The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists [296]
- if there were such a place - they might all be together once more.
He was suddenly aroused from these thoughts by an exclamation from Harlow.
`Look out! Here comes Rushton.'
They immediately resumed their journey. Rushton was coming up the hill in his dog-cart with Grinder sitting by his side. They passed so closely that Philpot - who was on that side of the cart - was splashed with mud from the wheels of the trap.
`Them's some of your chaps, ain't they?' remarked Grinder.
`Yes,' replied Rushton. `We're doing a job up this way.'
`I should 'ave thought it would pay you better to use a 'orse for sich work as that,' said Grinder.
`We do use the horses whenever it's necessary for very big loads, you know,' answered Rushton, and added with a laugh: `But the donkeys are quite strong enough for such a job as that.'
The `donkeys' struggled on up the hill for about another hundred yards and then they were forced to halt again.
`We mustn't stop long, you know,' said Harlow. `Most likely he's gone to the job, and he'll wait to see how long it takes us to get there.'
Barrington felt inclined to say that in that case Rushton would have to wait, but he remained silent, for he remembered that although he personally did not care a brass button whether he got the sack or not, the others were not so fortunately circumstanced.
While they were resting, another two-legged donkey passed by pushing another cart - or rather, holding it back, for he was coming slowly down the hill. Another Heir of all the ages - another Imperialist - a degraded, brutalized wretch, clad in filthy, stinking rags, his toes protruding from the rotten broken boots that were tied with bits of string upon his stockingless feet. The ramshackle cart was loaded with empty bottles and putrid rags, heaped loosely in the cart and packed into a large sack. Old coats and trousers, dresses, petticoats, and under-clothing, greasy, mildewed and malodorous. As he crept along with his eyes on the ground, the man gave utterance at intervals to uncouth, inarticulate sounds.
`That's another way of gettin' a livin',' said Sawkins with a laugh as the miserable creature slunk past.
Harlow also laughed, and Barrington regarded them curiously. He thought it strange that they did not seem to realize that they might some day become like this man themselves.
`I've often wondered what they does with all them dirty old rags,' said Philpot.
`Made into paper,' replied Harlow, briefly.
`Some of them are,' said Barrington, `and some are manufactured into shoddy cloth and made into Sunday clothes for working men.
`There's all sorts of different ways of gettin' a livin',' remarked Sawkins, after a pause. `I read in a paper the other day about a bloke wot goes about lookin' for open trap doors and cellar flaps in front of shops. As soon as he spotted one open, he used to go and fall down in it; and then he'd be took to the 'orspital, and when he got better he used to go and threaten to bring a action against the shop-keeper and get damages, and most of 'em used to part up without goin' in front of the judge at all. But one day a slop was a watchin' of 'im, and seen 'im chuck 'isself down one, and when they picked 'im up they found he'd broke his leg. So they took 'im to the 'orspital and when he came out and went round to the shop and started talkin' about bringin' a action for damages, the slop collared 'im and they give 'im six months.'
`Yes, I read about that,' said Harlow, `and there was another case of a chap who was run over by a motor, and they tried to make out as 'e put 'isself in the way on purpose; but 'e got some money out of the swell it belonged to; a 'undered pound I think it was.'
`I only wish as one of their motors would run inter me,' said Philpot, making a feeble attempt at a joke. `I lay I'd get some a' me own back out of 'em.'
The others laughed, and Harlow was about to make some reply but at that moment a cyclist appeared coming down the hill from the direction of the job. It was Nimrod, so they resumed
He was suddenly aroused from these thoughts by an exclamation from Harlow.
`Look out! Here comes Rushton.'
They immediately resumed their journey. Rushton was coming up the hill in his dog-cart with Grinder sitting by his side. They passed so closely that Philpot - who was on that side of the cart - was splashed with mud from the wheels of the trap.
`Them's some of your chaps, ain't they?' remarked Grinder.
`Yes,' replied Rushton. `We're doing a job up this way.'
`I should 'ave thought it would pay you better to use a 'orse for sich work as that,' said Grinder.
`We do use the horses whenever it's necessary for very big loads, you know,' answered Rushton, and added with a laugh: `But the donkeys are quite strong enough for such a job as that.'
The `donkeys' struggled on up the hill for about another hundred yards and then they were forced to halt again.
`We mustn't stop long, you know,' said Harlow. `Most likely he's gone to the job, and he'll wait to see how long it takes us to get there.'
Barrington felt inclined to say that in that case Rushton would have to wait, but he remained silent, for he remembered that although he personally did not care a brass button whether he got the sack or not, the others were not so fortunately circumstanced.
While they were resting, another two-legged donkey passed by pushing another cart - or rather, holding it back, for he was coming slowly down the hill. Another Heir of all the ages - another Imperialist - a degraded, brutalized wretch, clad in filthy, stinking rags, his toes protruding from the rotten broken boots that were tied with bits of string upon his stockingless feet. The ramshackle cart was loaded with empty bottles and putrid rags, heaped loosely in the cart and packed into a large sack. Old coats and trousers, dresses, petticoats, and under-clothing, greasy, mildewed and malodorous. As he crept along with his eyes on the ground, the man gave utterance at intervals to uncouth, inarticulate sounds.
`That's another way of gettin' a livin',' said Sawkins with a laugh as the miserable creature slunk past.
Harlow also laughed, and Barrington regarded them curiously. He thought it strange that they did not seem to realize that they might some day become like this man themselves.
`I've often wondered what they does with all them dirty old rags,' said Philpot.
`Made into paper,' replied Harlow, briefly.
`Some of them are,' said Barrington, `and some are manufactured into shoddy cloth and made into Sunday clothes for working men.
`There's all sorts of different ways of gettin' a livin',' remarked Sawkins, after a pause. `I read in a paper the other day about a bloke wot goes about lookin' for open trap doors and cellar flaps in front of shops. As soon as he spotted one open, he used to go and fall down in it; and then he'd be took to the 'orspital, and when he got better he used to go and threaten to bring a action against the shop-keeper and get damages, and most of 'em used to part up without goin' in front of the judge at all. But one day a slop was a watchin' of 'im, and seen 'im chuck 'isself down one, and when they picked 'im up they found he'd broke his leg. So they took 'im to the 'orspital and when he came out and went round to the shop and started talkin' about bringin' a action for damages, the slop collared 'im and they give 'im six months.'
`Yes, I read about that,' said Harlow, `and there was another case of a chap who was run over by a motor, and they tried to make out as 'e put 'isself in the way on purpose; but 'e got some money out of the swell it belonged to; a 'undered pound I think it was.'
`I only wish as one of their motors would run inter me,' said Philpot, making a feeble attempt at a joke. `I lay I'd get some a' me own back out of 'em.'
The others laughed, and Harlow was about to make some reply but at that moment a cyclist appeared coming down the hill from the direction of the job. It was Nimrod, so they resumed