Robert Tressell - The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists

‘Tariff Reform is the remedy for bad trade,’ returned Crass.

‘In that case Tariff Reform is the remedy for a disease that does not exist. If you would only take the trouble to investigate for yourself you would find out that trade was never so good as it is at present: the output – the quantity of commodities of every kind – produced in and exported from this country is greater than it has ever been before. The fortunes amassed in business are larger than ever before: but at the same time – owing, as you have just admitted – to the continued introduction and extended use of wages-saving machinery, the number of human beings employed is steadily decreasing. I have here,’ continued Owen, taking out his pocket-book, ‘some figures which I copied from the Daily Mail Year Book for 1907, page 33:

’“It is a very noticeable fact that although the number of factories and their value have vastly increased in the United Kingdom, there is an absolute decrease in the number of men and women employed in those factories between 1895 and 1901. This is doubtless due to the displacement of hand labour by machinery!”

‘Will Tariff Reform deal with that? Are the good, kind capitalists going to abandon the use of wages-saving machinery if we tax all foreign-made goods? Does what you call “Free Trade” help us here? Or do you think that abolishing the House of Lords, or disestablishing the Church, will enable the workers who are displaced to obtain employment? Since it is true – as you admit – that machinery is the principal cause of unemployment, what are you going to do about it? What’s your remedy?’

No one answered, because none of them knew of any remedy: and Crass began to feel sorry that he had re-introduced the subject at all.

‘In the near future,’ continued Owen, ‘it is probable that horses will be almost entirely superseded by motor cars and electric trams. As the services of horses will be no longer required, all but a few of those animals will be caused to die out: they will no longer be bred to the same extent as formerly. We can’t blame the horses for allowing themselves to be exterminated. They have not sufficient intelligence to understand what’s being done. Therefore they will submit tamely to the extinction of the greater number of their kind.

‘As we have seen, a great deal of the work which was formerly done by human beings is now being done by machinery. This machinery belongs to a few people: it is being worked for the benefit of those few, just the same as were the human beings it displaced. These Few have no longer any need of the services of so many human workers, so they propose to exterminate them! The unnecessary human beings are to be allowed to starve to death! And they are also to be taught that it is wrong to marry and breed children, because the Sacred Few do not require so many people to work for them as before!’

‘Yes, and you’ll never be able to prevent it, mate!’ shouted Crass.

‘Why can’t we?’

‘Because it can’t be done!’ cried Crass fiercely. ‘It’s impossible!’

‘You’re always sayin’ that everything’s all wrong,’ complained Harlow, ‘but why the ‘ell don’t you tell us ‘ow they’re goin’ to be put right?’

‘It doesn’t seem to me as if any of you really wish to know. I believe that even if it were proved that it could be done, most of you would be sorry and would do all you could to prevent it.’

“E don’t know ‘isself,’ sneered Crass. ‘Accordin’ to ‘im, Tariff Reform ain’t no bloody good – Free Trade ain’t no bloody good, and everybody else is wrong! But when you arst ‘im what ought to be done – ‘e’s flummuxed.’

Crass did not feel very satisfied with the result of this machinery argument, but he consoled himself with the reflection that he would be able to flatten out his opponent on another subject. The cutting from the Obscurer which he had in his pocket would take a bit of answering! When you have a thing in print – in black and white – why there it is, and you can’t get away from it! If it wasn’t all right, a paper like that would never have printed it. However, as it was now nearly half past eight, he resolved to defer this triumph till another occasion. It was too good a thing to be disposed of in a hurry.

After breakfast, when they were working together in the drawing-room, Easton, desiring to do Owen a good turn, thought he would put him on his guard, and repeated to him in a whisper the substance of the conversation he had held with Crass concerning him.

‘Of course, you needn’t mention that I told you, Frank,’ he said, ‘but I thought I ought to let you know: you can take it from me, Crass ain’t no friend of yours.’

‘I’ve known that for a long time, mate,’ replied Owen. ‘Thanks for telling me, all the same.’

‘The bloody rotter’s no friend of mine either, or anyone else’s, for that matter,’ Easton continued, ‘but of course it doesn’t do to fall out with ‘im because you never know what he’d go and say to old ‘Unter.’

‘Yes, one has to remember that.’

‘Of course we all know what’s the matter with ‘im as far as you’re concerned,’ Easton went on. ‘He don’t like ‘avin’ anyone on the firm wot knows more about the work than ‘e does ‘imself – thinks ‘e might git worked out of ‘is job.’

Owen laughed bitterly.

‘He needn’t be afraid of me on that account. I wouldn’t have his job if it were offered to me.’

‘But ‘e don’t think so,’ replied Easton, ‘and that’s why ‘e’s got ‘is knife into you.’

‘I believe that what he said about Hunter is true enough,’ said Owen. ‘Every time he comes here he tries to goad me into doing or saying something that would give him an excuse to tell me to clear out. I might have done it before now if I had not guessed what he was after, and been on my guard.’

Meantime, Crass, in the kitchen, had resumed his seat by the fire with the purpose of finishing his pipe of tobacco. Presently he took out his pocket-book and began to write in it with a piece of black-lead pencil. When the pipe was smoked out he knocked the bowl against the grate to get rid of the ash, and placed the pipe in his waistcoat pocket. Then, having torn out the leaf on which he had been writing. he got up and went into the pantry, where Bert was still struggling with the old whitewash.

‘Ain’t yer nearly finished? I don’t want yer to stop in ‘ere all day, yer know.’

‘I ain’t got much more to do now,’ said the boy. ‘Just this bit under the bottom shelf and then I’m done.’

‘Yes, and a bloody fine mess you’ve made, what I can see of it!’ growled Crass. ‘Look at all this water on the floor!’

Bert looked guiltily at the floor and turned very red.

‘I’ll clean it all up,’ he stammered. ‘As soon as I’ve got this bit of wall done, I’ll wipe all the mess up with the swab.’

Crass now took a pot of paint and some brushes and, having put some more fuel on the fire, began in a leisurely way to paint some of the woodwork in the kitchen. Presently Bert came in.

‘I’ve finished out there,’ he said.

‘About time, too. You’ll ‘ave to look a bit livelier than you do, you know, or me and you will fall out.’

Bert did not answer.

‘Now I’ve got another job for yer. You’re fond of drorin, ain’t yer?’ continued Crass in a jeering tone.

‘Yes, a little,’ replied the boy, shamefacedly.

‘Well,’ said Crass, giving him the leaf he had torn out of the pocket-book, ‘you can go to the yard and git them things and put ‘em on a truck and dror it up ‘ere, and git back as soon as you can. Just look at the paper and see if you understand it before you go. I don’t want you to make no mistakes.’