The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists Part 28

''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 neutral: we must either help or hinder.'

As Owen opened the door to paint its edge, Bert came along the pa.s.sage.

'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 rus.h.i.+ng 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 gla.s.s, 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 no 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 satisfied with the progress made, so he said:

'I don't want you to stand too much over this up 'ere, you know, Sawkins. Just mop it over anyhow, and get away from it as quick as you can.'

'All right, sir,' replied Sawkins, wiping the sweat from his brow as Misery began crawling downstairs again.

'Where's Harlow go to, then?' he demanded of Philpot. ''E wasn't 'ere just now, when I came up.'

''E's gorn downstairs, sir, out the back,' replied Joe, jerking his thumb over his shoulder and winking at Hunter. ''E'll be back in 'arf a mo.' And indeed at that moment Harlow was just coming upstairs again.

''Ere, we can't allow this kind of thing in workin' hours, you know.'

Hunter bellowed. 'There's plenty of time for that in the dinner hour!'

Nimrod now went down to the drawing-room, which Easton and Owen had been painting. He stood here deep in thought for some time, mentally comparing the quant.i.ty of work done by the two men in this room with that done by Sawkins in the attics. Misery was not a painter himself: he was a carpenter, and he thought but little of the difference in the quality of the work: to him it was all about the same: just plain painting.

'I believe it would pay us a great deal better,' he thought to himself, 'if we could get hold of a few more lightweights like Sawkins.' And with his mind filled with this reflection he shortly afterwards sneaked stealthily from the house.

Chapter 14

Three Children. The Wages of Intelligence

Owen spent the greater part of the dinner hour by himself in the drawing-room making pencil sketches in his pocket-book and taking measurements. In the evening after leaving off, instead of going straight home as usual he went round to the Free Library to see if he could find anything concerning Moorish decorative work in any of the books there. Although it was only a small and ill-equipped inst.i.tution he was rewarded by the discovery of ill.u.s.trations of several examples of which he made sketches. After about an hour spent this way, as he was proceeding homewards he observed two children--a boy and a girl--whose appearance seemed familiar. They were standing at the window of a sweetstuff shop examining the wares exposed therein. As Owen came up the children turned round and they recognized each other simultaneously. They were Charley and Elsie Linden. Owen spoke to them as he drew near and the boy appealed to him for his opinion concerning a dispute they had been having.

'I say, mister. Which do you think is the best: a fardensworth of everlasting stickjaw torfee, or a prize packet?'

'I'd rather have a prize packet,' replied Owen, unhesitatingly.

'There! I told you so!' cried Elsie, triumphantly.

'Well, I don't care. I'd sooner 'ave the torfee,' said Charley, doggedly.

'Why, can't you agree which of the two to buy?'

'Oh no, it's not that,' replied Elsie. 'We was only just SUPPOSING what we'd buy if we 'ad a fardin; but we're not really goin' to buy nothing, because we ain't got no money.'

'Oh, I see,' said Owen. 'But I think _I_ have some money,' and putting his hand into his pocket he produced two halfpennies and gave one to each of the children, who immediately went in to buy the toffee and the prize packet, and when they came out he walked along with them, as they were going in the same direction as he was: indeed, they would have to pa.s.s by his house.

'Has your grandfather got anything to do yet?' he inquired as they went along.

'No. 'E's still walkin' about, mister,' replied Charley.

When they reached Owen's door he invited them to come up to see the kitten, which they had been inquiring about on the way. Frankie was delighted with these two visitors, and whilst they were eating some home-made cakes that Nora gave them, he entertained them by displaying the contents of his toy box, and the antics of the kitten, which was the best toy of all, for it invented new games all the time: acrobatic performances on the rails of chairs; curtain climbing; running slides up and down the oilcloth; hiding and peeping round corners and under the sofa. The kitten cut so many comical capers, and in a little while the children began to create such an uproar, that Nora had to interfere lest the people in the flat underneath should be annoyed.

However, Elsie and Charley were not able to stay very long, because their mother would be anxious about them, but they promised to come again some other day to play with Frankie.

'I'm going to 'ave a prize next Sunday at our Sunday School,' said Elsie as they were leaving.

'What are you going to get it for?' asked Nora.

''Cause I learned my text properly. I had to learn the whole of the first chapter of Matthew by heart and I never made one single mistake!

So teacher said she'd give me a nice book next Sunday.'

'I 'ad one too, the other week, about six months ago, didn't I, Elsie?'

said Charley.

'Yes,' replied Elsie and added: 'Do they give prizes at your Sunday School, Frankie?'

'I don't go to Sunday School.'

'Ain't you never been?' said Charley in a tone of surprise.

'No,' replied Frankie. 'Dad says I have quite enough of school all the week.'

'You ought to come to ours, man!' urged Charley. 'It's not like being in school at all! And we 'as a treat in the summer, and prizes and sometimes a magic lantern 'tainment. It ain't 'arf all right, I can tell you.'

Frankie looked inquiringly at his mother.

'Might I go, Mum?'

'Yes, if you like, dear.'

'But I don't know the way.'

'Oh, it's not far from 'ere,' cried Charley. 'We 'as to pa.s.s by your 'ouse when we're goin', so I'll call for you on Sunday if you like.'