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Pappleworth and Paul looking down on them from the far end of the room. They stopped singing. "Can't you make a bit less row?" said Mr. Pappleworth. "Folk'll think we keep cats." A hunchback woman on a high stool turned her long, rather heavy face towards Mr. Pappleworth, and said, in a contralto voice: "They're all tom-cats then." In vain Mr. Pappleworth tried to be impressive for Paul's benefit.
The smith started round as if he had been stung. "What'r yer lookin' at, three hap'orth o' pap?" he snarled. The boy shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Why yer !" shouted Dawes. "Leave him alone," said Mr. Pappleworth, in that insinuating voice which means, "He's only one of your good little sops who can't help it."
The factory was the top floor, the warehouse the second, the storehouse the ground floor. It was an insanitary, ancient place. Paul was led round to a very dark corner. "This is the 'Spiral' corner," said the clerk. "You're Spiral, with Pappleworth. He's your boss, but he's not come yet. He doesn't get here till half-past eight. So you can fetch the letters, if you like, from Mr.
"It's time for work now, not for talk," said Mr. Pappleworth severely and coldly. "It was time for work some time back," said Polly, marching away with her head in the air. She was an erect little body of forty. In that room were two round spiral machines on the bench under the window. Through the inner doorway was another longer room, with six more machines.
"And did you get on all right?" "Yes: they only say my writing's bad. But Mr. Pappleworth he's my man said to Mr. Jordan I should be all right. I'm Spiral, mother; you must come and see. It's ever so nice." Soon he liked Jordan's. Mr. Pappleworth, who had a certain "saloon bar" flavour about him, was always natural, and treated him as if he had been a comrade.
But at two o'clock he was back in the corner of the big room. Soon the work-girls went trooping past, making remarks. It was the commoner girls who worked upstairs at the heavy tasks of truss-making and the finishing of artificial limbs. He waited for Mr. Pappleworth, not knowing what to do, sitting scribbling on the yellow order-paper. Mr. Pappleworth came at twenty minutes to three.
He watched her attentively. Suddenly a whistle piped. Then Polly appeared, and said in a clear voice: "Mr. Pappleworth wants to know how much longer you're going to be down here playing with the girls, Paul." Paul flew upstairs, calling "Good-bye!" and Emma drew herself up. "It wasn't ME who wanted him to play with the machine," she said.
Melling down there." The young man pointed to the old clerk in the office. "All right," said Paul. "Here's a peg to hang your cap on. Here are your entry ledgers. Mr. Pappleworth won't be long." And the thin young man stalked away with long, busy strides over the hollow wooden floor. After a minute or two Paul went down and stood in the door of the glass office.
But he knew he did not look like the boss and owner of the show, so he had to play his role of proprietor at first, to put things on a right footing. "Let's see, WHAT'S your name?" asked Mr. Pappleworth of the boy. "Paul Morel." It is curious that children suffer so much at having to pronounce their own names. "Paul Morel, is it? All right, you Paul-Morel through them things there, and then " Mr.
Then she snatched the knee-cap from her "boss", saying: "Yes, I'll do it for you, but you needn't be snappy." "Here's your new lad," said Mr. Pappleworth. Fanny turned, smiling very gently on Paul. "Oh!" she said. "Yes; don't make a softy of him between you." "It's not us as 'ud make a softy of him," she said indignantly. "Come on then, Paul," said Mr. Pappleworth.
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