Page 114 - sons-and-lovers

coholists, and he would have suffered more in drinking a
lemonade before all the men than in having a tooth drawn.
The landlady looked at him de haut en bas, rather pity-
ing, and at the same time, resenting his clear, fierce morality.
Paul went home, glowering. He entered the house silently.
Friday was baking day, and there was usually a hot bun. His
mother put it before him.
Suddenly he turned on her in a fury, his eyes flashing:
‘I’m NOT going to the office any more,’ he said.
‘Why, what’s the matter?’ his mother asked in surprise.
His sudden rages rather amused her.
‘I’m NOT going any more,’ he declared.
‘Oh, very well, tell your father so.’
He chewed his bun as if he hated it.
‘I’m not—I’m not going to fetch the money.’
‘Then one of Carlin’s children can go; they’d be glad
enough of the sixpence,’ said Mrs. Morel.
This sixpence was Paul’s only income. It mostly went in
buying birthday presents; but it WAS an income, and he
treasured it. But—-
‘They can have it, then!’ he said. ‘I don’t want it.’
‘Oh, very well,’ said his mother. ‘But you needn’t bully
ME about it.’
‘They’re hateful, and common, and hateful, they are, and
I’m not going any more. Mr. Braithwaite drops his ‘h’s’, an’
Mr. Winterbottom says ‘You was’.’
‘And is that why you won’t go any more?’ smiled Mrs.
Morel.
The boy was silent for some time. His face was pale, his

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