The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists

by Robert Tressell

  ‘You know I only started on Monday,’ he said, ‘so there’s no back day to come. Tomorrow goes into next week.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ replied Ruth.

  ‘If we pay the two week’s rent that’ll leave us twelve shillings to live on.’

  ‘But we won’t be able to keep all that,’ said Ruth, ‘because there’s other things to pay.’

  ‘What other things?’

  ‘We owe the baker eight shillings for the bread he let us have while you were not working, and there’s about twelve shillings owing for groceries. We’ll have to pay them something on account. Then we want some more coal; there’s only about a shovelful left, and –’

  ‘Wait a minit,’ said Easton. ‘The best way is to write out a list of everything we owe; then we shall know exactly where we are. You get me a piece of paper and tell me what to write. Then we’ll see what it all comes to.’

  ‘Do you mean everything we owe, or everything we must pay tomorrow.’

  ‘I think we’d better make a list of all we owe first.’

  While they were talking the baby was sleeping restlessly, occasionally uttering plaintive little cries. The mother now went and knelt at the side of the cradle, which she gently rocked with one hand, patting the infant with the other.

  ‘Except the furniture people, the biggest thing we owe is the rent,’ she said when Easton was ready to begin.

  ‘It seems to me,’ said he, as, after having cleared a space on the table and arranged the paper, he began to sharpen his pencil with a table-knife, ‘that you don’t manage things as well as you might. If you was to make a list of just the things you must have before you went out of a Saturday, you’d find the money would go much farther. Instead of doing that you just take the money in your hand without knowing exactly what you’re going to do with it, and when you come back it’s all gone and next to nothing to show for it.’

  His wife made no reply: her head was bent over the child.

  ‘Now, let’s see,’ went on her husband. ‘First of all there’s the rent. How much did you say we owe?’

  ‘Four weeks. That’s the three weeks you were out and this week.’

  ‘Four sixes is twenty-four; that’s one pound four,’ said Easton as he wrote it down. ‘Next?’

  ‘Grocer, twelve shillings.’

  Easton looked up in astonishment.

  ‘Twelve shillings. Why, didn’t you tell me only the other day that you’d paid up all we owed for groceries?’

  ‘Don’t you remember we owed thirty-five shillings last spring? Well, I’ve been paying that bit by bit all the summer. I paid the last of it the week you finished your last job. Then you were out three weeks – up till last Saturday – and as we had nothing in hand I had to get what we wanted without paying for it.’

  ‘But do you mean to say it cost us three shillings a week for tea and sugar and butter?’

  ‘It’s not only them. There’s been bacon and eggs and cheese and other things.’

  The man was beginning to become impatient.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘What else?’

  ‘We owe the baker eight shillings. We did owe nearly a pound, but I’ve been paying it off a little at a time.’

  This was added to the list.

  ‘Then there’s the milkman. I’ve not paid him for four weeks. He hasn’t sent a bill yet, but you can reckon it up; we have two penn’orth every day.’

  ‘That’s four and eight,’ said Easton, writing it down. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘One and seven to the greengrocer for potatoes, cabbage, and paraffin oil.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘We owe the butcher two and sevenpence.’

  ‘Why, we haven’t had any meat for a long time,’ said Easton. ‘When was it?’

  ‘Three weeks ago; don’t you remember? A small leg of mutton.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ and he added the item.

  ‘Then there’s the instalments for the furniture and oilcloth – twelve shillings. A letter came from them today. And there’s something else.’

  She took three letters from the pocket of her dress and handed them to him.

  ‘They all came today. I didn’t show them to you before as I didn’t want to upset you before you had your tea.’

  Easton drew the first letter from its envelope.

  CORPORATION OF MUGSBOROUGH

  General District and Special Rates

  FINAL NOTICE

  MR W. EASTON.

  I have to remind you that the amount due from you as under, in respect of the above Rates, has not been paid, and to request that you will forward the same within Fourteen Days from this date. You are hereby informed that after this notice no further call will be made, or intimation given, before legal proceedings are taken to enforce payment.

  By order of the Council.

  JAMES LEAH.

  Collector, No. 2 District.

  District Rate . . . . . . . . . . £– 13 11

  Special Rate . . . . . . . . . . 10 2

  £1 4 1

  The second communication was dated from the office of the Assistant Overseer of the Poor. It was also a Final Notice and was worded in almost exactly the same way as the other, the principal difference being that it was ‘By order of the Overseers’ instead of ‘the Council’. It demanded the sum of £1 1 5½ for Poor Rate within fourteen days, and threatened legal proceedings in default.

  Easton laid this down and began to read the third letter –

  J. DIDLUM & CO LTD.

  Complete House Furnishers

  QUALITY STREET, MUGSBOROUGH

  MR W. EASTON,

  SIR:

  We have to remind you that three monthly payments of four shillings each (12/- in all) became due on the first of this month, and we must request you to let us have this amount by return of post.

  Under the terms of your agreement you guaranteed that the money should be paid on the Saturday of every fourth week. To prevent unpleasantness, we must request you for the future to forward the full amount punctually upon that day.

  Yours truly,

  J. DIDLUM & CO. LTD

  He read these communications several times in silence and finally with an oath threw them down on the table.

  ‘How much do we still owe for the oilcloth and the furniture?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know exactly. It was seven pound odd, and we’ve had the things about six months. We paid one pound down and three or four instalments. I’ll get you the card if you like.’

  ‘No; never mind. Say we’ve paid one pound twelve; so we still owe about six pound.’

  He added this amount to the list.

  ‘I think it’s a great pity we ever had the things at all,’ he said, peevishly. ‘It would have been much better to have gone without until we could pay cash for them: but you would have your way, of course. Now we’ll have this bloody debt dragging on us for years, and before the dam stuff is paid for it’ll be worn out.’

  The woman did not reply at once. She was bending down over the cradle arranging the coverings which the restless movements of the child had disordered. She was crying silently, unnoticed by her husband.

  For months past – in fact ever since the child was born – she had been existing without sufficient food. If Easton was unemployed they had to stint themselves so as to avoid getting further into debt than was absolutely necessary. When he was working they had to go short in order to pay what they owed; but of what there was Easton himself, without knowing it, always had the greater share. If he was at work she would pack into his dinner basket overnight the best there was in the house. When he was out of work she often pretended, as she gave him his meals, that she had had hers while he was out. And all this time the baby was draining her life away and her work was never done.

  She felt very weak and weary as she crouched there, crying furtively and trying not to let him see.

  At last she said, without looking round:

  ‘You know quite well that you were just
as much in favour of getting them as I was. If we hadn’t got the oilcloth there would have been illness in the house because of the way the wind used to come up between the floorboards. Even now of a windy day the oilcloth moves up and down.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure I don’t know,’ said Easton, as he looked alternatively at the list of debts and the three letters. ‘I give you nearly every farthing I earn and I never interfere about anything, because I think it’s your part to attend to the house, but it seems to me you don’t manage things properly.’

  The woman suddenly burst into a passion of weeping, laying her head on the seat of the chair that was standing near the cradle.

  Easton started up in surprise.

  ‘Why, what’s the matter?’ he said.

  Then as he looked down upon the quivering form of the sobbing woman, he was ashamed. He knelt down by her, embracing her and apologizing, protesting that he had not meant to hurt her like that.

  ‘I always do the best I can with the money,’ Ruth sobbed. ‘I never spend a farthing on myself, but you don’t seem to understand how hard it is. I don’t care nothing about having to go without things myself, but I can’t bear it when you speak to me like you do lately. You seem to blame me for everything. You usen’t to speak to me like that before I – before – Oh, I am so tired – I am so tired, I wish I could lie down somewhere and sleep and never wake up any more.’

  She turned away from him, half kneeling, half sitting on the floor, her arms folded on the seat of the chair, and her head resting upon them. She was crying in a heartbroken helpless way.

  ‘I’m sorry I spoke to you like that,’ said Easton, awkwardly. ‘I didn’t mean what I said. It’s all my fault. I leave things too much to you, and it’s more than you can be expected to manage. I’ll help you to think things out in future; only forgive me, I’m very sorry. I know you try your best.’

  She suffered him to draw her to him, laying her head on his shoulder as he kissed and fondled her, protesting that he would rather be poor and hungry with her than share riches with anyone else.

  The child in the cradle – who had been twisting and turning restlessly all this time – now began to cry loudly. The mother took it from the cradle and began to hush and soothe it, walking about the room and rocking it in her arms. The child, however, continued to scream, so she sat down to nurse it: for a little while the infant refused to drink, struggling and kicking in its mother’s arms, then for a few minutes it was quiet, taking the milk in a half-hearted, fretful way. Then it again began to scream and twist and struggle.

  They both looked at it in a helpless manner. Whatever could be the matter with it? It must be those teeth.

  Then suddenly as they were soothing and patting him, the child vomited all over its own and its mother’s clothing a mass of undigested food. Mingled with the curdled milk were fragments of egg, little bits of bacon, bread and particles of potato.

  Having rid his stomach of this unnatural burden, the unfortunate baby began to cry afresh, his face very pale, his lips colourless, and his eyes red-rimmed and running with water.

  Easton walked about with him while Ruth cleaned up the mess and got ready some fresh clothing. They both agreed that it was the coming teeth that had upset the poor child’s digestion. It would be a good job when they were through.

  This work finished, Easton, who was still convinced in his own mind that with the aid of a little common sense and judicious management their affairs might be arranged more satisfactorily, said:

  ‘We may as well make a list of all the things we must pay and buy tomorrow. The great thing is to think out exactly what you are going to do before you spend anything; that saves you from getting things you don’t really need and prevents you forgetting the things you must have. Now, first of all, the rent; two weeks, twelve shillings.’

  He took a fresh piece of paper and wrote this item down.

  ‘What else is there that we must pay or buy tomorrow?’

  ‘Well, you know I promised the baker and the grocer that I would begin to pay them directly you got a job, and if I don’t keep my word they won’t let us have anything another time, so you’d better put down two shillings each for them.’

  ‘I’ve got that,’ said Easton.

  ‘Two and seven for the butcher. We must pay that. I’m ashamed to pass the shop, because when I got the meat I promised to pay him the next week, and it’s nearly three weeks ago now.’

  ‘I’ve put that down. What else?’

  ‘A hundred of coal: one and six.’

  ‘Next?’

  ‘The instalment for the furniture and floor-cloth, twelve shillings.’

  ‘Next?’

  ‘We owe the milkman four weeks; we’d better pay one week on account; that’s one and two.’

  ‘Next?’

  ‘The greengrocer; one shilling on account.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘We shall want a piece of meat of some kind; we’ve had none for nearly three weeks. You’d better say one and six for that.’

  ‘That’s down.’

  ‘One and nine for bread; that’s one loaf a day.’

  ‘But I’ve got two shillings down for bread already,’ said Easton.

  ‘Yes, I know, dear, but that’s to go towards paying off what we owe, and what you have down for the grocer and milkman’s the same.’

  ‘Well, go on, for Christ’s sake, and let’s get it down,’ said Easton, irritably.

  ‘We can’t say less than three shillings for groceries.’

  Easton looked carefully at his list. This time he felt sure that the item was already down; but finding he was mistaken he said nothing and added the amount.

  ‘Well, I’ve got that. What else?’

  ‘Milk, one and two.’

  ‘Next?’

  ‘Vegetables, eightpence.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Paraffin oil and firewood, sixpence.’

  Again the financier scrutinized the list. He was positive that it was down already. However, he could not find it, so the sixpence was added to the column of figures.

  ‘Then there’s your boots; you can’t go about with them old things in this weather much longer, and they won’t stand mending again. You remember the man said they were not worth it when you had that patch put on a few weeks ago.’

  ‘Yes. I was thinking of buying a new pair tomorrow. My socks was wet through tonight. If it’s raining some morning when I’m going out and I have to work all day with wet feet I shall be laid up.’

  ‘At that second-hand shop down in High Street I saw when I was out this afternoon a very good pair just your size, for two shillings.’

  Easton did not reply at once. He did not much fancy wearing the cast-off boots of some stranger, who for all he knew might have suffered from some disease, but then remembering that his old ones were literally falling off his feet he realized that he had practically no choice.

  ‘If you’re quite sure they’ll fit you’d better get them. It’s better to do that than for me to catch cold and be laid up for God knows how long.’

  So the two shillings were added to the list.

  ‘Is there anything else?’

  ‘How much does it come to now?’ asked Ruth.

  Easton added it all up. When he had finished he remained staring at the figures in consternation for a long time without speaking.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ he ejaculated at last.

  ‘What’s it come to?’ asked Ruth.

  ‘Forty-four and tenpence.’

  ‘I knew we wouldn’t have enough,’ said Ruth, wearily. ‘Now if you think I manage so badly, p’raps you can tell me which of those things we ought to leave out.’

  ‘We’d be all right if it wasn’t for the debts,’ said Easton, doggedly.

  ‘When you’re not working, we must either get into debt or starve.’

  Easton made no answer.

  ‘What’ll we do about the rates?’ asked Ruth.

  ‘I’m sure I don’
t know: there’s nothing left to pawn except my black coat and vest. You might get something on that.’

  ‘It’ll have to be paid somehow,’ said Ruth, ‘or you’ll be taken off to jail for a month, the same as Mrs Newman’s husband was last winter.’

  ‘Well, you’d better take the coat and vest and see what you can get on ’em tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ruth; ‘and there’s that brown silk dress of mine – you know, the one I wore when we was married – I might get something on that, because we won’t get enough on the coat and vest. I don’t like parting with the dress, although I never wear it; but we’ll be sure to be able to get it out again, won’t we?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Easton.

  They remained silent for some time, Easton staring at the list of debts and the letters. She was wondering if he still thought she managed badly, and what he would do about it. She knew she had always done her best. At last she said, wistfully, trying to speak plainly for there seemed to be a lump in her throat: ‘And what about tomorrow? Would you like to spend the money yourself, or shall I manage as I’ve done before, or will you tell me what to do?’

  ‘I don’t know, dear,’ said Easton, sheepishly. ‘I think you’d better do as you think best.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll manage all right, dear, you’ll see,’ replied Ruth, who seemed to think it a sort of honour to be allowed to starve herself and to wear shabby clothes.

  The baby, who had been for some time quietly sitting upon his mother’s lap, looking wonderingly at the fire – his teeth appeared to trouble him less since he got rid of the eggs and bacon and potatoes – now began to nod and doze, which Easton perceiving, suggested that the infant should not be allowed to go to sleep with an empty stomach, because it would probably wake up hungry in the middle of the night. He therefore woke him up as much as possible and mashed a little of the bread and toasted cheese with a little warm milk. Then taking the baby from Ruth he began to try to induce it to eat. As soon, however, as the child understood his object, it began to scream at the top of its voice, closing its lips firmly and turning its head rapidly from side to side every time the spoon approached its mouth. It made such a dreadful noise that Easton at last gave in. He began to walk about the room with it, and presently the child sobbed itself to sleep. After putting the baby into its cradle Ruth set about preparing Easton’s breakfast and packing it into his basket. This did not take very long, there being only bread and butter – or, to be more correct, margarine.