William had not the wit to move. Suddenly Morel clenchedhis fist, and crouched.
"I'll GI'E him 'go out'!" he shouted like an insane thing.
"What!" cried Mrs. Morel, panting with rage. "You shallnot touch him for HER telling, you shall not!"
"Shonna I?" shouted Morel. "Shonna I?"
And, glaring at the boy, he ran forward. Mrs. Morel sprangin between them, with her fist lifted.
"Don't you DARE!" she cried.
"What!" he shouted, baffled for the moment. "What!"
She spun round to her son.
"GO out of the house!" she commanded him in fury.
The boy, as if hypnotised by her, turned suddenly and was gone. Morel rushed to the door, but was too late. He returned, pale underhis pit-dirt with fury. But now his wife was fully roused.
"Only dare!" she said in a loud, ringing voice. "Only dare,milord, to lay a finger on that child! You'll regret it for ever."
He was afraid of her. In a towering rage, he sat down.
When the children were old enough to be left, Mrs. Moreljoined the Women's Guild. It was a little club of women attachedto the Co-operative Wholesale Society, which met on Monday nightin the long room over the grocery shop of the Bestwood "Co-op". Thewomen were supposed to discuss the benefits to be derived fromco-operation, and other social questions. Sometimes Mrs. Morelread a paper. It seemed queer to the children to see their mother,who was always busy about the house, sitting writing in herrapid fashion, thinking, referring to books, and writing again. They felt for her on such occasions the deepest respect.
But they loved the Guild. It was the only thing to which theydid not grudge their mother--and that partly because she enjoyed it,partly because of the treats they derived from it. The Guildwas called by some hostile husbands, who found their wives gettingtoo independent, the "clat-fart" shop--that is, the gossip-shop. Itis true, from off the basis of the Guild, the women could look attheir homes, at the conditions of their own lives, and find fault. So the colliers found their women had a new standard of their own,rather disconcerting. And also, Mrs. Morel always had a lot of newson Monday nights, so that the children liked William to be in whentheir mother came home, because she told him things.
Then, when the lad was thirteen, she got him a job inthe "Co-op." office. He was a very clever boy, frank, with ratherrough features and real viking blue eyes.
"What dost want ter ma'e a stool-harsed Jack on 'im for?"said Morel. "All he'll do is to wear his britches behind out an'earn nowt. What's 'e startin' wi'?"
"It doesn't matter what he's starting with," said Mrs. Morel.
"It wouldna! Put 'im i' th' pit we me, an' 'ell earn a easyten shillin' a wik from th' start. But six shillin' wearin' his truck-endout on a stool's better than ten shillin' i' th' pit wi'me, I know."
"He is NOT going in the pit," said Mrs. Morel, "and there'san end of it."
"It wor good enough for me, but it's non good enough for 'im."
"If your mother put you in the pit at twelve, it's no reasonwhy I should do the same with my lad."
"Twelve! It wor a sight afore that!"
"Whenever it was," said Mrs. Morel.
She was very proud of her son. He went to the night school,and learned shorthand, so that by the time he was sixteen he wasthe best shorthand clerk and book-keeper on the place, except one. Then he taught in the night schools. But he was so fiery that onlyhis good-nature and his size protected him.
All the things that men do--the decent things--William did. He could run like the wind. When he was twelve he won a firstprize in a race; an inkstand of glass, shaped like an anvil. It stood proudly on the dresser, and gave Mrs. Morel a keen pleasure. The boy only ran for her. He flew home with his anvil, breathless,with a "Look, mother!" That was the first real tribute to herself. She took it like a queen.
"How pretty!" she exclaimed.
Then he began to get ambitious. He gave all his money tohis mother. When he earned fourteen shillings a week, she gave himback two for himself, and, as he never drank, he felt himself rich. He went about with the bourgeois of Bestwood. The townlet containednothing higher than the clergyman. Then came the bank manager,then the doctors, then the tradespeople, and after that the hostsof colliers. Willam began to consort with the sons of the chemist,the schoolmaster, and the tradesmen. He played billiards inthe Mechanics' Hall. Also he danced--this in spite of his mother. All the life that Bestwood offered he enjoyed, from the sixpenny-hopsdown Church Street, to sports and billiards.
Paul was treated to dazzling descriptions of all kinds offlower-like ladies, most of whom lived like cut blooms in William'sheart for a brief fortnight.
Occasionally some flame would come in pursuit of her errantswain. Mrs. Morel would find a strange girl at the door,and immediately she sniffed the air.
"Is Mr. Morel in?" the damsel would ask appealingly.
"My husband is at home," Mrs. Morel replied.
"I--I mean YOUNG Mr. Morel," repeated the maiden painfully.
"Which one? There are several."
Whereupon much blushing and stammering from the fair one.
"I--I met Mr. Morel--at Ripley," she explained.
"Oh--at a dance!"
"Yes."
"I don't approve of the girls my son meets at dances. And he is NOT at home."
Then he came home angry with his mother for having turned thegirl away so rudely. He was a careless, yet eager-looking fellow,who walked with long strides, sometimes frowning, often with his cappushed jollily to the back of his head. Now he came in frowning. He threw his cap on to the sofa, and took his strong jaw in his hand,and glared down at his mother. She was small, with her hairtaken straight back from her forehead. She had a quiet airof authority, and yet of rare warmth. Knowing her son was angry,she trembled inwardly.
"Did a lady call for me yesterday, mother?" he asked.
"I don't know about a lady. There was a girl came."
"And why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I forgot, simply."
He fumed a little.
"A good-looking girl--seemed a lady?"
"I didn't look at her."
"Big brown eyes?"
"I did NOT look. And tell your girls, my son, that when they'rerunning after you, they're not to come and ask your mother for you. Tell them that--brazen baggages you meet at dancing-classes."
"I'm sure she was a nice girl."
"And I'm sure she wasn't."
There ended the altercation. Over the dancing there was a greatstrife between the mother and the son. The grievance reached itsheight when William said he was going to Hucknall Torkard--considereda low town--to a fancy-dress ball. He was to be a Highlander.There was a dress he could hire, which one of his friendshad had, and which fitted him perfectly. The Highland suit came home. Mrs. Morel received it coldly and would not unpack it.
"My suit come?" cried William.
"There's a parcel in the front room."
He rushed in and cut the string.
"How do you fancy your son in this!" he said, enraptured,showing her the suit.
"You know I don't want to fancy you in it."
On the evening of the dance, when he had come home to dress,Mrs. Morel put on her coat and bonnet.
"Aren't you going to stop and see me, mother?" he asked.
"No; I don't want to see you," she replied.
She was rather pale, and her face was closed and hard. She was afraid of her son's going the same way as his father. He hesitated a moment, and his heart stood still with anxiety. Then he caught sight of the Highland bonnet with its ribbons. He picked it up gleefully, forgetting her. She went out.
When he was nineteen he suddenly left the Co-op. office and gota situation in Nottingham. In his new place he had thirty shillingsa week instead of eighteen. This was indeed a rise. His mother andhis father were brimmed up with pride. Everybody praised William. It seemed he was going to get on rapidly. Mrs. Morel hoped,with his aid, to help her younger sons. Annie was now studyingto be a teacher. Paul, also very clever, was getting on well,having lessons in French and German from his godfather, the clergymanwho was still a friend to Mrs. Morel. Arthur, a spoilt and verygood-looking boy, was at the Board school, but there was talkof his trying to get a scholarship for the High School in Nottingham.
William remained a year at his new post in Nottingham. He was studying hard, and growing serious. Something seemed to befretting him. Still he went out to the dances and the river parties. He did not drink. The children were all rabid teetotallers. He came home very late at night, and sat yet longer studying. His mother implored him to take more care, to do one thingor another.
"Dance, if you want to dance, my son; but don't think you canwork in the office, and then amuse yourself, and THENstudy on top of all. You can't; the human frame won'tstand it. Do one thing or the other--amuse yourself or learn Latin;but don't try to do both."
Then he got a place in London, at a hundred and twenty a year. This seemed a fabulous sum. His mother doubted almost whether torejoice or to grieve.
"They want me in Lime Street on Monday week, mother," he cried,his eyes blazing as he read the letter. Mrs. Morel felt everythinggo silent inside her. He read the letter: "'And will you replyby Thursday whether you accept. Yours faithfully---' They want me,mother, at a hundred and twenty a year, and don't even ask to see me. Didn't I tell you I could do it! Think of me in London! And Ican give you twenty pounds a year, mater. We s'll all be rollingin money."
"We shall, my son," she answered sadly.
It never occurred to him that she might be more hurt at his goingaway than glad of his success. Indeed, as the days drew near forhis departure, her heart began to close and grow dreary with despair. She loved him so much! More than that, she hoped in him so much. Almost she lived by him. She liked to do things for him: she likedto put a cup for his tea and to iron his collars, of which he wasso proud. It was a joy to her to have him proud of his collars. There was no laundry. So she used to rub away at them with her littleconvex iron, to polish them, till they shone from the sheer pressureof her arm. Now she would not do it for him. Now he was going away. She felt almost as if he were going as well out of her heart. He did not seem to leave her inhabited with himself. That was the griefand the pain to her. He took nearly all himself away.
A few days before his departure--he was just twenty--he burned hislove-letters. They had hung on a file at the top of the kitchen cupboard. From some of them he had read extracts to his mother. Some of themshe had taken the trouble to read herself. But most were too trivial.
Now, on the Saturday morning he said:
"Come on, Postle, let's go through my letters, and you canhave the birds and flowers."
Mrs. Morel had done her Saturday's work on the Friday,because he was having a last day's holiday. She was making hima rice cake, which he loved, to take with him. He was scarcelyconscious that she was so miserable.
He took the first letter off the file. It was mauve-tinted,and had purple and green thistles. William sniffed the page.
"Nice scent! Smell."
And he thrust the sheet under Paul's nose.
"Um!" said Paul, breathing in. "What d'you call it? Smell, mother."
His mother ducked her small, fine nose down to the paper.
"I don't want to smell their rubbish," she said, sniffing.
"This girl's father," said William, "is as rich as Croesus. He owns property without end. She calls me Lafayette, because Iknow French. 'You will see, I've forgiven you'--I like HER forgiving me. 'I told mother about you this morning, and she will have muchpleasure if you come to tea on Sunday, but she will have to getfather's consent also. I sincerely hope he will agree. I will letyou know how it transpires. If, however, you---'"
"'Let you know how it' what?" interrupted Mrs. Morel.
"'Transpires'--oh yes!"
"'Transpires!'" repeated Mrs. Morel mockingly. "I thoughtshe was so well educated!"
William felt slightly uncomfortable, and abandoned this maiden,giving Paul the corner with the thistles. He continued to readextracts from his letters, some of which amused his mother,some of which saddened her and made her anxious for him.
"My lad," she said, "they're very wise. They know they'veonly got to flatter your vanity, and you press up to them likea dog that has its head scratched."
"Well, they can't go on scratching for ever," he replied. "And when they've done, I trot away."
"But one day you'll find a string round your neck that youcan't pull off," she answered.
"Not me! I'm equal to any of 'em, mater, they needn'tflatter themselves."
"You flatter YOURSELF," she said quietly.
Soon there was a heap of twisted black pages, all that remainedof the file of scented letters, except that Paul had thirty orforty pretty tickets from the corners of the notepaper--swallowsand forget-me-nots and ivy sprays. And William went to London,to start a new life.
CHAPTER IV
THE YOUNG LIFE OF PAUL （I）
PAUL would be built like his mother, slightly and rather small. His fair hair went reddish, and then dark brown; his eyes were grey. He was a pale, quiet child, with eyes that seemed to listen, and witha full, dropping underlip.
As a rule he seemed old for his years. He was so consciousof what other people felt, particularly his mother. When shefretted he understood, and could have no peace. His soul seemedalways attentive to her.
As he grew older he became stronger. William was too farremoved from him to accept him as a companion. So the smaller boybelonged at first almost entirely to Annie. She was a tomboy and a"flybie-skybie", as her mother called her. But she was intenselyfond of her second brother. So Paul was towed round at the heelsof Annie, sharing her game. She raced wildly at lerky with the otheryoung wild-cats of the Bottoms. And always Paul flew beside her,living her share of the game, having as yet no part of his own. He was quiet and not noticeable. But his sister adored him. He always seemed to care for things if she wanted him to.
