Page 162 - sons-and-lovers

trousers were in folds behind. 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. Paul rather liked copying the letters, but he
wrote slowly, laboriously, and exceedingly badly. He was
doing the fourth letter, and feeling quite busy and happy,
when Mr. Pappleworth reappeared.
‘Now then, how’r’ yer getting on? Done ‘em?’
He leaned over the boy’s shoulder, chewing, and smell-
ing of chlorodyne.
‘Strike my bob, lad, but you’re a beautiful writer!’ he
exclaimed satirically. ‘Ne’er mind, how many h’yer done?
Only three! I’d ‘a eaten ‘em. Get on, my lad, an’ put numbers
on ‘em. Here, look! Get on!’

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