Page 303 - sons-and-lovers

Presently he came running out of the scullery, with the
soapy water dripping from him, dithering with cold.
‘Oh, my sirs!’ he said. ‘Wheer’s my towel?’
It was hung on a chair to warm before the fire, other-
wise he would have bullied and blustered. He squatted on
his heels before the hot baking-fire to dry himself.
‘F-ff-f!’ he went, pretending to shudder with cold.
‘Goodness, man, don’t be such a kid!’ said Mrs. Morel.
‘It’s NOT cold.’
‘Thee strip thysen stark nak’d to wesh thy flesh i’ that
scullery,’ said the miner, as he rubbed his hair; ‘nowt b’r a
ice-’ouse!’
‘And I shouldn’t make that fuss,’ replied his wife.
‘No, tha’d drop down stiff, as dead as a door-knob, wi’
thy nesh sides.’
‘Why is a door-knob deader than anything else?’ asked
Paul, curious.
‘Eh, I dunno; that’s what they say,’ replied his father. ‘But
there’s that much draught i’ yon scullery, as it blows through
your ribs like through a five-barred gate.’
‘It would have some difficulty in blowing through yours,’
said Mrs. Morel.
Morel looked down ruefully at his sides.
‘Me!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’m nowt b’r a skinned rabbit. My
bones fair juts out on me.’
‘I should like to know where,’ retorted his wife.
‘Iv’ry-wheer! I’m nobbut a sack o’ faggots.’
Mrs. Morel laughed. He had still a wonderfully young
body, muscular, without any fat. His skin was smooth and

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