Page 112 - sons-and-lovers

and thumb on the invoice, ready to pass on.
Paul was suffering convulsions of self-consciousness, and
could not or would not shout. The backs of the men obliter-
ated him. Then Mr. Winterbottom came to the rescue.
‘He’s here. Where is he? Morel’s lad?’
The fat, red, bald little man peered round with keen
eyes. He pointed at the fireplace. The colliers looked round,
moved aside, and disclosed the boy.
‘Here he is!’ said Mr. Winterbottom.
Paul went to the counter.
‘Seventeen pounds eleven and fivepence. Why don’t
you shout up when you’re called?’ said Mr. Braithwaite. He
banged on to the invoice a five-pound bag of silver, then in a
delicate and pretty movement, picked up a little ten-pound
column of gold, and plumped it beside the silver. The gold
slid in a bright stream over the paper. The cashier finished
counting off the money; the boy dragged the whole down
the counter to Mr. Winterbottom, to whom the stoppages
for rent and tools must be paid. Here he suffered again.
‘Sixteen an’ six,’ said Mr. Winterbottom.
The lad was too much upset to count. He pushed forward
some loose silver and half a sovereign.
‘How much do you think you’ve given me?’ asked Mr.
Winterbottom.
The boy looked at him, but said nothing. He had not the
faintest notion.
‘Haven’t you got a tongue in your head?’
Paul bit his lip, and pushed forward some more silver.
‘Don’t they teach you to count at the Board-school?’ he

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