pretends.'

'But why does he pretend, and go about talking like that, Mum? What does he do it for?'

'Because he wishes to live without working himself, dear.'

'And don't the people know he's only pretending?'

'Some of them do. Most of the idlers know that what the vicar says is not true, but they pretend to believe it, and give him money for saying it, because they want him to go on telling it to the workers so that they will go on working and keep quiet and be afraid to think for themselves.'

'And what about the workers? Do they believe it?

'Most of them do, because when they were little children like you, their mothers taught them to believe, without thinking, whatever the vicar said, and that G.o.d made them for the use of the idlers. When they went to school, they were taught the same thing: and now that they're grown up they really believe it, and they go to work and give nearly everything they make to the idlers, and have next to nothing left for themselves and their children. That's the reason why the workers' children have very bad clothes to wear and sometimes no food to eat; and that's how it is that the idlers and their children have more clothes than they need and more food than they can eat. Some of them have so much food that they are not able to eat it. They just waste it or throw it away.'

'When I'm grown up into a man,' said Frankie, with a flushed face, 'I'm going to be one of the workers, and when we've made a lot of things, I shall stand up and tell the others what to do. If any of the idlers come to take our things away, they'll get something they won't like.'

In a state of suppressed excitement and scarcely conscious of what he was doing, the boy began gathering up the toys and throwing them violently one by one into the box.

'I'll teach 'em to come taking our things away,' he exclaimed, relapsing momentarily into his street style of speaking.

'First of all we'll all stand quietly on one side. Then when the idlers come in and start touching our things, we'll go up to 'em and say, "'Ere, watcher doin' of? Just you put it down, will yer?" And if they don't put it down at once, it'll be the worse for 'em, I can tell you.'

All the toys being collected, Frankie picked up the box and placed it noisily in its accustomed corner of the room.

'I should think the workers will be jolly glad when they see me coming to tell them what to do, shouldn't you, Mum?'

'I don't know dear; you see so many people have tried to tell them, but they won't listen, they don't want to hear. They think it's quite right that they should work very hard all their lives, and quite right that most of the things they help to make should be taken away from them by the people who do nothing. The workers think that their children are not as good as the children of the idlers, and they teach their children that as soon as ever they are old enough they must be satisfied to work very hard and to have only very bad good and clothes and homes.'

'Then I should think the workers ought to be jolly ashamed of themselves, Mum, don't you?'

'Well, in one sense they ought, but you must remember that that's what they've always been taught themselves. First, their mothers and fathers told them so; then, their schoolteachers told them so; and then, when they went to church, the vicar and the Sunday School teacher told them the same thing. So you can't be surprised that they now really believe that G.o.d made them and their children to make things for the use of the people who do nothing.'