# Ragged Trousered Philanthropists/Chapter 17

CHAPTER XVII
The 'Open Air'
Ever since Owen had been engaged in the decoration of the drawing room, he had forgotten he was ill; he had forgotten that when 'The Cave' was finished he would have to stand off with the rest of the hands; in fact he had forgotten that, like them, he was on the brink of destitution and that a few weeks out of work or illness meant starvation.
As he walked homewards after being paid, a feeling of unutterable depression came over him and he began to think of his future. Even supposing he did not lose his employment, what was there to live for? He had been working with hand and brain all the week. These few coins he held were the result, and he laughed bitterly as he thought of all he must do with the money, and all he must leave undone.
That evening Frankie accompanied him to do the shopping as Nora was not well, and first of all the boy, remembering his pet, went to the butcher's to buy a pennyworth of cat's meat, while Owen went to the grocer's, arranging to meet Frankie at the corner of the street.
Owen was at the appointed place first and after waiting some time and seeing no sign of the boy decided to go towards the butcher's to meet him. When he came in sight of the shop he saw the boy standing outside in earnest conversation with the butcher, a jolly looking, stoutly built man, with a very red face. Owen perceived at once that the child was trying to explain something, because Frankie had a habit of holding his head sideways and supplementing his speech by spreading out his fingers and making quaint gestures with his hands whenever he found it difficult to make himself understood. The boy was doing this now, waving one hand about with the fingers and thumb extended wide, and with the other flourishing a paper parcel which evidently contained the pieces of meat. Presently the man laughed heartily and ​after shaking hands with the boy went into the shop to attend to a customer, while Frankie rejoined his father.
'That butcher's a very decent sort of chap, you know, Dad,' he said; 'he wouldn't take the penny for the meat.'
'Is that what you were talking to him about?'
'No; we were talking about Socialism. You see, this is the second time he wouldn't take the money, and the first time he did it I thought he must be a Socialist, but I didn't ask him then. But when he did it again this time I asked him if he was. So he said, No. He said he wasn't quite mad yet. So I said: "If you think that Socialists are all mad, you're very much mistaken, because I'm a Socialist myself, and I'm quite sure I'm not mad." So he said he knew I was all right, but he didn't understand anything about Socialism himself—only that it meant sharing out all the money so that everyone could have the same. So then I told him that's not Socialism at all! And when I explained it to him properly and advised him to be one, he said he'd think about it. So I said if he'd only do that he'd be sure to change over to our side. And then he laughed and promised to let me know next time he sees me, and I promised to lend him some papers. You won't mind, will you, Dad?'
'Of course not; when we get home we'll have a look through what we've got and you can take him some of them.'
As he walked through the crowded streets holding Frankie by the hand, the terror of the future once more possessed Owen's mind, and he felt that the frail little figure trotting by his side would never be fit to be a soldier in this ferocious Battle of Life, and that to allow him to grow up and suffer in his turn would be an act of callous criminal cruelty. He thought of Nora, always brave, always uncomplaining, though her life was one of incessant physical suffering. As for himself he was tired and sick of it all. He had worked like a slave all his life, and there was nothing to show for it—there never would be anything to show for it. Although it was December the evening was mild and clear, the full moon deluged the town with a silvery light, and the sky was cloudless. Looking into the unfathomable space above, Owen wondered what manner of Being or Power it was that had thus ordered the destiny of his creatures, and longed for something to believe in—for some hope for the future—for some compensation for misery and suffering.
​'Dad,' said Frankie, suddenly, 'let's go over and hear what that man's saying.' He pointed across the way to where, a little distance back from the main road, a group of people were standing round a large lantern fixed on the top of a pole. A bright light was burning inside this lantern, and on the panes of white obscured glass which formed the sides, was written in bold plain letters the text:
'Be not deceived: God is not mocked!'
The man whose voice had attracted Frankie's attention was reading a verse of a hymn:—
'I heard the voice of Jesus say,
"Behold, I freely give
The living water, thirsty one,
Stoop down, and drink, and live":
I came to Jesus, and I drank
Of that life-giving stream;
My thirst was quenched,
My soul revived,
And now I live in Him.'
As Owen and Frankie drew near, the boy tugged at his father's hand and whispered: 'Dad! that man is the teacher at the Sunday School where I went that day with Charley and Elsie.'
Owen looked quickly and saw that it was Hunter.
As soon as the reading ceased, the little company of evangelists began to sing, accompanied by the strains of a small but peculiarly sweet-toned organ. A few persons in the crowd joined in, the words being familiar to them. During the singing their faces were a study, they looked as solemn and miserable as a gang of condemned criminals waiting to be led forth to execution. The greater number of the people standing around appeared to be listening more out of idle curiosity than anything else, and two well dressed young men, evidently strangers and visitors to the town, amused themselves by making audible remarks about the texts on the lantern. There was also a shabbily dressed, semi-drunken man in a battered bowler hat who stood on the inner edge of the crowd, almost in the ring itself, with folded arms and an expression of scorn on his thin, pale face. He had a large high-bridge nose, and bore a striking resemblance ​to the first Duke of Wellington. As the singing proceeded, the scornful expression faded from the visage of the Semi-Drunk, and he not only joined in, but unfolded his arms and began waving them about as if he were conducting the music.
By the time the singing was over a considerable crowd had gathered, and then Hunter stepped into the middle of the ring. He had evidently been offended by the unseemly conduct of the two well-dressed young men, for after a preliminary glance round upon the crowd, he fixed his gaze upon the pair, and immediately launched out upon a long tirade against what he called 'Infidelity.' Then, having heartily denounced all those who, as he put it, 'refused' to believe, he proceeded to ridicule those half-and-half believers who, while professing to believe the Bible, rejected the doctrine of Hell, and finally proved the existence of a place of eternal torture by a long succession of texts. As he proceeded the contemptuous laughter of the two unbelievers made him very excited. He shouted and raved, literally foaming at the mouth and glaring in a frenzied manner around, upon the faces of the crowd,
'There is a hell!' he shouted. 'And understand this clearly: "The wicked shall be turned into hell"; "He that believeth not shall be damned!"'
'Well, then, you'll stand a very good chance of being damned also,' exclaimed one of the two young men.
''Ow do you make it out?' demanded Hunter, wiping the froth from his lips and the perspiration from his forehead with his handkerchief.
'Why, because you don't believe the Bible yourselves.'
Nimrod and the other evangelists laughed, and looked pityingly at the young man.
'Ah, my dear brother,' said Misery, 'that's your delusion. I thank God I do believe it, every word!'
'Amen,' fervently ejaculated Slyme and several of the other disciples.
'Oh no you don't,' replied the other, 'and I can prove you don't.'
'Prove it then,' said Nimrod.
'Read out the seventeenth and eighteenth verses of the sixteenth chapter of Mark,' said the disturber of the meeting. The crowd began to close in on the centre, the better to hear the dispute. Misery, standing close to the lantern, found the verse mentioned and read aloud as follows:
​'And these signs shall follow them that believe. In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; they shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover.'
'Well, you can't heal the sick, neither can you speak new languages or cast out devils; but perhaps you can drink deadly things without suffering harm.' The speaker here suddenly drew from his waistcoat pocket a small glass bottle and held it out towards Misery, who shrank from it with horror, as he continued: 'I have here a most deadly poison. There is in this bottle sufficient strychnine to kill a dozen unbelievers. Drink it! If it doesn't harm you we'll know that you really are a believer and that what you believe is the truth!'
''Ear, 'ear!' said the Semi-Drunk, who had listened to the progress of the argument with great interest, ''Ear, 'ear! that's fair enough. Git it acrost yer chest.'
Some of the people in the crowd began to laugh, and voices were heard from several quarters calling upon Misery to drink the strychnine.
'Now, if you'll allow me, I'll explain to you what that there verse means,' said Hunter. 'If you read it carefully—with the context—'
'I don't want you to tell me what it means,' interrupted the other. 'I am able to read for myself. Whatever you may say, or pretend to think it means, I know what it says.'
'Hear, hear!' shouted several voices and angry cries of 'Why don't you drink the poison?' began to be heard from the outskirts of the crowd.
'Are you going to drink it or not?' demanded the man with the bottle.
'No! I'm not such a fool!' retorted Misery, fiercely, and a loud shout of laughter broke from the crowd.
'Pr'aps some of the other "believers" would like to,' said the young man scornfully, looking round upon the disciples. As no one seemed desirous of availing himself of this offer, the man returned the bottle regretfully to his pocket.
'I suppose,' said Misery, regarding the owner of the strychnine with a sneer, 'I suppose you're one of them there hired critics wot's goin' about the country doin' the devil's work?'
​'Wot I wants to know is this 'ere,' said the Semi-Drunk, suddenly advancing into the middle of the ring and speaking in a loud voice: 'Where did Cain get 'is wife from?'
'Don't answer 'im, Brother 'Unter,' said Mr Didlum, one of the disciples. This was rather an unnecessary piece of advice, because Misery was not in a position to do so.
An individual in a long black garment—the 'minister'—now whispered something to Miss Didlum, who was seated at the organ, whereupon she began to play, and the 'believers' began to sing: 'Oh that will be, Glory for me,' as loud as they could so as to drown the voices of the disturbers of the meeting.
After this hymn the 'minister' invited a shabbily dressed 'brother'—a working man member of the P.S.A.—to say 'a few words,' and the latter accordingly stepped into the centre of the ring and held forth as follows:
'My dear frens, I thank Gord to-night that I can stand 'ere to-night, hout in the hopen hair and tell hall you dear people to-night of hall wot's been done for me. Ho my dear frens hi ham so glad to-night as I can stand 'ere to-night and say as hall my sins is hunder the blood to-night and wot 'E's done for me 'E can do for you to-night, if you'll honly do as I done and just acknowledge yourself a lost sinner——'
'Yes! that's the honly way!' shouted Nimrod.
'Amen,' cried all the other believers.
'——If you'll honly come to 'im to-night hin the same way as I done you'll see that wot 'E's done for me 'E can do for you. Ho, my dear frens, don't go on puttin of it orf from day to day like a door turnin' on its 'inges, don't go putting of it orf to some more convenient time because you may never 'ave another chance. 'Im that bein' orfen reproved 'ardeneth 'is neck shall be suddently cut orf and that without remedy! Ho come to 'im to-night for 'is name's sake and to 'im we'll give hall the glory. Amen.'
'Amen,' said the believers, fervently, and then the man who was dressed in the long garment entreated all those who were not yet true believers—and doers—of the Word to join earnestly and meaningly in the singing of the closing hymn, which he was about to read out to them.
The Semi-Drunk obligingly conducted as before, and the crowd faded away with the last notes of the music.