The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists Part 21

'Why can't we?'

'Because it can't be done!' cried Cra.s.s fiercely. 'It's impossible!'

'You're always sayin' that everything's all wrong,' complained Harlow, 'but why the 'ell don't you tell us 'ow they're goin' to be put right?'

'It doesn't seem to me as if any of you really wish to know. I believe that even if it were proved that it could be done, most of you would be sorry and would do all you could to prevent it.'

''E don't know 'isself,' sneered Cra.s.s. 'Accordin' to 'im, Tariff Reform ain't no b.l.o.o.d.y good--Free Trade ain't no b.l.o.o.d.y good, and everybody else is wrong! But when you arst 'im what ought to be done--'e's flummoxed.'

Cra.s.s did not feel very satisfied with the result of this machinery argument, but he consoled himself with the reflection that he would be able to flatten out his opponent on another subject. The cutting from the Obscurer which he had in his pocket would take a bit of answering!

When you have a thing in print--in black and white--why there it is, and you can't get away from it! If it wasn't right, a paper like that would never have printed it. However, as it was now nearly half past eight, he resolved to defer this triumph till another occasion. It was too good a thing to be disposed of in a hurry.

Chapter 8

The Cap on the Stairs

After breakfast, when they were working together in the drawing-room, Easton, desiring to do Owen a good turn, thought he would put him on his guard, and repeated to him in a whisper the substance of the conversation he had held with Cra.s.s concerning him.

'Of course, you needn't mention that I told you, Frank,' he said, 'but I thought I ought to let you know: you can take it from me, Cra.s.s ain't no friend of yours.'

'I've know that for a long time, mate,' replied Owen. 'Thanks for telling me, all the same.'

'The b.l.o.o.d.y rotter's no friend of mine either, or anyone else's, for that matter,' Easton continued, 'but of course it doesn't do to fall out with 'im because you never know what he'd go and say to ol' 'Unter.'

'Yes, one has to remember that.'

'Of course we all know what's the matter with 'im as far as YOU'RE concerned,' Easton went on. 'He don't like 'avin' anyone on the firm wot knows more about the work than 'e does 'imself--thinks 'e might git worked out of 'is job.'

Owen laughed bitterly.

'He needn't be afraid of ME on THAT account. I wouldn't have his job if it were offered to me.'

'But 'e don't think so,' replied Easton, 'and that's why 'e's got 'is knife into you.'

'I believe that what he said about Hunter is true enough,' said Owen.

'Every time he comes here he tries to goad me into doing or saying something that would give him an excuse to tell me to clear out. I might have done it before now if I had not guessed what he was after, and been on my guard.'

Meantime, Cra.s.s, in the kitchen, had resumed his seat by the fire with the purpose of finis.h.i.+ng his pipe of tobacco. Presently he took out his pocket-book and began to write in it with a piece of black-lead pencil. When the pipe was smoked out he knocked the bowl against the grate to get rid of the ash, and placed the pipe in his waistcoat pocket. Then, having torn out the leaf on which he had been writing, he got up and went into the pantry, where Bert was still struggling with the old whitewash.

'Ain't yer nearly finished? I don't want yer to stop in 'ere all day, yer know.'

'I ain't got much more to do now,' said the boy. 'Just this bit under the bottom shelf and then I'm done.'

'Yes, and a b.l.o.o.d.y fine mess you've made, what I can see of it!'

growled Cra.s.s. 'Look at all this water on the floor!'

Bert looked guiltily at the floor and turned very red.

'I'll clean it all up', he stammered. 'As soon as I've got this bit of wall done, I'll wipe all the mess up with the swab.'

Cra.s.s now took a pot of paint and some brushes and, having put some more fuel on the fire, began in a leisurely way to paint some of the woodwork in the kitchen. Presently Bert came in.

'I've finished there,' he said.

'About time, too. You'll 'ave to look a bit livelier than you do, you know, or me and you will fall out.'

Bert did not answer.

'Now I've got another job for yer. You're fond of drorin, ain't yer?'

continued Cra.s.s in a jeering tone.

'Yes, a little,' replied the boy, shamefacedly.

'Well,' said Cra.s.s, giving him the leaf he had torn out of the pocket-book, 'you can go up to the yard and git them things and put 'em on a truck and dror it up 'ere, and git back as soon as you can. Just look at the paper and see if you understand it before you go. I don't want you to make no mistakes.'

Bert took the paper and with some difficulty read as follows:

I pare steppes 8 foot 1/2 gallon Plastor off perish 1 pale off witewosh 12 lbs wite led 1/2 gallon Linsede Hoil Do. Do. turps

'I can make it out all right.'

'You'd better bring the big truck,' said Cra.s.s, 'because I want you to take the venetian blinds with you on it when you take it back tonight.

They've got to be painted at the shop.'

'All right.'

When the boy had departed Cra.s.s took a stroll through the house to see how the others were getting on. Then he returned to the kitchen and proceeded with his work.

Cra.s.s was about thirty-eight years of age, rather above middle height and rather stout. He had a considerable quant.i.ty of curly black hair and wore a short beard of the same colour. His head was rather large, but low, and flat on top. When among his cronies he was in the habit of referring to his obesity as the result of good nature and a contented mind. Behind his back other people attributed it to beer, some even going to far as to nickname him the 'tank'.

There was no work of a noisy kind being done this morning. Both the carpenters and the bricklayers having been taken away, temporarily, to another 'job'. At the same time there was not absolute silence: occasionally Cra.s.s could hear the voices of the other workmen as they spoke to each other, sometimes shouting from one room to another. Now and then Harlow's voice rang through the house as he sang s.n.a.t.c.hes of music-hall songs or a verse of a Moody and Sankey hymn, and occasionally some of the others joined in the chorus or interrupted the singer with squeals and catcalls. Once or twice Cra.s.s was on the point of telling them to make less row: there would be a fine to do if Nimrod came and heard them. Just as he had made up his mind to tell them to stop the noise, it ceased of itself and he heard loud whispers:

'Look out! Someone's comin'.'

The house became very quiet.

Cra.s.s put out his pipe and opened the window and the back door to get rid of the smell of the tobacco smoke. Then he s.h.i.+fted the pair of steps noisily, and proceeded to work more quickly than before. Most likely it was old Misery.

He worked on for some time in silence, but no one came to the kitchen: whoever it was must have gone upstairs. Cra.s.s listened attentively.

Who could it be? He would have liked to go to see whom it was, but at the same time, if it were Nimrod, Cra.s.s wished to be discovered at work. He therefore waited a little longer and presently he heard the sound of voices upstairs but was unable to recognize them. He was just about to go out into the pa.s.sage to listen, when whoever it was began coming downstairs. Cra.s.s at once resumed his work. The footsteps came along the pa.s.sage leading to the kitchen: slow, heavy, ponderous footsteps, but yet the sound was not such as would be made by a man heavily shod. It was not Misery, evidently.

As the footsteps entered the kitchen, Cra.s.s looked round and beheld a very tall, obese figure, with a large, fleshy, coa.r.s.e-featured, clean-shaven face, and a great double chin, the complexion being of the colour and appearance of the fat of uncooked bacon. A very large fleshy nose and weak-looking pale blue eyes, the slightly inflamed lids being almost dest.i.tute of eye-lashes. He had large fat feet cased in soft calfskin boots, with drab-coloured spats. His overcoat, heavily trimmed with sealskin, reached just below the knees, and although the trousers were very wide they were filled by the fat legs within, the shape of the calves being distinctly perceptible. Even as the feet seemed about to burst the uppers of the boots, so the legs appeared to threaten the trousers with disruption. This man was so large that his figure completely filled up the doorway, and as he came in he stooped slightly to avoid damaging the glittering silk hat on his head. One gloved hand was thrust into the pocket of the overcoat and in the other he carried a small Gladstone bag.

When Cra.s.s beheld this being, he touched his cap respectfully.