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Updated: June 25, 2025
Have you seen his writing?" he asked of Mr. Pappleworth. "Yes; prime, isn't it?" replied Mr. Pappleworth indifferently. Mr. Jordan gave a little grunt, not unamiable. Paul divined that his master's bark was worse than his bite. Indeed, the little manufacturer, although he spoke bad English, was quite gentleman enough to leave his men alone and to take no notice of trifles.
"I'm going to bring my little Yorkshire terrier bitch tomorrow," he said jubilantly to Paul. "What's a Yorkshire terrier?" "DON'T know what a Yorkshire terrier is? DON'T KNOW A YORKSHIRE " Mr. Pappleworth was aghast. "Is it a little silky one colours of iron and rusty silver?" "THAT'S it, my lad. She's a gem.
In this room a small woman with a red serge blouse, and her black hair done on top of her head, was waiting like a proud little bantam. "Here y'are!" said Pappleworth. "I think it is 'here you are'!" exclaimed Polly. "The girls have been here nearly half an hour waiting. Just think of the time wasted!" "YOU think of getting your work done and not talking so much," said Mr. Pappleworth.
He seized a stool, dragged it beside the boy's, and sat down. "Sit down," he said. Paul took a seat. Mr. Pappleworth was very close to him. The man seized the letters, snatched a long entry-book out of a rack in front of him, flung it open, seized a pen, and said: "Now look here. You want to copy these letters in here."
He sniffed twice, gave a quick chew at his gum, stared fixedly at a letter, then went very still and absorbed, and wrote the entry rapidly, in a beautiful flourishing hand. He glanced quickly at Paul. "See that?" "Yes." "Think you can do it all right?" "Yes." "All right then, let's see you." He sprang off his stool. Paul took a pen. Mr. Pappleworth disappeared.
Pappleworth, and he pushed the plug into the tube. "Come, my lad," he said imploringly to Paul, "there's Polly crying out for them orders. Can't you buck up a bit? Here, come out!" He took the book, to Paul's immense chagrin, and began the copying himself. He worked quickly and well.
He was about thirty-six years old. There was something rather "doggy", rather smart, rather 'cute and shrewd, and something warm, and something slightly contemptible about him. "You my new lad?" he said. Paul stood up and said he was. "Fetched the letters?" Mr. Pappleworth gave a chew to his gum. "Yes." "Copied 'em?" "No." "Well, come on then, let's look slippy. Changed your coat?" "No."
He sat on his stool nervously awaiting the arrival of his "boss". He suffered tortures of shyness when, at half-past eight, the factory girls for upstairs trooped past him. Mr. Pappleworth arrived, chewing a chlorodyne gum, at about twenty to nine, when all the other men were at work. He was a thin, sallow man with a red nose, quick, staccato, and smartly but stiffly dressed.
Pappleworth disappeared to catch his train: he lived in the suburbs. At one o'clock, Paul, feeling very lost, took his dinner-basket down into the stockroom in the basement, that had the long table on trestles, and ate his meal hurriedly, alone in that cellar of gloom and desolation. Then he went out of doors. The brightness and the freedom of the streets made him feel adventurous and happy.
As a rule, when all the girls came back at two o'clock, he ran upstairs to Fanny, the hunchback, in the finishing-off room. Mr. Pappleworth did not appear till twenty to three, and he often found his boy sitting beside Fanny, talking, or drawing, or singing with the girls. Often, after a minute's hesitation, Fanny would begin to sing. She had a fine contralto voice.
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