“She’s been up all the morning, but she’s lying down now. We’ve done all the work, though. While she was making the beds I started washing up the cups and saucers without telling her, but when she came in and saw what a mess I’d made on the floor, she had to stop me doing it, and she had to change nearly all my clothes as well, because I was almost wet through; but I managed the wiping up all right when she did the washing, and I swept the passage and put all my things tidy and made the cat’s bed. And that just reminds me: will you please give me my penny now? I promised the cat that I’d bring him back some meat.”
Owen complied with the boy’s request, and while the latter went to the butcher’s for the meat, Owen went into the grocer’s to get something for dinner, it being arranged that they were to meet again at the corner of the street. Owen was at the appointed place first and after waiting some time and seeing no sign of the boy he decided to go towards the butcher’s to meet him. When he came in sight of the shop he saw the boy standing outside in earnest conversation with the butcher, a jolly-looking stoutly built man, with a very red face. Owen perceived at once that the child was trying to explain something, because Frankie had a habit of holding his head sideways and supplementing his speech by spreading out his fingers and making quaint gestures with his hands whenever he found it difficult to make himself understood. The boy was doing this now, waving one hand about with the fingers and thumb extended wide, and with the other flourishing a paper parcel which evidently contained the pieces of meat. Presently the man laughed heartily and after shaking hands with Frankie went into the shop to attend to a customer, and Frankie rejoined his father.
“That butcher’s a very decent sort of chap, you know, Dad,” he said. “He wouldn’t take a penny for the meat.”
“Is that what you were talking to him about?”
“No; we were talking about Socialism. You see, this is the second time he wouldn’t take the money, and the first time he did it I thought he must be a Socialist, but I didn’t ask him then. But when he did it again this time I asked him if he was. So he said, No. He said he wasn’t quite mad yet. So I said, ‘If you think that Socialists are all mad, you’re very much mistaken, because I’m a Socialist myself, and I’m quite sure I’M not mad.’ So he said he knew I was all right, but he didn’t understand anything about Socialism himself—only that it meant sharing out all the money so that everyone could have the same. So then I told him that’s not Socialism at all! And when I explained it to him properly and advised him to be one, he said he’d think about it. So I said if he’d only do that he’d be sure to change over to our side; and then he laughed and promised to let me know next time he sees me, and I promised to lend him some literature. You won’t mind, will you, Dad?”
“Of course not; when we get home we’ll have a look through what we’ve got and you can take him some of them.”
“I know!” cried Frankie eagerly. “The two very best of all. Happy Britain and England for the English.”
He knew that these were “two of the best” because he had often heard his father and mother say so, and he had noticed that whenever a Socialist friend came to visit them, he was also of the same opinion.
As a rule on Saturday evenings they all three went out together to do the marketing, but on this occasion, in consequence of Nora being unwell, Owen and Frankie went by themselves. The frequent recurrence of his wife’s illness served to increase Owen’s pessimism with regard to the future, and the fact that he was unable to procure for her the comforts she needed was not calculated to dispel the depression that filled his mind as he reflected that there was no hope of better times.
In the majority of cases, for a workman there is no hope of advancement. After he has learnt his trade and become a “journeyma” all progress ceases. He is at the goal. After he has been working ten or twenty years he commands no more than he did at first—a bare living wage—sufficient money to purchase fuel to keep the human machine working. As he grows older he will have to be content with even less; and all the time he holds his employment at the caprice and by the favour of his masters, who regard him merely as a piece of mechanism that enables them to accumulate money—a thing which they are justified in casting aside as soon as it becomes unprofitable. And the workman must not only be an efficient money-producing machine, but he must also be the servile subject of his masters. If he is not abjectly civil and humble, if he will not submit tamely to insult, indignity, and every form of contemptuous treatment that occasion makes possible, he can be dismissed, and replaced in a moment by one of the crowd of unemployed who are always waiting for his job. This is the status of the majority of the “Heirs of all the ages” under the present system.