# Ragged Trousered Philanthropists/Chapter 25

CHAPTER XXV
The New Tenants
The week before old Linden went into the workhouse Owen earned nothing, and to make matters worse the grocer suddenly refused to let them have any more credit. Owen went to see him, and the man said he was very sorry but he could not let them have anything more without the money; he did not mind waiting a few weeks for what was already owing, but he could not let the amount get any higher; his books were full of bad debts already. In conclusion he said that he hoped Owen would not follow the example of many others and take his ready money elsewhere. People came and got credit from him when they were hard up, and afterwards spent their ready money at the Monopole Company's Stores on the other side of the street because their goods were a trifle cheaper, and it was not fair. Owen admitted that it was not fair, but reminded him that they always bought their things at his shop. The grocer, however, was inexorable; he repeated several times that his books were full of bad debts and his own creditors were pressing him. During their conversation the shopkeeper's eyes wandered continually to the big store on the other side of the street; the huge gilded letters of the name 'Monopole Stores' seemed to have an irresistible attraction for him. Once he interrupted himself in the middle of a sentence to point out to Owen a little girl who was just coming out of the stores with a small parcel in her hand.
'Her father owes me nearly thirty shillings,' he said, 'but they spend their ready money there.'
The front of the grocer's shop badly needed repainting, and the name on the fascia, 'A. Smallman,' was so faded as to be almost undecipherable. It had been Owen's intention to offer to do this work, the cost to go against his account, but the man appeared to be so harassed that he refrained from making the suggestion.
​They still had credit at the baker's, but they did not take much bread: when one has had scarcely anything else but bread to eat for nearly a month it is difficult to eat at all. That same day, when he returned home after his interview with the grocer, they had a loaf of beautiful fresh bread, but none of them could eat it, although they were hungry: it seemed to stick in their throats, and they could not swallow it even with the help of a drink of tea. But they drank the tea, which was the one thing that enabled them to go on living.
The next week Owen earned eight shillings altogether; a few hours he put in assisting Crass to wash off and whiten a ceiling and paint a room, and there was one coffin plate. He wrote the latter at home, and while he was doing it he heard Frankie, who was out in the scullery with Nora, say to her:
'Mother, how many more days do you think we'll have to have only dry bread and tea?'
Owen's heart seemed to stop as he heard the child's question and listened for Nora's answer; but the question was not to be answered at all just then, for at that moment they heard someone running up the stairs, and presently the door was unceremoniously thrown open and Charley Linden rushed into the house, out of breath, hatless, and crying piteously. His clothes were old and ragged; they had been patched at the knees and elbows, but the patches were tearing away from the rotting fabric underneath. He had on a pair of black stockings full of holes through which the skin was showing. The soles of his boots were worn through at one side right to the uppers, and as he walked the sides of his bare heels came into contact with the floor. The front part of the sole of one boot was separated from the upper, and his bare toes, red with cold and covered with mud, protruded through the gap.
All that they could make out between his heartrending sobs was that his grandfather and grandmother had gone to the workhouse that afternoon, and he thought his mother was dead or dying; he could not make her open her eyes or speak to him.
When Nora hurried back with him to the house she found that Mary had recovered from her faint and was lying down on the bed. Nora lit the fire and gave the children their tea. There was still some coal and food left of what had been bought ​with the three shillings obtained from the Board of Guardians. Afterwards she tidied the house, and talked things over.
Mary said that she did not know exactly what she would have to do in the future. If she could get a room somewhere for two or three shillings a week her allowance from the Guardians would pay the rent, and she would be able to earn enough for herself and the children to live on.
This was the substance of the story that Nora told Owen when she returned home. He had finished writing the coffin-plate and as it was now nearly dry he put on his coat and took it down to the carpenter's shop at the yard.
On his way back he met Easton, who had been hanging about in the vain hope of seeing Hunter and finding out if there was any chance of a job. As they walked along together Easton confided to Owen that he had earned scarcely anything since he had been stood off at Rushton's, and what he had earned had gone, as usual, to pay the rent. Slyme had left them some time ago. Ruth did not seem able to get on with him; she had been in a funny sort of temper altogether; but since he had gone she had had a little work at a boarding house on The Grand Parade. But things had been going from bad to worse. They had not been able to keep up the payments for the furniture they had hired so the things had been seized and carted off. They had even stripped the oilcloth from the floor. Easton remarked he was sorry he had not tacked the bloody stuff down in such a manner that they would not have been able to lift it up without destroying it. He had been to see Didlum, who said he didn't want to be hard on them, that he would keep the things together for three months and if Easton had paid up arrears by that time he could have them back again; but there was in Easton's opinion very little chance of that.
Owen listened with contempt and anger. Here was a man who grumbled at the present state of things; yet took no trouble to think for himself and try to alter them, and who, at the first chance, would vote for the perpetuation of the system which produced his misery.
'Have you heard that old Jack Linden and his wife went to the workhouse to-day?' he said.
'No,' replied Easton, indifferently. 'It's only what I expected.'
Owen then suggested it would not be a bad plan for Easton ​to let his front room, now that it was empty, to Mrs Linden, who would be sure to pay her rent, which would help Easton to pay his. Easton agreed and said he would mention it to Ruth; and a few minutes later they parted.
The next morning Nora found Ruth talking to Mary Linden and they all went round to look at the room.
The appearance of the Easton's house from outside was unaltered. The white lace curtains still draped the front window, and in the centre of the bay was what appeared to be a small round table covered with a red cloth, upon which stood a geranium standing in a saucer with a frill of coloured tissue paper round the pot. These things and the curtains, which fell close together, made it impossible for anyone to see that the room was, otherwise, absolutely bare. The 'table' consisted of an empty wooden box, with the lid of the scullery copper placed upside down upon it for a top, and covered with an old piece of red cloth. The purpose of this stratagem was to prevent people thinking that they were hard up, although they knew that nearly all their neighbours were in more or less similar straits.
It was not a very large room, considering that it would have to serve all purposes for herself and the two children, but Mrs Linden knew it was not likely that she would be able to get one as good elsewhere for the same price. So she agreed to take it from the following Monday at two shillings a week.
As the distance was so short they were able to carry most of the smaller things to their new home, and in the evening, when it was dark, Owen and Easton brought the remainder on a truck they borrowed for the purpose from Hunter.
Though trade was quiet in the ordinary way, during the months of January and February Rushton and Company had several 'boxing up' jobs to do, and as Crass not only polished the coffins, but assisted to take 'the box' home, helped to 'lift in' the corpse, and acted as bearer in the funeral, he frequently made as much as 6s. 9d. on each occasion, and sometimes a little more. But one of these funeral jobs led to a desperate encounter between Crass and Sawkins. The corpse was that of a well-to-do woman who had died of cancer, and although the disease is not supposed to be infectious, Sawkins was instructed to take all the bedding away to be destroyed at the Town Refuse Destructor. There was a feather bed, a bolster and two pillows, in such good condition that ​Sawkins secretly determined to sell them to a second-hand dealer instead. As he was wheeling the things away on a truck he met Hunter, who told him to leave the truck at the yard for the present as he wanted him on another job. Meanwhile Crass saw the things in the yard and hearing that they were to be destroyed determined to keep them for himself; and when Sawkins came later to take the bedding to the destructor, Crass told him he need not trouble to do so, as there was nothing wrong with the things and he was going to have the lot. This did not suit Sawkins at all. He had been ordered to take them to the destructor, he said, and he was going to do it; and in fact he began dragging the truck out of the yard when Crass rushed after him, seized the bundle of bedding and carried it into the paint shop. Sawkins pursued him, and the place resounded with their curses, while they indulged in a frenzied tug of war over their booty, reeling and struggling all over the place. Finally Sawkins wrenched the bundle away and flung it on the truck, while Crass hurriedly put on his coat and announced his intention of going to ask Mr Rushton if he might have the things. Hearing this, Sawkins became so infuriated that he lifted the bundle off the cart, and throwing it upon the muddy ground, right into a pool of dirty water, trampled it underfoot; then, taking his clasp knife, he began savagely hacking the ticking so that the feathers all came tumbling out. In a few minutes he had damaged the things beyond all hope of repair, while Crass stood by, white and trembling, watching the proceedings but lacking the courage to interfere.
'Now go to the office and ask Rushton for 'em, if you like!' shouted Sawkins. 'You can 'ave 'em now, if you want em!'
Crass made no answer and after a moment's hesitation, went back to his work, and Sawkins piled the things on the cart once more and took them away to the destructor. He would not be able to sell them now, but at any rate he had stopped that dirty swine Crass from getting them.
When Crass went back to the paint shop he found one of the pillows, which had fallen out of the bundle during the struggle. He took it home with him that evening and slept upon it. It was a fine pillow, much fuller and softer and more cosy than the one he had been accustomed to.