The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists [130]
to accompany them and an awkward silence succeeded. He seemed to wish to say something more, and they both guessed what it was. So they walked along as rapidly as possible in order not to give him any encouragement. At last Newman blurted out:
`I suppose - you don't happen - either of you - to have a tanner you could lend me? I'll let you have it back - when I get a job.'
`I ain't mate,' replied Crass. `I'm sorry; if I 'ad one on me, you should 'ave it, with pleasure.'
Slyme also expressed his regret that he had no money with him, and at the corner of the next street Newman - ashamed of having asked - wished them `good night' and went away.
Slyme and Crass hurried along and presently arrived at Rushton & Co.'s shop. The windows were lit up with electric light, displaying an assortment of wallpapers, gas and electric light fittings, glass shades, globes, tins of enamel, paint and varnish. Several framed show-cards - `Estimates Free', `First class work only, at moderate charges', `Only First Class Workmen Employed' and several others of the same type. On one side wall of the window was a large shield-shaped board covered with black velvet on which a number of brass fittings for coffins were arranged. The shield was on an oak mount with the inscription: `Funerals conducted on modern principles'.
Slyme waited outside while Crass went in. Mr Budd, the shopman, was down at the far end near the glazed partition which separated Mr Rushton's office from the front shop. As Crass entered, Budd - who was a pale-faced, unhealthy-looking, undersized youth about twenty years of age - looked round and, with a grimace, motioned him to walk softly . Crass paused, wondering what the other meant; but the shopman beckoned him to advance, grinning and winking and jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the office. Crass hesitated, fearing that possibly the miserable Budd had gone - or been driven - out of his mind; but as the latter continued to beckon and grin and point towards the office Crass screwed up his courage and followed him behind one of the showcases, and applying his eye to a crack in the woodwork of the partition indicated by Budd, he could see Mr Rushton in the act of kissing and embracing Miss Wade, the young lady clerk. Crass watched them for some time and then whispered to Budd to call Slyme, and when the latter came they all three took turns at peeping through the crack in the partition.
When they had looked their fill they came out from behind the showcase, almost bursting with suppressed merriment. Budd reached down a key from where it was hanging on a hook on the wall and gave it to Crass and the two resumed their interrupted journey. But before they had proceeded a dozen yards from the shop, they were accosted by a short, elderly man with grey hair and a beard. This man looked about sixty-five years of age, and was very shabbily dressed. The ends of the sleeves of his coat were frayed and ragged, and the elbows were worn threadbare. His boots were patched, broken, and down at heel, and the knees and bottoms of the legs of his trousers were in the same condition as the sleeves of his coat. This man's name was Latham; he was a venetian blind maker and repairer. With his son, he was supposed to be `in business' on his own account, but as most of their work was done for `the trade', that is, for such firms as Rushton & Co., they would be more correctly described as men who did piecework at home.
He had been `in business' - as he called it - for about forty years working, working, always working; and ever since his son became old enough to labour he had helped his father in the philanthropic task of manufacturing profits for the sweaters who employed them. They had been so busy running after work, and working for the benefit of others, that they had overlooked the fact that they were only earning a bare living for themselves and now, after forty years' hard labour, the old man was clothed in rags and on the verge of destitution.
`Is Rushton there?' he asked.
`Yes,
`I suppose - you don't happen - either of you - to have a tanner you could lend me? I'll let you have it back - when I get a job.'
`I ain't mate,' replied Crass. `I'm sorry; if I 'ad one on me, you should 'ave it, with pleasure.'
Slyme also expressed his regret that he had no money with him, and at the corner of the next street Newman - ashamed of having asked - wished them `good night' and went away.
Slyme and Crass hurried along and presently arrived at Rushton & Co.'s shop. The windows were lit up with electric light, displaying an assortment of wallpapers, gas and electric light fittings, glass shades, globes, tins of enamel, paint and varnish. Several framed show-cards - `Estimates Free', `First class work only, at moderate charges', `Only First Class Workmen Employed' and several others of the same type. On one side wall of the window was a large shield-shaped board covered with black velvet on which a number of brass fittings for coffins were arranged. The shield was on an oak mount with the inscription: `Funerals conducted on modern principles'.
Slyme waited outside while Crass went in. Mr Budd, the shopman, was down at the far end near the glazed partition which separated Mr Rushton's office from the front shop. As Crass entered, Budd - who was a pale-faced, unhealthy-looking, undersized youth about twenty years of age - looked round and, with a grimace, motioned him to walk softly . Crass paused, wondering what the other meant; but the shopman beckoned him to advance, grinning and winking and jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the office. Crass hesitated, fearing that possibly the miserable Budd had gone - or been driven - out of his mind; but as the latter continued to beckon and grin and point towards the office Crass screwed up his courage and followed him behind one of the showcases, and applying his eye to a crack in the woodwork of the partition indicated by Budd, he could see Mr Rushton in the act of kissing and embracing Miss Wade, the young lady clerk. Crass watched them for some time and then whispered to Budd to call Slyme, and when the latter came they all three took turns at peeping through the crack in the partition.
When they had looked their fill they came out from behind the showcase, almost bursting with suppressed merriment. Budd reached down a key from where it was hanging on a hook on the wall and gave it to Crass and the two resumed their interrupted journey. But before they had proceeded a dozen yards from the shop, they were accosted by a short, elderly man with grey hair and a beard. This man looked about sixty-five years of age, and was very shabbily dressed. The ends of the sleeves of his coat were frayed and ragged, and the elbows were worn threadbare. His boots were patched, broken, and down at heel, and the knees and bottoms of the legs of his trousers were in the same condition as the sleeves of his coat. This man's name was Latham; he was a venetian blind maker and repairer. With his son, he was supposed to be `in business' on his own account, but as most of their work was done for `the trade', that is, for such firms as Rushton & Co., they would be more correctly described as men who did piecework at home.
He had been `in business' - as he called it - for about forty years working, working, always working; and ever since his son became old enough to labour he had helped his father in the philanthropic task of manufacturing profits for the sweaters who employed them. They had been so busy running after work, and working for the benefit of others, that they had overlooked the fact that they were only earning a bare living for themselves and now, after forty years' hard labour, the old man was clothed in rags and on the verge of destitution.
`Is Rushton there?' he asked.
`Yes,