The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists
der the Blood, and it's knowin' that wot's given 'appiness and the peace which passes all understanding to me ever since I've been a Christian.'
'Glory, glory, halleujah!' shouted Bundy, and nearly everyone laughed.
'"Christian" is right,' sneered Owen. 'You've got some title to call yourself a "Christian", haven't you? As for the happiness that passes all understanding, it certainly passes my understanding how you can be happy when you believe that millions of people are being tortured in hell; and it also passes my understanding why you are not ashamed of yourself for being happy under such circumstances.'
'Ah, well, you'll find it all out when you comes to die, mate,' replied Slyme in a threatening tone. 'You'll think and talk different then!'
'That's just wot gets over me,' observed Harlow. 'It don't seem right that after living in misery and poverty all our bloody lives, workin' and slavin' all the hours that Gord a'mighty sends, that we're to be bloody well set fire to and burned in 'ell for all eternity! It don't seem feasible to me, you know.'
'It's my belief,' said Philpot, profoundly, 'that when you're dead, you're done for. That's the end of you.'
'That's what I say,' remarked Easton. 'As for all this religious business, it's just a money-making dodge. It's the parson's trade, just the same as painting is ours, only there's no work attached to it, and the pay's a bloody sight better than ours is.'
'It's their livin', and a bloody good livin' too, if you ask me,' said Bundy.
'Yes,' said Harlow, 'they lives on the fat o' the land, and wears the best of everything, and they does nothing for it but talk a lot of twaddle two or three times a week. The rest of the time they spend cadgin' money orf silly old women who thinks it's a sorter fire insurance.'
'It's an old sayin' and a true one,' chimed in the man on the upturned pail, 'parsons and publicans is the worst enemies the workin' man ever 'ad. There may be some good 'uns, but they're few and far between.'
'If I could only get a job like the Harchbishop of Canterbury,' said Philpot, solemnly, 'I'd leave this firm.'
'So would I,' said Harlow. 'If I was the Harchbishop o'
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