Page 147 - sons-and-lovers

door at the top of a staircase, loomed the ominous words
‘Thomas Jordan and Son—Surgical Appliances.’ Mrs. Morel
went first, her son followed her. Charles I mounted his scaf-
fold with a lighter heart than had Paul Morel as he followed
his mother up the dirty steps to the dirty door.
She pushed open the door, and stood in pleased surprise.
In front of her was a big warehouse, with creamy paper par-
cels everywhere, and clerks, with their shirt-sleeves rolled
back, were going about in an at-home sort of way. The light
was subdued, the glossy cream parcels seemed luminous,
the counters were of dark brown wood. All was quiet and
very homely. Mrs. Morel took two steps forward, then wait-
ed. Paul stood behind her. She had on her Sunday bonnet
and a black veil; he wore a boy’s broad white collar and a
Norfolk suit.
One of the clerks looked up. He was thin and tall, with
a small face. His way of looking was alert. Then he glanced
round to the other end of the room, where was a glass office.
And then he came forward. He did not say anything, but
leaned in a gentle, inquiring fashion towards Mrs. Morel.
‘Can I see Mr. Jordan?’ she asked.
‘I’ll fetch him,’ answered the young man.
He went down to the glass office. A red-faced, white-
whiskered old man looked up. He reminded Paul of a
pomeranian dog. Then the same little man came up the
room. He had short legs, was rather stout, and wore an al-
paca jacket. So, with one ear up, as it were, he came stoutly
and inquiringly down the room.
‘Good-morning!’ he said, hesitating before Mrs. Morel,

1 Sons and Lovers