the ragged trousered philanthropists-第150节

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r　for　Mr　Hunter　several　times　before。

Crass　took　charge　of　all　the　arrangements　for　the　funeral。　　He　bought　a　new　second…hand　pair　of　black　trousers　at　a　cast…off　clothing　shop　in　honour　of　the　occasion；　and　discarded　his　own　low…crowned　silk　hat　…　which　was　getting　rather　shabby　…　in　favour　of　Hunter's　tall　one；　which　he　found　in　the　office　and　annexed　without　hesitation　or　scruple。　　It　was　rather　large　for　him；　but　he　put　some　folded　strips　of　paper　inside　the　leather　lining。　　Crass　was　a　proud　man　as　he　walked　in　Hunter's　place　at　the　head　of　the　procession；　trying　to　look　solemn；　but　with　a　half…smile　on　his　fat；　pasty　face；　destitute　of　colour　except　one　spot　on　his　chin　near　his　underlip；　where　there　was　a　small　patch　of　inflammation　about　the　size　of　a　threepenny　piece。　This　spot　had　been　there　for　a　very　long　time。　　At　first　…　as　well　as　he　could　remember　…　it　was　only　a　small　pimple；　but　it　had　grown　larger；　with　something　the　appearance　of　scurvy。　　Crass　attributed　its　continuation　to　the　cold　having　‘got　into　it　last　winter'。　　It　was　rather　strange；　too；　because　he　generally　took　care　of　himself　when　it　was　cold：　he　always　wore　the　warm　wrap　that　had　formerly　belonged　to　the　old　lady　who　died　of　cancer。　　However；　Crass　did　not　worry　much　about　this　little　sore　place；　he　just　put　a　little　zinc　ointment　on　it　occasionally　and　had　no　doubt　that　it　would　get　well　in　time。



Chapter　53

Barrington　Finds　a　Situation


The　revulsion　of　feeling　that　Barrington　experienced　during　the　progress　of　the　election　was　intensified　by　the　final　result。　　The　blind；　stupid；　enthusiastic　admiration　displayed　by　the　philanthropists　for　those　who　exploited　and　robbed　them；　their　extraordinary　apathy　with　regard　to　their　own　interests；　the　patient；　broken…spirited　way　in　which　they　endured　their　sufferings；　tamely　submitting　to　live　in　poverty　in　the　midst　of　the　wealth　they　had　helped　to　create；　their　callous　indifference　to　the　fate　of　their　children；　and　the　savage　hatred　they　exhibited　towards　anyone　who　dared　to　suggest　the　possibility　of　better　things；　forced　upon　him　the　thought　that　the　hopes　he　cherished　were　impossible　of　realization。　The　words　of　the　renegade　Socialist　recurred　constantly　to　his　mind：

‘You　can　be　a　Jesus　Christ　if　you　like；　but　for　my　part　I'm　finished。　For　the　future　I　intend　to　look　after　myself。　　As　for　these　people；　they　vote　for　what　they　want；　they　get　what　they　vote　for；　and；　by　God！　they　deserve　nothing　better！　　They　are　being　beaten　with　whips　of　their　own　choosing；　and　if　I　had　my　way　they　should　be　chastised　with　scorpions。　　For　them；　the　present　system　means　joyless　drudgery；　semi…starvation；　rags　and　premature　death；　and　they　vote　for　it　and　uphold　it。　　Let　them　have　what　they　vote　for！　　Let　them　drudge　and　let　them　starve！'

These　words　kept　ringing　in　his　ears　as　he　walked　through　the　crowded　streets　early　one　fine　evening　a　few　days　before　Christmas。　　The　shops　were　all　brilliantly　lighted　for　the　display　of　their　Christmas　stores；　and　the　pavements　and　even　the　carriageways　were　thronged　with　sightseers。

Barrington　was　specially　interested　in　the　groups　of　shabbily　dressed　men　and　women　and　children　who　gathered　in　the　roadway　in　front　of　the　poulterers'　and　butchers'　shops；　gazing　at　the　meat　and　the　serried　rows　of　turkeys　and　geese　decorated　with　coloured　ribbons　and　rosettes。　　He　knew　that　to　come　here　and　look　at　these　things　was　the　only　share　many　of　these　poor　people　would　have　of　them；　and　he　marvelled　greatly　at　their　wonderful　patience　and　abject　resignation。

But　what　struck　him　most　of　all　was　the　appearance　of　many　of　the　women；　evidently　working　men's　wives。　　Their　faded；　ill…fitting　garments　and　the　tired；　sad　expressions　on　their　pale　and　careworn　faces。　　Some　of　them　were　alone；　others　were　accompanied　by　little　children　who　trotted　along　trustfully　clinging　to　their　mothers'　hands。　　The　sight　of　these　poor　little　ones；　their　utter　helplessness　and　dependence；　their　patched　unsightly　clothing　and　broken　boots；　and　the　wistful　looks　on　their　pitiful　faces　as　they　gazed　into　the　windows　of　the　toy…shops；　sent　a　pang　of　actual　physical　pain　to　his　heart　and　filled　his　eyes　with　tears。　　He　knew　that　these　children　…　naked　of　joy　and　all　that　makes　life　dear　…　were　being　tortured　by　the　sight　of　the　things　that　were　placed　so　cruelly　before　their　eyes；　but　which　they　were　not　permitted　to　touch　or　to　share；　and；　like　Joseph　of　old；　his　heart　yearned　over　to　his　younger　brethren。

He　felt　like　a　criminal　because　he　was　warmly　clad　and　well　fed　in　the　midst　of　all　this　want　and　unhappiness；　and　he　flushed　with　shame　because　he　had　momentarily　faltered　in　his　devotion　to　the　noblest　cause　that　any　man　could　be　privileged　to　fight　for　…　the　uplifting　of　the　disconsolate　and　the　oppressed。

He　presently　came　to　a　large　toy　shop　outside　which　several　children　were　standing　admiring　the　contents　of　the　window。　　He　recognized　some　of　these　children　and　paused　to　watch　them　and　to　listen　to　their　talk。　　They　did　not　notice　him　standing　behind　them　as　they　ranged　to　and　fro　before　the　window；　and　as　he　looked　at　them；　he　was　reminded　of　the　way　in　which　captive　animals　walk　up　and　down　behind　the　bars　of　their　cages。　　These　children　wandered　repeatedly；　backwards　and　forwards　from　one　end　of　the　window　to　the　other；　with　their　little　hands　pressed　against　the　impenetrable　plate　glass；　choosing　and　pointing　out　to　each　other　the　particular　toys　that　took　their　fancies。

‘That's　mine！'　cried　Charley　Linden；　enthusiastically　indicating　a　large　strongly　built　waggon。　　‘If　I　had　that　I'd　give　Freddie　rides　in　it　and　bring　home　lots　of　firewood；　and　we　could　play　at　fire　engines　as　well。'

‘I'd　rather　have　this　railway；'　said　Frankie　Owen。　　‘There's　a　real　tunnel　and　real　coal　in　the　tenders；　then　there's　the　station　and　the　signals　and　a　place　to　turn　the　engine　round；　and　a　red　lantern　to　light　when　there's　danger　on　the　line。'

‘Mine's　this　doll　…　not　the　biggest　one；　the　one　in　pink　with　clothes　that　you　can　take　off；'　said　Elsie；　‘and　this　tea　set；　and　this　needlecase　for　Mother。'

Little　Freddie　had　let　go　his　hold　of　Elsie；　to　whom　he　usually　clung　tightly　and　was　clapping　his　hands　and　chuckling　with　delight　and　desire。　　‘Gee…gee？'　he　cried　eagerly。　　‘Gee…gee。　　Pwetty　Gee…gee！　Fweddy　want　gee…gee！'

‘But　it's　no　use　lookin'　at　them　any　longer；'　continued　Elsie；　with　a　sigh；　as　she　took　hold　of　Freddie's　hand　to　lead　him　away。　　‘It's　no　use　lookin'　at　'em　any　longer；　the　likes　of　us　can't　expect　to　have　such　good　things　as　them。'

This　remark　served　to　recall　Frankie　and　Charley　to　the　stern　realities　of　life；　and　turning　reluctantly　away　from　the　window　they　prepared　to　follow　Elsie；　but　Freddie　had　not　yet　learnt　the　lesson　…　he　had　not　lived　long　enough　to　understand　that　the　good　things　of　the　world　were　not　for　the　likes　of　him；　so　when　Elsie　attempted　to　draw　him　away　he　pursed　up　his　underlip　and　began　to　cry；　repeating　that　he　wanted　a　gee…gee。　　The　other　children　dustered　round　trying　to　coax　and　comfort　him　by　telling　him　that　no　one　was　allowed　to　have　anything　out　of　the　windows　yet　…　until　Christmas　…　and　that　Santa　Claus　would　be　sure　to　bring　him　a　gee…gee　then；　but　these　arguments　failed　to　make　any　impression　on　Freddie；　who　tearfully　insisted　upon　being　supplied　at　once。

Whilst　they　were　thus　occupied　they　caught　sight　of　Barrington；　whom　they　hailed　with　evident　pleasure　born　of　the　recollection　of　certain　gifts　of　pennies　and　cakes　they　had　at　different　times　received　from　him。

‘Hello；　Mr　Barrington；'　said　the　two　boys　in　a　breath。

‘Hello；'　replied　Barrington；　as　he　patted　the　baby's　cheek。　　‘What's　the　matter　here？　　What's　Freddie　crying　for？'

‘He　wants　that　there　'orse；　mister；　the　one　with　the　real　'air　on；'　said　Charley；　smiling　indulgently　like　a　grown…up　person　who　realized　the　absurdity　of　the　demand。

‘Fweddie　want　gee…gee；'　repeated　the　child；　taking　hold　of　Barrington's　hand　and　returning　to　the　window。　　‘Nice　gee…gee。'

‘Tell　him　that　Santa　Claus'll　bring　it　to　him　on　Christmas；'　whispered　Elsie。　　‘P'raps　he'll　believe　you　and　that'll　satisfy　him；　and　he's　sure　to　forget　all　about　it　in　a　little　while。'

‘Are　you　still　out　of　work；　Mr　Barrington？'　inquired　Frankie。

‘No；'　replied　Barrington　slowly。　　‘I've　got　something　to　do　at　last。'

‘Well；　that's　a　good　job；　ain't　it？'　remarked　Charley。

‘Yes；'　said　Barrington。　　‘And　whom　do　you　think　I'm　working　for？'

‘Who？'

‘Santa　Claus。'

‘Santa　Claus！'　echoed　the　children；　opening　their　eyes　to　the　fullest　extent。

‘Yes；'　continued　Barrington；　solemnly。　　‘You　know；　he　is　a　very　old　man　now；　so　old　that　he　can't　do　all　his　work　himself。　　Last　year　he　was　so　tired　that　he　wasn't　able　to　get　round　to　all　the　children　he　wanted　to　give　things　to；　and　consequently　a　great　many　of　them　never　got　anything　at　all。　　So　this　year　he's　given　me　a　job　to　help　him。　He's　given　me　some　money　and　a　list　of　children's　names；　and　against　their　names　are　written　the　toys　they　are　to　have。　　My　work　is　to　buy　the　things　and　give　them　to　the　boys　and　girls　whose　names　are　on　the　list。'

The　children　listened　to　this　narrative　with　bated　breath。　　Incredible　as　the　story　seemed；　Ba