# Ragged Trousered Philanthropists/Chapter 9

CHAPTER IX
Hands and Brains
When Easton, accompanied by Slyme, arrived home that evening, Ruth had just been putting the child to sleep, and she stood up as they came in, hastily fastening the bodice of her dress.
'I've brought a gentleman to see you,' said Easton.
Although she knew that he was looking out for someone for the room, Ruth had not expected him to bring anyone home in this sudden manner, and she could not help wishing that he had told her beforehand of his intention. She had been very busy all day and was conscious that she was rather untidy. The coils of her long brown hair had become loosened with her exertions, and she blushed in an embarrassed way as the young man stared at her.
Easton introduced Slyme by name and they shook hands; and then at Ruth's suggestion Easton took a light to show him the room, while Ruth hurriedly tidied her hair and dress.
When they came down again Slyme said he thought the room would suit him very well. What were the terms?
Did he wish to take the room only—just to lodge, enquired Ruth, or would he prefer to board as well?
Slyme intimated that he desired the latter arrangement.
In that case she thought twelve shillings a week would be fair. She believed that was about the usual amount. Of course that would include washing, and if his clothes needed a little mending she would do it for him.
Slyme expressed himself satisfied with these terms, which were—as Ruth had said—about the usual ones. He would take the room, but he was not leaving his present lodgings until Saturday. It was therefore agreed that he was to bring his box on Saturday evening.
When he had gone, Easton and Ruth stood looking at each other in silence. Ever since this plan of letting the room first ​occurred to them they had been very anxious to accomplish it; and yet, now that it was done, they felt dissatisfied and unhappy, as if they had suddenly experienced some irreparable misfortune. In that moment they remembered nothing of the darker side of their life together. The hard times and the privations seemed insignificant beside the fact that this stranger was for the future to share their home. To Ruth especially it seemed that the happiness of the past twelve months had suddenly come to an end. She shrank with involuntary aversion and apprehension from the picture that rose before her in which this intruder appeared the most prominent figure, interfering with every detail of their home life. Of course they had known all this before, but somehow it had never seemed so objectionable as it did now, and as Easton thought of it he was filled with an unreasonable resentment against Slyme, as if the latter had forced himself upon them against their will.
'Damn him!' he thought. 'I wish I'd never brought him here at all!'
'Well?' he said at last. 'What do you think of him?'
'Oh, he'll be all right, I suppose.'
'For my part, I wish he wasn't coming,' Easton continued.
'That's just what I was thinking,' replied Ruth, dejectedly. 'I don't like him at all. I seemed to turn against him directly he came in the door.'
'I've a good mind to back out of it somehow, to-morrow,' exclaimed Easton, after another silence. 'I could tell him we've unexpectedly got some friends coming to stay with us.'
'Yes,' said Ruth, eagerly, 'it would be easy enough to make some excuse or other.'
As this way of escape presented itself she felt as if a weight had been lifted from her mind, but almost in the same instant, remembering how necessary it was to let the room, she added disconsolately:
'It's foolish for us to go on like this, dear. We must let the room and it might just as well be him as anyone else. We must make the best of it, that's all.'
Easton stood with his back to the fire, staring gloomily at her.
'Yes, I suppose that's the right way to look at it,' he replied at length. 'If we can't stand it, we'll give up the house and take a couple of rooms, or a small flat—if we can get one.'
Ruth agreed, although neither alternative was very inviting.
​After all, the unwelcome alteration in their circumstances was not without its compensations, because it had the effect of renewing and intensifying their love for each other. They remembered with acute regret that hitherto they had not always fully appreciated the happiness of that exclusive companionship of which there now remained but one week more. For once the present was esteemed at its proper value, being invested with some of the glamour which almost always envelops the past.
Meanwhile Owen, in consequence of Hunter's order, had made his way straight to the office.
Rushton and Company's premises were situated in one of the principal streets of Mugsborough and consisted of a double fronted shop which extended to a narrow back street. The front part of the shop was stocked with wall hangings, mouldings, stands showing patterns of embossed wall and ceiling decorations, cases of brushes, tins of varnish and enamel, and similar things.
The office, which was at the rear and separated from the shop by a partition, had two doors, one giving access to the front shop, and the other opening on to the back street near a window on which was painted 'Rushton and Company' in black letters on a white ground.
Owen stood outside this window for two or three seconds. There was a bright light in the office. Then he knocked at the door, which was at once opened by Hunter.
Rushton was seated in an armchair at his desk, smoking a cigar and reading one of several letters that were lying before him.
He was a tall, clumsily built man, about thirty-five years of age. His eyes were light grey, and his hair and moustache were fair. He was not corpulent, but appeared to be well fed and 'in good condition.' He wore a grey Norfolk suit, and his clothes were well made and of good quality.
Rushton glanced up carelessly as Owen came in, but took no further notice of him, and Hunter, after conversing with his master in a low tone, put on his hat and went out of the office through the partition door which led into the front shop.
Owen stood waiting for Rushton to speak. He wondered why Hunter had sneaked off, and felt inclined to open the door and call him back. One thing he was determined about. ​He meant to have some explanation; he would not submit tamely to be dismissed without any just reason.
When Rushton had finished reading the letter, he looked up, and leaning comfortably back in his chair, blew a cloud of smoke from his cigar, and said in an affable, indulgent tone, such as one might use to a child:
'You're a bit of a hartist, aint yer?'
Owen was so surprised at this reception that for the moment he was unable to reply.
'You know what I mean,' continued Rushton; 'decorating work, something like them samples of yours what's hanging up there.'
He noticed the embarrassment of Owen's manner, and was gratified. He thought the man was confused at being spoken to by such a superior person.
'Yes,' replied Owen at last, 'I can do a little of that sort of work, although of course I don't profess to be able to do it as well or as quickly as a man who does nothing else.'
'Oh, no, of course not; but I think you could manage this all right. It's that drawing-room at the "Cave." Mr Sweater's been speaking to me about it. It seems that when he was over in Paris he saw a room as took his fancy. The walls and ceiling was not papered, but painted—sort of panelled out, and decorated with stencils and hand painting. This 'eres a photer of it; it's done in a sort of Japanese fashion.'
He handed the photograph to Owen as he spoke. It represented a room, the walls and ceiling of which were decorated in a Moorish style.
'At first Mr Sweater thought of getting a firm from London to do it,' continued Rushton, 'but 'e gave up the idear on account of the expense; but if you can do it so that it doesn't cost too much, I think I can persuade 'im to go in for it. But if it's goin' to cost a lot it won't come off at all. 'E'll just 'ave a frieze put up and 'ave the room papered in the ordinary way.'
This was not true; Rushton said it in case Owen might want to be paid extra wages while doing the work. Sweater was going to have the room decorated in any case, and intended to get a London firm to do it. He had consented rather unwillingly to let Rushton and Company submit him an estimate because he thought they would not be able to do the work satisfactorily.
Owen examined the photograph closely.
​'Could you do anything like that in that room?'
'Yes, I think so,' replied Owen.
'Well, you know, I don't want you to start on the job and not be able to finish it. Can you do it or not?'
Rushton felt sure that Owen could do it, and was very desirous that he should undertake it, but he did not want him to know that. He wished to convey the impression that he was almost indifferent whether Owen did the work or not. In fact he wished to seem to be conferring a favour upon him by procuring him such a nice job as this.
'I'll tell you what I can do,' Owen replied; 'I can make you a water-colour sketch—a design—and if you think it good enough of course I can reproduce it on the ceiling and the walls, and I can let you know, within a little, how long it will take.'
Rushton appeared to reflect. Owen stood examining the photograph, and began to feel an intense desire to do the work.
Rushton shook his head dubiously.
'If I let you spend a lot of time over the sketches and then Mr Sweater does not approve of your design, where do I come in?'
'Well, suppose we put it like this: I'll draw the design at home, in the evenings—in my own time. If it's accepted I'll charge you for the time I've spent upon it. If it's not suitable I won't charge the time at all.'
Rushton brightened up considerably. 'All right, you can do so,' he said with an affectation of good nature. 'But you mustn't pile it on too thick, in any case, you know, because, as I said before, 'e don't want to spend too much money on it. In fact, if it's goin' to cost a great deal 'e simply won't 'ave it done at all.'
Rushton knew Owen well enough to be sure that no consideration of time or pains would prevent him from putting the very best that was in him into this work. He knew that if the man did the room at all there was no likelihood of his scamping it for the sake of getting it done quickly; and for that matter Rushton did not wish him to hurry over it. But he was anxious to impress upon Owen that he must not charge too much time. Any profit that could be made out of the job Rushton meant to secure for himself.
'When do you think you'll have the drawings ready?' enquired Rushton. 'Can you get them done to-night?'
​'I'm afraid not,' replied Owen, feeling inclined to laugh at the absurdity of the question. 'It will need a little thinking about.'
'When can you have them ready then? This is Monday—Wednesday morning?'
Owen hesitated.
'We don't want to keep 'im waiting too long, you knows, or 'e may give up the idear altogether.'
'Well, say Friday morning, then,' said Owen, resolving that he would stay up all night if necessary to get it done.
Rushton shook his head.
'Can't you get it done before that? I'm afraid if we keeps 'im waiting all that time we may lose the job altogether.'
'I can't get them done any quicker in my spare time,' returned Owen, flushing; 'if you like to let me stay at home to-morrow and charge the time the same as if I had gone to work at the house, I could go to my ordinary work on Wednesday and let you have the drawings on Thursday morning.'
'Oh, all right,' said Rushton, hastily; 'but all the same, don't pile it on too thick, or we shall 'ave to charge so much for the work that 'e won't 'ave it done at all. Good-night.'
'I suppose I may take this photograph with me?'
'Yes, certainly,' said Rushton, as he returned to the perusal of his letters.
That night, long after his wife and Frankie were asleep, Owen worked in the sitting room, searching old numbers of the 'Decorator's Journal' and through the illustrations in other books of designs for examples of Moorish work, and making rough sketches in pencil.
He did not attempt to finish anything yet, but he roughed out the general plan, and when at last he went to bed he could not sleep for a long time. He almost fancied he was in the drawing room at the 'Cave'. First of all it would be necessary to take down the ugly plaster centre flower with its crevices all filled up with old whitewash. The cornice was all right; it was fortunately a very simple one, with a deep cove and without many enrichments. Then, when the walls and the ceiling had been properly prepared, the ornamentation would be proceeded with: the walls divided into panels and arches containing painted designs and lattice work, the panels of the door decorated in a similar manner; the mouldings of the door ​and window frames picked out with colours and gold so as to be in character with the other work, the cove of the cornice, a dull yellow with a bold ornament in colour—gold was not advisable in the hollow because of the unequal distribution of the light, but some of the smaller mouldings of the cornice should be gold. On the ceiling there would be one large panel covered with an appropriate design in gold and colours, and surrounded by a wide margin or border. Great care would have to be used when it came to the gilding, because, whilst large masses of gilding are apt to look garish and in bad taste, a lot of fine gold lines are ineffective, especially on a flat surface. Process by process he traced the work, and saw it advancing stage by stage until finally the large apartment was transformed and glorified. And then, in the midst of the pleasure he experienced in the planning of the design, there came the fear that perhaps they would not have it done at all.
The question as to what personal advantage he would gain never once occured to Owen. He simply wanted to do the work; and he was so fully occupied with thinking how it was to be done that the question of profit was crowded out.
On the other hand, this question of profit was the only part of the work that his employer would consider at all, thus illustrating the oft-quoted saying: 'The men work with their hands—the master works with his brains.'