Page 166 - sons-and-lovers

‘I don’t know what they DO teach in schools. You’ll have
to write better than that. Lads learn nothing nowadays, but
how to recite poetry and play the fiddle. Have you seen his
writing?’ he asked of Mr. Pappleworth.
‘Yes; prime, isn’t it?’ replied Mr. Pappleworth indiffer-
ently.
Mr. Jordan gave a little grunt, not unamiable. Paul di-
vined that his master’s bark was worse than his bite. Indeed,
the little manufacturer, although he spoke bad English, was
quite gentleman enough to leave his men alone and to take
no notice of trifles. But he knew he did not look like the boss
and owner of the show, so he had to play his role of propri-
etor at first, to put things on a right footing.
‘Let’s see, WHAT’S your name?’ asked Mr. Pappleworth
of the boy.
‘Paul Morel.’
It is curious that children suffer so much at having to
pronounce their own names.
‘Paul Morel, is it? All right, you Paul-Morel through
them things there, and then—-‘
Mr. Pappleworth subsided on to a stool, and began writ-
ing. A girl came up from out of a door just behind, put
some newly-pressed elastic web appliances on the counter,
and returned. Mr. Pappleworth picked up the whitey-blue
knee-band, examined it, and its yellow order-paper quick-
ly, and put it on one side. Next was a flesh-pink ‘leg”. He
went through the few things, wrote out a couple of orders,
and called to Paul to accompany him. This time they went
through the door whence the girl had emerged. There Paul

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