the ragged trousered philanthropists-第20节

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‘I　hadn't　forgotten；　but　I　was　hoping　that　you　had；　because　I'm　very　tired　and　it's　very　late；　long　past　your　usual　bedtime；　you　know。　　You　can　take　the　kitten　to　bed　with　you　tonight　and　I'll　tell　you　two　stories　tomorrow；　because　it's　Saturday。'

‘All　right；　then；'　said　the　boy；　contentedly；　‘and　I'll　get　the　railway　station　built　and　I'll　have　the　lines　chalked　on　the　floor；　and　the　signals　put　up　before　you　come　home；　so　that　there'll　be　no　time　wasted。　　And　I'll　put　one　chair　at　one　end　of　the　room　and　another　chair　at　the　other　end；　and　tie　some　string　across　for　telegraph　wires。　　That'll　be　a　very　good　idea；　won't　it；　Dad？'　and　Owen　agreed。

‘But　of　course　I'll　come　to　meet　you　just　the　same　as　other　Saturdays；　because　I'm　going　to　buy　a　ha'porth　of　milk　for　the　kitten　out　of　my　penny。'

After　the　child　was　in　bed；　Owen　sat　alone　by　the　table　in　the　draughty　sitting…room；　thinking。　　Although　there　was　a　bright　fire；　the　room　was　very　cold；　being　so　close　to　the　roof。　　The　wind　roared　loudly　round　the　gables；　shaking　the　house　in　a　way　that　threatened　every　moment　to　hurl　it　to　the　ground。　　The　lamp　on　the　table　had　a　green　glass　reservoir　which　was　half　full　of　oil。　　Owen　watched　this　with　unconscious　fascination。　　Every　time　a　gust　of　wind　struck　the　house　the　oil　in　the　lamp　was　agitated　and　rippled　against　the　glass　like　the　waves　of　a　miniature　sea。　　Staring　abstractedly　at　the　lamp；　he　thought　of　the　future。

A　few　years　ago　the　future　had　seemed　a　region　of　wonderful　and　mysterious　possibilities　of　good；　but　tonight　the　thought　brought　no　such　illusions；　for　he　knew　that　the　story　of　the　future　was　to　be　much　the　same　as　the　story　of　the　past。

The　story　of　the　past　would　continue　to　repeat　itself　for　a　few　years　longer。　　He　would　continue　to　work　and　they　would　all　three　continue　to　do　without　most　of　the　necessaries　of　life。　　When　there　was　no　work　they　would　starve。

For　himself　he　did　not　care　much　because　he　knew　that　at　the　best　…　or　worst　…　it　would　only　be　a　very　few　years。　　Even　if　he　were　to　have　proper　food　and　clothing　and　be　able　to　take　reasonable　care　of　himself；　he　could　not　live　much　longer；　but　when　that　time　came；　what　was　to　become　of　THEM？

There　would　be　some　hope　for　the　boy　if　he　were　more　robust　and　if　his　character　were　less　gentle　and　more　selfish。　　Under　the　present　system　it　was　impossible　for　anyone　to　succeed　in　life　without　injuring　other　people　and　treating　them　and　making　use　of　them　as　one　would　not　like　to　be　treated　and　made　use　of　oneself。

In　order　to　succeed　in　the　world　it　was　necessary　to　be　brutal；　selfish　and　unfeeling：　to　push　others　aside　and　to　take　advantage　of　their　misfortunes：　to　undersell　and　crush　out　one's　competitors　by　fair　means　or　foul：　to　consider　one's　own　interests　first　in　every　case；　absolutely　regardless　of　the　wellbeing　of　others。

That　was　the　ideal　character。　　Owen　knew　that　Frankie's　character　did　not　come　up　to　this　lofty　ideal。　　Then　there　was　Nora；　how　would　she　fare？

Owen　stood　up　and　began　walking　about　the　room；　oppressed　with　a　kind　of　terror。　　Presently　he　returned　to　the　fire　and　began　rearranging　the　clothes　that　were　drying。　　He　found　that　the　boots；　having　been　placed　too　near　the　fire；　had　dried　too　quickly　and　consequently　the　sole　of　one　of　them　had　begun　to　split　away　from　the　upper：　he　remedied　this　as　well　as　he　was　able　and　then　turned　the　wetter　parts　of　the　clothing　to　the　fire。　　Whilst　doing　this　he　noticed　the　newspaper；　which　he　had　forgotten；　in　the　coat　pocket。　　He　drew　it　out　with　an　exclamation　of　pleasure。　　Here　was　something　to　distract　his　thoughts：　if　not　instructive　or　comforting；　it　would　at　any　rate　be　interesting　and　even　amusing　to　read　the　reports　of　the　self…satisfied；　futile　talk　of　the　profound　statesmen　who　with　comical　gravity　presided　over　the　working　of　the　Great　System　which　their　combined　wisdom　pronounced　to　be　the　best　that　could　possibly　be　devised。　　But　tonight　Owen　was　not　to　read　of　those　things；　for　as　soon　as　he　opened　the　paper　his　attention　was　riveted　by　the　staring　headline　of　one　of　the　principal　columns：

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　TERRIBLE　DOMESTIC　TRAGEDY　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Wife　And　Two　Children　Killed　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Suicide　of　the　Murderer

It　was　one　of　the　ordinary　poverty　crimes。　　The　man　had　been　without　employment　for　many　weeks　and　they　had　been　living　by　pawning　or　selling　their　furniture　and　other　possessions。　　But　even　this　resource　must　have　failed　at　last；　and　when　one　day　the　neighbours　noticed　that　the　blinds　remained　down　and　that　there　was　a　strange　silence　about　the　house；　no　one　coming　out　or　going　in；　suspicions　that　something　was　wrong　were　quickly　aroused。　　When　the　police　entered　the　house；　they　found；　in　one　of　the　upper　rooms；　the　dead　bodies　of　the　woman　and　the　two　children；　with　their　throats　severed；　laid　out　side　by　side　upon　the　bed；　which　was　saturated　with　their　blood。

There　was　no　bedstead　and　no　furniture　in　the　room　except　the　straw　mattress　and　the　ragged　clothes　and　blankets　which　formed　the　bed　upon　the　floor。

The　man's　body　was　found　in　the　kitchen；　lying　with　outstretched　arms　face　downwards　on　the　floor；　surrounded　by　the　blood　that　had　poured　from　the　wound　in　his　throat　which　had　evidently　been　inflicted　by　the　razor　that　was　grasped　in　his　right　hand。

No　particle　of　food　was　found　in　the　house；　and　on　a　nail　in　the　wall　in　the　kitchen　was　hung　a　piece　of　blood…smeared　paper　on　which　was　written　in　pencil：

‘This　is　not　my　crime；　but　society's。'

The　report　went　on　to　explain　that　the　deed　must　have　been　perpetrated　during　a　fit　of　temporary　insanity　brought　on　by　the　sufferings　the　man　had　endured。

‘Insanity！'　muttered　Owen；　as　he　read　this　glib　theory。　　‘Insanity！　It　seems　to　me　that　he　would　have　been　insane　if　he　had　NOT　killed　them。'

Surely　it　was　wiser　and　better　and　kinder　to　send　them　all　to　sleep；　than　to　let　them　continue　to　suffer。

At　the　same　time　he　thought　it　very　strange　that　the　man　should　have　chosen　to　do　it　that　way；　when　there　were　so　many　other　cleaner；　easier　and　more　painless　ways　of　accomplishing　the　same　object。　　He　wondered　why　it　was　that　most　of　these　killings　were　done　in　more　or　less　the　same　crude；　cruel　messy　way。　　No；　HE　would　set　about　it　in　a　different　fashion。　　He　would　get　some　charcoal；　then　he　would　paste　strips　of　paper　over　the　joinings　of　the　door　and　windows　of　the　room　and　close　the　register　of　the　grate。　　Then　he　would　kindle　the　charcoal　on　a　tray　or　something　in　the　middle　of　the　room；　and　then　they　would　all　three　just　lie　down　together　and　sleep；　and　that　would　be　the　end　of　everything。　　There　would　be　no　pain；　no　blood；　and　no　mess。

Or　one　could　take　poison。　　Of　course；　there　was　a　certain　amount　of　difficulty　in　procuring　it；　but　it　would　not　be　impossible　to　find　some　pretext　for　buying　some　laudanum：　one　could　buy　several　small　quantities　at　different　shops　until　one　had　sufficient。　　Then　he　remembered　that　he　had　read　somewhere　that　vermillion；　one　of　the　colours　he　frequently　had　to　use　in　his　work；　was　one　of　the　most　deadly　poisons：　and　there　was　some　other　stuff　that　photographers　used；　which　was　very　easy　to　procure。　　Of　course；　one　would　have　to　be　very　careful　about　poisons；　so　as　not　to　select　one　that　would　cause　a　lot　of　pain。　　It　would　be　necessary　to　find　out　exactly　how　the　stuff　acted　before　using　it。　　It　would　not　be　very　difficult　to　do　so。　　Then　he　remembered　that　among　his　books　was　one　that　probably　contained　some　information　about　this　subject。　　He　went　over　to　the　book…shelf　and　presently　found　the　volume；　it　was　called　The　Cyclopedia　of　Practical　Medicine；　rather　an　old　book；　a　little　out　of　date；　perhaps；　but　still　it　might　contain　the　information　he　wanted。　　Opening　it；　he　turned　to　the　table　of　contents。　　Many　different　subjects　were　mentioned　there　and　presently　he　found　the　one　he　sought：

Poisons：　chemically；　physiologically　and　pathologically　considered。　　　　　Corrosive　Poisons。　　　　　Narcotic　Poisons。　　　　　Slow　Poisons。　　　　　Consecutive　Poisons。　　　　　Accumulative　Poisons。

He　turned　to　the　chapter　indicated　and；　reading　it；　he　was　astonished　to　find　what　a　number　of　poisons　there　were　within　easy　reach　of　whoever　wished　to　make　use　of　them：　poisons　that　could　be　relied　upon　to　do　their　work　certainly；　quickly　and　without　pain。　　Why；　it　was　not　even　necessary　to　buy　them：　one　could　gather　them　from　the　hedges　by　the　road　side　and　in　the　fields。

The　more　he　thought　of　it　the　stranger　it　seemed　that　such　a　clumsy　method　as　a　razor　should　be　so　popular。　　Why　almost　any　other　way　would　be　better　and　easier　than　that。　　Strangulation　or　even　hanging；　though　the　latter　method　could　scarcely　be　adopted　in　that　house；　because　there　were　no　beams　or　rafters　or　anything　from　which　it　would　be　possible　to　suspend　a　cord。　　Still；　he　could　drive　some　large　nails　or　hooks　into　one　of　the　walls。　　For　that　matter；　there　were　already　some　clothes…hooks　on　some　of　the　doors。　　He　began　to　think　that　this　would　be　an　even　more　excellent　way　than　poison　or　charcoal；　he　could　easily　pretend　to　Frankie　that　he　was　going　to　show　him　some　new　kind　of　play。

He　could　arrange　the　cord　on　the　hook　on　one　of　the　doors　and　then　under　pretence　of　play