The `Open-air'
During the last few weeks ever since he had been engaged on the decoration of the drawing-room, Owen had been so absorbed in his work that he had no time for other things.Of course, all he was paid for was the time he actually worked, but really every waking moment of his time was given to the task.Now that it was finished he felt something like one aroused from a dream to the stern realities and terrors of life.By the end of next week, the inside of the house and part of the outside would be finished, and as far as he knew the firm had nothing else to do at present.Most of the other employers in the town were in the same plight, and it would be of no use to apply even to such of them as had something to do, for they were not likely to take on a fresh man while some of their regular hands were idle.
For the last month he had forgotten that he was ill; he had forgotten that when the work at `The Cave' was finished he would have to stand off with the rest of the hands.In brief, he had forgotten for the time being that, like the majority of his fellow workmen, he was on the brink of destitution, and that a few weeks of unemployment or idleness meant starvation.As far as illness was concerned, he was even worse off than most others, for the greater number of them were members of some sick benefit club, but Owen's ill-health rendered him ineligible for membership of such societies.
As he walked homewards after being paid, feeling unutterably depressed and weary, he began once more to think of the future; and the more he thought of it the more dreadful it appeared.Even looking at it in the best possible light - supposing he did not fall too ill to work, or lose his employment from some other cause - what was there to live for? He had been working all this week.These few coins that he held in his hand were the result, and he laughed bitterly as he thought of all they had to try to do with this money, and of all that would have to be left undone.
As he turned the corner of Kerk Street he saw Frankie coming to meet him, and the boy catching sight of him at the same moment began running and leapt into his arms with a joyous whoop.
`Mother told me to tell you to buy something for dinner before you come home, because there's nothing in the house.'
`Did she tell you what I was to get?'
She did tell me something, but I forget what it was.But I know she said to get anything you like if you couldn't get what she told me to tell you.'
`Well, we'll go and see what we can find,' said Owen.
`If I were you, I'd get a tin of salmon or some eggs and bacon,'
suggested Frankie as he skipped along holding his father's hand.`We don't want anything that's a lot of trouble to cook, you know, because Mum's not very well today.'
`Is she up?'
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 Iexplained 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.
