Роберт Тресселл – The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists (страница 21)
He was nearly home now. At the corner of the street in which he lived there was a newsagent’s shop and on a board outside the door was displayed a placard:
TERRIBLE DOMESTIC TRAGEDY
DOUBLE MURDER AND SUICIDE
He went in to buy a copy of the paper. He was a frequent customer here, and as he entered the shopkeeper greeted him by name.
‘Dreadful weather,’ he remarked as he handed Owen the paper. ‘It makes things pretty bad in your line, I suppose?’
‘Yes,’ responded Owen, ‘there’s a lot of men idle, but fortunately I happen to be working inside.’
‘You’re one of the lucky ones, then,’ said the other. ‘You know, there’ll be a job here for some of ‘em as soon as the weather gets a little better. All the outside of this block is going to be done up. That’s a pretty big job, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ returned Owen. ‘Who’s going to do it?’
‘Makehaste and Sloggit. You know, they’ve got a place over at Windley.’
‘Yes, I know the firm,’ said Owen, grimly. He had worked for them once or twice himself.
‘The foreman was in here today,’ the shopkeeper went on. ‘He said they’re going to make a start Monday morning if it’s fine.’
‘Well, I hope it will be,’ said Owen, ‘because things are very quiet just now.’
Wishing the other ‘Good night’, Owen again proceeded homewards.
Half-way down the street he paused irresolutely: he was thinking of the news he had just heard and of Jack Linden.
As soon as it became generally known that this work was about to be started there was sure to be a rush after it, and it would be a case of first come, first served. If he saw Jack tonight the old man might be in time to secure a job.
Owen hesitated: he was wet through: it was a long way to Linden’s place, nearly twenty minutes’ walk. Still, he would like to let him know, because unless he was one of the first to apply, Linden would not stand such a good chance as a younger man. Owen said to himself that if he walked very fast there was not much risk of catching cold. Standing about in wet clothes might be dangerous, but so long as one kept moving it was all right.
He turned back and set off in the direction of Linden’s house: although he was but a few yards from his own home, he decided not to go in because his wife would be sure to try to persuade him not to go out again.
As he hurried along he presently noticed a small dark object on the doorstep of an untenanted house. He stopped to examine it more closely and perceived that it was a small black kitten. The tiny creature came towards him and began walking about his feet, looking into his face and crying piteously. He stooped down and stroked it, shuddering as his hands came in contact with its emaciated body. Its fur was saturated with rain and every joint of its backbone was distinctly perceptible to the touch. As he caressed it, the starving creature mewed pathetically.
Owen decided to take it home to the boy, and as he picked it up and put it inside his coat the little outcast began to purr.
This incident served to turn his thoughts into another channel. If, as so many people pretended to believe, there was an infinitely loving God, how was it that this helpless creature that He had made was condemned to suffer? It had never done any harm, and was in no sense responsible for the fact that it existed. Was God unaware of the miseries of His creatures? If so, then He was not all-knowing. Was God aware of their sufferings, but unable to help them? Then He was not all-powerful. Had He the power but not the will to make His creatures happy? Then He was not good. No; it was impossible to believe in the existence of an individual, infinite God. In fact, no one did so believe; and least of all those who pretended for various reasons to be the disciples and followers of Christ. The anti-Christs who went about singing hymns, making long prayers and crying Lord, Lord, but never doing the things which He said, who were known by their works to be unbelievers and infidels, unfaithful to the Master they pretended to serve, their lives being passed in deliberate and systematic disregard of His teachings and Commandments. It was not necessary to call in the evidence of science, or to refer to the supposed inconsistencies, impossibilities, contradictions and absurdities contained in the Bible, in order to prove that there was no truth in the Christian religion. All that was necessary was to look at the conduct of the individuals who were its votaries.
Jack Linden lived in a small cottage in Windley. He had occupied this house ever since his marriage, over thirty years ago.
His home and garden were his hobby: he was always doing something; painting, whitewashing, papering and so forth. The result was that although the house itself was not of much account he had managed to get it into very good order, and as a result it was very clean and comfortable.
Another result of his industry was that – seeing the improved appearance of the place – the landlord had on two occasions raised the rent. When Linden first took the house the rent was six shillings a week. Five years after, it was raised to seven shillings, and after the lapse of another five years it had been increased to eight shillings.
During the thirty years of his tenancy he had paid altogether nearly six hundred pounds in rent, more than double the amount of the present value of the house. Jack did not complain of this – in fact, he was very well satisfied. He often said that Mr Sweater was a very good landlord, because on several occasions when, being out of work, he had been a few weeks behind with his rent the agent acting for the benevolent Sweater had allowed Linden to pay off the arrears by instalments. As old Jack was in the habit of remarking, many a landlord would have sold up their furniture and turned them into the street.
As the reader is already aware, Linden’s household consisted of his wife, his two grandchildren and his daughter-in-law, the widow and children of his youngest son, a reservist, who died while serving in the South African War. This man had been a plasterer, and just before the war he was working for Rushton & Co.
They had just finished their tea when Owen knocked at their front door. The young woman went to see who was there.
‘Is Mr Linden in?’
‘Yes. Who is it?’
‘My name’s Owen.’
Old Jack, however, had already recognized Owen’s voice, and came to the door, wondering what he wanted.
‘As I was going home I heard that Makehaste and Sloggit are going to start a large job on Monday, so I thought I’d run over and let you know.’
‘Are they?’ said Linden. ‘I’ll go and see them in the morning. But I’m afraid I won’t stand much chance, because a lot of their regular hands are waiting for a job; but I’ll go and see ’em all the same.’
‘Well, you know, it’s a big job. All the outside of that block at the corner of Kerk Street and Lord Street. They’re almost sure to want a few extra hands.’
‘Yes, there’s something in that,’ said Linden. ‘Anyhow, I’m much obliged to you for letting me know; but come in out of the rain. You must be wet through.’
‘No; I won’t stay,’ responded Owen. ‘I don’t want to stand about any longer than I can help in these wet clothes.’
‘But it won’t take you a minit to drink a cup of tea,’ Linden insisted. ‘I won’t ask you to stop longer than that.’
Owen entered; the old man closed the door and led the way into the kitchen. At one side of the fire, Linden’s wife, a frail-looking old lady with white hair, was seated in a large armchair, knitting. Linden sat down in a similar chair on the other side. The two grandchildren, a boy and girl about seven and eight years, respectively, were still seated at the table.
Standing by the side of the dresser at one end of the room was a treadle sewing machine, and on one end of the dresser was a pile of sewing: ladies’ blouses in process of making. This was another instance of the goodness of Mr Sweater, from whom Linden’s daughter-in-law obtained the work. It was not much, because she was only able to do it in her spare time, but then, as she often remarked, every little helped.
The floor was covered with linoleum: there were a number of framed pictures on the walls, and on the high mantelshelf were a number of brightly polished tins and copper utensils. The room had that indescribable homelike, cosy air that is found only in those houses in which the inhabitants have dwelt for a very long time.
The younger woman was already pouring out a cup of tea.
Old Mrs Linden, who had never seen Owen before, although she had heard of him, belonged to the Church of England and was intensely religious. She looked curiously at the Atheist as he entered the room. He had taken off his hat and she was surprised to find that he was not repulsive to look at, rather the contrary. But then she remembered that Satan often appears as an angel of light. Appearances are deceitful. She wished that John had not asked him into the house and hoped that no evil consequences would follow. As she looked at him, she was horrified to perceive a small black head with a pair of glistening green eyes peeping out of the breast of his coat, and immediately afterwards the kitten, catching sight of the cups and saucers on the table, began to mew frantically and scrambled suddenly out of its shelter, inflicting a severe scratch on Owen’s restraining hands as it jumped to the floor.