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"Then feel a fool for my sake, once, won't you?" The request made his blood flush up. "I suppose I s'll have to." "What are you taking a suitcase for?" his mother asked. He blushed furiously. "Clara asked me," he said. "And what seats are you going in?" "Circle three-and-six each!" "Well, I'm sure!" exclaimed his mother sarcastically. "It's only once in the bluest of blue moons," he said.
"I s'll die, mother!" he cried, heaving for breath on the pillow. She lifted him up, crying in a small voice: "Oh, my son my son!" That brought him to. He realised her. His whole will rose up and arrested him. He put his head on her breast, and took ease of her for love. "For some things," said his aunt, "it was a good thing Paul was ill that Christmas. I believe it saved his mother."
Annie took away her mother's coat and bonnet. "And he looked at me when I came away! I said: 'I s'll have to go now, Walter, because of the train and the children. And he looked at me. It seems hard." Paul took up his brush again and went on painting. Arthur went outside for some coal. Annie sat looking dismal. And Mrs.
"A fool as runs away for a soldier, let 'im look after 'issen; I s'll do no more for 'im." "A fat sight you have done as it is," she said. And Morel was almost ashamed to go to his public-house that evening. "Well, did you go?" said Paul to his mother when he came home. "I did." "And could you see him?" "Yes." "And what did he say?" "He blubbered when I came away." "H'm!"
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.
"And we'll have a pretty house, you and me, and a servant, and it'll be just all right. I s'll perhaps be rich with my painting." "Will you go to bed!" "And then you s'll have a pony-carriage. See yourself a little Queen Victoria trotting round." "I tell you to go to bed," she laughed. He kissed her and went. His plans for the future were always the same. Mrs.
"Awfully pretty," he said. The blouse was white, with a little sprig of heliotrope and black. "Too young for me, though, I'm afraid," she said. "Too young for you!" he exclaimed in disgust. "Why don't you buy some false white hair and stick it on your head." "I s'll soon have no need," she replied. "I'm going white fast enough." "Well, you've no business to," he said.
"I know nobody nowhere," said Dawes. "Well," said Paul, "it's because you don't choose to, then." There was another silence. "We s'll be taking my mother home as soon as we can," said Paul. "What's a-matter with her?" asked Dawes, with a sick man's interest in illness. "She's got a cancer." There was another silence. "But we want to get her home," said Paul. "We s'll have to get a motor-car."
She saw the cigarette dancing on his full red lips. She hated his thick hair for being tumbled loose on his forehead. "Sweet boy!" said Beatrice, tipping up his chin and giving him a little kiss on the cheek. "I s'll kiss thee back, Beat," he said. "Tha wunna!" she giggled, jumping up and going away. "Isn't he shameless, Miriam?" "Quite," said Miriam. "By the way, aren't you forgetting the bread?"
Paul, looking at her, felt he could not breathe. The house was dead silent. "I went to work, mother," he said plaintively. "Did you?" she answered, dully. After half an hour Morel, troubled and bewildered, came in again. "Wheer s'll we ha'e him when he DOES come?" he asked his wife. "In the front-room." "Then I'd better shift th' table?" "Yes." "An' ha'e him across th' chairs?"
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