The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists [295]
conduck tomorrer, but if you all keep on workin' like we've bin doing lately till you're too hold and wore hout to do?any more, you'll be allowed to go to a nice workhouse for the rest of your lives! and each one of you will be given a title - "Pauper!"'
And they laughed!
Although the majority of them had mothers or fathers or other near relatives who had already succeeded to the title - they laughed!
As they were going home, Crass paused at the gate, and pointing up to the large gable at the end of the house, he said to Philpot:
`You'll want the longest ladder - the 65, for that, tomorrow.'
Philpot looked up at the gable.
It was very high.
Chapter 46
The `Sixty-five'
The next morning after breakfast, Philpot, Sawkins, Harlow and Barrington went to the Yard to get the long ladder - the 65 - so called because it had sixty-five rungs. It was really what is known as a builder's scaffold ladder, and it had been strengthened by several iron bolts or rods which passed through just under some of the rungs. One side of the ladder had an iron band or ribbon twisted and nailed round it spirally. It was not at all suitable for painters' work, being altogether too heavy and cumbrous. However, as none of the others were long enough to reach the high gable at the Refuge, they managed, with a struggle, to get it down from the hooks and put it on one of the handcarts and soon passed through the streets of mean and dingy houses in the vicinity of the yard, and began the ascent of the long hill.
There had been a lot of rain during the night, and the sky was still overcast with dark grey clouds. The cart went heavily over the muddy road; Sawkins was at the helm, holding the end of the ladder and steering; the others walked a little further ahead, at the sides of the cart.
It was such hard work that by the time they were half-way up the hill they were so exhausted and out of breath that they had to stop for a rest.
`This is a bit of all right, ain't it?' remarked Harlow as he took off his cap and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief.
While they rested they kept a good look out for Rushton or Hunter, who were likely to pass by at any moment.
At first, no one made any reply to Harlow's observation, for they were all out of breath and Philpot's lean fingers trembled violently as he wiped the perspiration from his face.
`Yes, mate,' he said despondently, after a while. `It's one way of gettin' a livin' and there's plenty better ways.'
In addition to the fact that his rheumatism was exceptionally bad, he felt unusually low-spirited this morning; the gloomy weather and the prospect of a long day of ladder work probably had something to do with it.
`A "living" is right,' said Barrington bitterly. He also was exhausted with the struggle up the hill and enraged by the woebegone appearance of poor old Philpot, who was panting and quivering from the exertion.
They relapsed into silence. The unaccountable depression that possessed Philpot deprived him of all his usual jocularity and filled him with melancholy thoughts. He had travelled up and down this hill a great many times before under similar circumstances and he said to himself that if he had half a quid now for every time he had pushed a cart up this road, he wouldn't need to do anyone out of a job all the rest of his life.
The shop where he had been apprenticed used to be just down at the bottom; the place had been pulled down years ago, and the ground was now occupied by more pretentious buildings. Not quite so far down the road - on the other side - he could see the church where he used to attend Sunday School when he was a boy, and where he was married just thirty years ago. Presently - when they reached the top of the hill - he would be able to look across the valley and see the spire of the other church, the one in the graveyard, where all those who were dear to him had been one by one laid to rest. He felt that he would not be sorry when the time came to join them there. Possibly, in the next world
And they laughed!
Although the majority of them had mothers or fathers or other near relatives who had already succeeded to the title - they laughed!
As they were going home, Crass paused at the gate, and pointing up to the large gable at the end of the house, he said to Philpot:
`You'll want the longest ladder - the 65, for that, tomorrow.'
Philpot looked up at the gable.
It was very high.
Chapter 46
The `Sixty-five'
The next morning after breakfast, Philpot, Sawkins, Harlow and Barrington went to the Yard to get the long ladder - the 65 - so called because it had sixty-five rungs. It was really what is known as a builder's scaffold ladder, and it had been strengthened by several iron bolts or rods which passed through just under some of the rungs. One side of the ladder had an iron band or ribbon twisted and nailed round it spirally. It was not at all suitable for painters' work, being altogether too heavy and cumbrous. However, as none of the others were long enough to reach the high gable at the Refuge, they managed, with a struggle, to get it down from the hooks and put it on one of the handcarts and soon passed through the streets of mean and dingy houses in the vicinity of the yard, and began the ascent of the long hill.
There had been a lot of rain during the night, and the sky was still overcast with dark grey clouds. The cart went heavily over the muddy road; Sawkins was at the helm, holding the end of the ladder and steering; the others walked a little further ahead, at the sides of the cart.
It was such hard work that by the time they were half-way up the hill they were so exhausted and out of breath that they had to stop for a rest.
`This is a bit of all right, ain't it?' remarked Harlow as he took off his cap and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief.
While they rested they kept a good look out for Rushton or Hunter, who were likely to pass by at any moment.
At first, no one made any reply to Harlow's observation, for they were all out of breath and Philpot's lean fingers trembled violently as he wiped the perspiration from his face.
`Yes, mate,' he said despondently, after a while. `It's one way of gettin' a livin' and there's plenty better ways.'
In addition to the fact that his rheumatism was exceptionally bad, he felt unusually low-spirited this morning; the gloomy weather and the prospect of a long day of ladder work probably had something to do with it.
`A "living" is right,' said Barrington bitterly. He also was exhausted with the struggle up the hill and enraged by the woebegone appearance of poor old Philpot, who was panting and quivering from the exertion.
They relapsed into silence. The unaccountable depression that possessed Philpot deprived him of all his usual jocularity and filled him with melancholy thoughts. He had travelled up and down this hill a great many times before under similar circumstances and he said to himself that if he had half a quid now for every time he had pushed a cart up this road, he wouldn't need to do anyone out of a job all the rest of his life.
The shop where he had been apprenticed used to be just down at the bottom; the place had been pulled down years ago, and the ground was now occupied by more pretentious buildings. Not quite so far down the road - on the other side - he could see the church where he used to attend Sunday School when he was a boy, and where he was married just thirty years ago. Presently - when they reached the top of the hill - he would be able to look across the valley and see the spire of the other church, the one in the graveyard, where all those who were dear to him had been one by one laid to rest. He felt that he would not be sorry when the time came to join them there. Possibly, in the next world