The Greatest Works of D. H. Lawrence. D. H. Lawrence

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СКАЧАТЬ come be-out th' market-bag.”

      “You can have mine.”

      “Nay, you'll be wantin' that yourself.”

      “I shan't. I take a string bag always.”

      She saw the determined little collier buying in the week's groceries and meat on the Friday nights, and she admired him. “Barker's little, but he's ten times the man you are,” she said to her husband.

      Just then Wesson entered. He was thin, rather frail-looking, with a boyish ingenuousness and a slightly foolish smile, despite his seven children. But his wife was a passionate woman.

      “I see you've kested me,” he said, smiling rather vapidly.

      “Yes,” replied Barker.

      The newcomer took off his cap and his big woollen muffler. His nose was pointed and red.

      “I'm afraid you're cold, Mr. Wesson,” said Mrs. Morel.

      “It's a bit nippy,” he replied.

      “Then come to the fire.”

      “Nay, I s'll do where I am.”

      Both colliers sat away back. They could not be induced to come on to the hearth. The hearth is sacred to the family.

      “Go thy ways i' th' armchair,” cried Morel cheerily.

      “Nay, thank yer; I'm very nicely here.”

      “Yes, come, of course,” insisted Mrs. Morel.

      He rose and went awkwardly. He sat in Morel's armchair awkwardly. It was too great a familiarity. But the fire made him blissfully happy.

      “And how's that chest of yours?” demanded Mrs. Morel.

      He smiled again, with his blue eyes rather sunny.

      “Oh, it's very middlin',” he said.

      “Wi' a rattle in it like a kettle-drum,” said Barker shortly.

      “T-t-t-t!” went Mrs. Morel rapidly with her tongue. “Did you have that flannel singlet made?”

      “Not yet,” he smiled.

      “Then, why didn't you?” she cried.

      “It'll come,” he smiled.

      “Ah, an' Doomsday!” exclaimed Barker.

      Barker and Morel were both impatient of Wesson. But, then, they were both as hard as nails, physically.

      When Morel was nearly ready he pushed the bag of money to Paul.

      “Count it, boy,” he asked humbly.

      Paul impatiently turned from his books and pencil, tipped the bag upside down on the table. There was a five-pound bag of silver, sovereigns and loose money. He counted quickly, referred to the checks—the written papers giving amount of coal—put the money in order. Then Barker glanced at the checks.

      Mrs. Morel went upstairs, and the three men came to table. Morel, as master of the house, sat in his armchair, with his back to the hot fire. The two butties had cooler seats. None of them counted the money.

      “What did we say Simpson's was?” asked Morel; and the butties cavilled for a minute over the dayman's earnings. Then the amount was put aside.

      “An' Bill Naylor's?”

      This money also was taken from the pack.

      Then, because Wesson lived in one of the company's houses, and his rent had been deducted, Morel and Barker took four-and-six each. And because Morel's coals had come, and the leading was stopped, Barker and Wesson took four shillings each. Then it was plain sailing. Morel gave each of them a sovereign till there were no more sovereigns; each half a crown till there were no more half-crowns; each a shilling till there were no more shillings. If there was anything at the end that wouldn't split, Morel took it and stood drinks.

      Then the three men rose and went. Morel scuttled out of the house before his wife came down. She heard the door close, and descended. She looked hastily at the bread in the oven. Then, glancing on the table, she saw her money lying. Paul had been working all the time. But now he felt his mother counting the week's money, and her wrath rising,

      “T-t-t-t-t!” went her tongue.

      He frowned. He could not work when she was cross. She counted again.

      “A measly twenty-five shillings!” she exclaimed. “How much was the cheque?”

      “Ten pounds eleven,” said Paul irritably. He dreaded what was coming.

      “And he gives me a scrattlin' twenty-five, an' his club this week! But I know him. He thinks because YOU'RE earning he needn't keep the house any longer. No, all he has to do with his money is to guttle it. But I'll show him!”

      “Oh, mother, don't!” cried Paul.

      “Don't what, I should like to know?” she exclaimed.

      “Don't carry on again. I can't work.”

      She went very quiet.

      “Yes, it's all very well,” she said; “but how do you think I'm going to manage?”

      “Well, it won't make it any better to whittle about it.”

      “I should like to know what you'd do if you had it to put up with.”

      “It won't be long. You can have my money. Let him go to hell.”

      He went back to his work, and she tied her bonnet-strings grimly. When she was fretted he could not bear it. But now he began to insist on her recognizing him.

      “The two loaves at the top,” she said, “will be done in twenty minutes. Don't forget them.”

      “All right,” he answered; and she went to market.

      He remained alone working. But his usual intense concentration became unsettled. He listened for the yard-gate. At a quarter-past seven came a low knock, and Miriam entered.

      “All alone?” she said.

      “Yes.”

      As if at home, she took off her tam-o'-shanter and her long coat, hanging them up. It gave him a thrill. This might be their own house, his and hers. Then she came back and peered over his work.

      “What is it?” she asked.

      “Still design, for decorating stuffs, and for embroidery.”

      She bent short-sightedly over the drawings.

      It irritated him that she peered so into everything that was his, searching him out. He went into the parlour and returned with a bundle of brownish linen. Carefully unfolding it, he СКАЧАТЬ