Ragged Trousered Philanthropists/Chapter 32
CHAPTER XXXII
The Sixty-five
The next morning after breakfast Philpot, Sawkins, Harlow and Easton went to the yard to get the long ladder. It was called 'the Sixty-five' because it had sixty-five rungs; it was a builder's scaffold ladder, and altogether too heavy and cumbrous for painter's work. However, as none of the others were long enough to reach the high gable at 'The Refuge,' they managed with a struggle to get it down from the hooks and put it on one of the handcarts, and soon passed through the streets of mean and dingy houses in the vicinity of the yard and began the ascent of the long hill.
There had been a lot of rain during the night and the sky was still overcast with dark grey clouds. The cart went heavily over the muddy road. Sawkins was at the helm, holding the end of the ladder and steering; the others walked a little further ahead, at the sides of the cart.
It was such an exhausting shove that half-way up the hill they stopped for a rest, keeping a good look-out for Rushton or Hunter, who might pass at any moment.
'This is a bit of all right, ain't it?' remarked Harlow as he took off his cap and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief.
At first no one made any reply, for they were all out of breath and Philpot's lean fingers trembled violently as he wiped the perspiration from his face.
'Yes, mate,' he said despondently, after a while. 'It's one way of gettin' a livin', and there's plenty better.'
In addition to the fact that his rheumatism was exceptionally bad, he felt low-spirited this morning. The gloomy weather and the prospect of a long day of ladder work probably accounted for his unusual dejection.
They relapsed into silence. The depression that possessed Philpot deprived him of all his usual jocularity and filled him with melancholy thoughts. He had travelled up and down this hill a great many times before under similar circumstances, and he said to himself that if he had half a quid now for every time he had pushed a cart up this road he wouldn't need to do anyone out of a job all the rest of his life.
The shop where he had been apprenticed used to be just down at the bottom; the place had been pulled down years ago and the ground was now occupied by more pretentious buildings. Not quite so far down the road, on the other side, he could see the church where he was married just thirty years ago. Presently, when they reached the top of the hill, he would be able to look across the valley to the spire of the other church, the one in the graveyard, where wife and children, all those who were dear to him, had been laid to rest, one by one. He felt that he would not be sorry when the time came to join them there. Possibly in the next world, if there were such a place, they might all be together again.
He was suddenly aroused from these thoughts by an exclamation from Harlow:
'Look out! Here comes Rushton.'
They immediately resumed their journey. Rushton was coming up the hill in his dog-cart, with Grinder sitting by his side. They passed so closely that Philpot was splashed with mud from the wheels of the trap.
'Them's some of your chaps, ain't they?' remarked Grinder.
'Yes,' replied Rushton, 'We're doing a job up this way.'
'I should 'ave thought it would pay you better to use a 'orse for sich work as that,' said Grinder.
'We do use the horses whenever it's necessary, for very big loads,' answered Rushton, and added with a laugh: 'but the donkeys are quite strong enough for such a job as that.'
The 'donkeys' struggled on up the hill for about another hundred yards and then they were forced to halt again.
Whilst they were resting another two-legged donkey passed by pushing another cart, or rather, holding it back, for he was going slowly down the hill; another Heir of all the Ages, another Imperialist, a degraded, brutalised wretch, clad in filthy, stinking rags, his toes protruding from the rotten broken boots that were tied with bits of string upon his stockingless feet. The ramshackle cart was loaded with empty bottles and putrid rags, old coats and trousers, dresses, petticoats and underclothing, greasy, mildewed and malodorous. As he crept along, with his eyes on the ground, he uttered at intervals uncouth, inarticulate sounds.
'That's another way of gettin' a livin',' said Sawkins, with a laugh as the miserable creature slunk by. The others laughed, and Harlow was about to make some reply but at that moment a cyclist appeared coming down the hill from the direction of the job. It was Nimrod, so they resumed their journey once more, and presently Hunter shot past on his machine without taking any notice of them.
When they arrived at their destination they found that Rushton had not been there at all, but Nimrod had. Crass said that he had kicked up no end of a row because they had not called at the yard at six o'clock that morning for the ladder instead of after breakfast, and also because the big gable had not been started the first thing that morning.
They carried the ladder into the garden and laid it on the ground by the gable in a passage about six feet wide between the side of the house and the garden wall.
Next, it was necessary that two men should go up into the attic, the window of which was just under the point of the gable, and drop the end of a long rope down to the others who would tie it to the top of the ladder. Then two men would stand on the bottom rung so as to keep the 'foot' down, and three others would have to raise the ladder while the two men up in the attic hauled on the rope.
They called Bundy and his mate Ned Dawson to help, and it was arranged that Harlow and Crass should stand on the foot because they were the heaviest. Philpot, Bundy, and Easton were to 'raise,' and Dawson and Sawkins were to go up to the attic and haul on the rope.
'Where's the rope?' asked Crass.
The others looked blankly at him. None of them had thought of bringing one from the yard.
'Why, ain't there one 'ere?' said Philpot, feebly.
'One 'ere? Of course there ain't one 'ere!' snarled Crass. 'Do you mean to say as you ain't brought one, then?'
Philpot stammered out something about having thought there was one at the house already.
'Well, what the bloody hell are we to do now?' cried Crass angrily. ''Ere it's nearly ten o'clock and we 'aven't begun the gable yet, wot we oughter 'ave started on first thing this morning.'
'Well, the only thing as I can see for it.' he continued, 'is that the boy will 'ave to go down to the yard and get the long rope. It won't do for anyone else to go; there's been row enough already.'
Bert was called and given the necessary instructions, chief of which was to get back again as soon as ever he could. The boy ran off, and while they were waiting, Philpot returned to the small gable he had been painting before breakfast, which he had not quite finished. As he worked, a sudden and unaccountable terror took possession of him. He did not want to do that high gable—he felt too ill; and he almost resolved that he would ask Crass if he would mind letting him do something else. There were several younger men who would find the job mere child's play.
But then he remembered what the probable consequences would be, and tried to persuade himself that he would be able to get through it all right. It would not do to let Crass or Hunter mark him as being too old for ladder work.
Bert came back in about half an hour flushed and sweating with the weight of the rope and the speed he had made. He delivered it to Crass who passed the word for Philpot and the others to come and raise the ladder. He handed the rope to Ned Dawson, who took it up to the attic, accompanied by Sawkins. Arrived there, they lowered one end out of the window down to the others.
'If you ask me,' said Ned Dawson, who was critically examining the strands of the rope as he passed it out through the open window; 'if you ask me, I don't see as this 'ere rope is much good. Look 'ere'; he indicated a part which was very frayed and worn; 'and 'ere's another place just as bad.'
'Well, for Christ's sake don't say nothing about it now,' replied Sawkins; 'there's been enough talk and waste of time over this job already.'
Ned made no answer, and the end having by this time reached the ground, Bundy made it fast to the ladder, about six rungs from the top.
The ladder was lying on the ground, parallel to the side of the house. The task of raising it would have been much easier if they had been able to lay it at right angles to the house wall, but this was impossible because of the premises next door and the garden wall between the two houses. As it was, the men at the top would not be able to get a straight pull on the rope, and would have to stand back in the room without being able to see the ladder, while the rope would have to be drawn round the corner of the window, rasping against the edge of the stone sill and the brickwork.
Crass and Harlow now stood on the foot and the other three raised the top from the ground. As Easton was the tallest he took the middle position, underneath, grasping the rungs, Philpot being on his left and Bundy on his right, each holding one side of the ladder.
At a signal from Crass, Dawson and Sawkins began to haul on the rope, and the top of the ladder rose slowly in the air.
The fact that Philpot was not of much use at this work made it all the harder for the other two who were lifting, besides putting an extra strain on the rope. His lack of strength and the efforts of Easton and Bundy to make up for him caused the ladder to sway from side to side.
Meanwhile, upstairs, Dawson and Sawkins, although the ladder was as yet only a little more than halfway up, noticed, as they hauled and strained on the rope, that it had worn a groove for itself in the corner of the brickwork at the side of the window; and every now and then, although they pulled with all their strength, they were not able to draw in any part of the rope at all, and it seemed to them as if those others down below must have either let go their hold altogether or ceased lifting.
That was what actually happened. The three men found the weight so overpowering that once or twice they were compelled to relax their efforts for a few seconds, and at those times the rope had to carry the whole weight of the ladder; and the part of the rope that had to bear the greatest strain was the particular part that chanced to be at the angle of the brickwork at the side of the window. And presently it happened that one of the frayed and worn places that Dawson had remarked was just at the angle during one of those momentary pauses. On one end of the rope there hung the ponderous ladder, straining the frayed part against the corner of the brickwork and the sharp edge of the stone sill, at the other end were Dawson and Sawkins, pulling with all their strength, and next instant the rope snapped like a piece of thread. Sawkins and Dawson reeled backwards into the room, and the broken rope flew up into the air, writhing like the lash of a gigantic whip. For a moment the heavy ladder swayed from side to side. Easton, standing underneath, with his hands raised above his head grasping one of the rungs, struggled desperately to hold it up. At his right stood Bundy, also with arms upraised holding the side; and on the left, between the ladder and the wall, was Philpot.
For a brief space they strove fiercely to support the overpowering weight, but Philpot had no strength, and the ladder, swaying over to the left, crashed down, crushing him upon the ground and against the wall of the house. He fell face downwards, with the ladder across his shoulders. The side that had the iron bands twisted round it fell across the back of his neck, forcing his face against the bricks at the base of the wall. He uttered no cry and was quite still, with blood streaming from the cuts on his face, and trickling from his ears.
None of the others were hurt, for they had all had time to jump clear when the ladder fell. Their shouts soon brought all the other men running to the spot, and the ladder was quickly lifted off the motionless figure.
Easton rushed off for a neighbouring doctor, who came in a few minutes. He knelt down and carefully examined the crushed and motionless form, while the other men stood by in terrified silence.
The examination was a very brief one, and when the doctor rose from his knees, even before he spoke, they knew from his manner that their worst fears were realized.
Philpot was dead.