Page 316 - sons-and-lovers
P. 316
the bread?’
‘By Jove!’ he cried, flinging open the oven door.
Out puffed the bluish smoke and a smell of burned
bread.
‘Oh, golly!’ cried Beatrice, coming to his side. He
crouched before the oven, she peered over his shoulder.
‘This is what comes of the oblivion of love, my boy.’
Paul was ruefully removing the loaves. One was burnt
black on the hot side; another was hard as a brick.
‘Poor mater!’ said Paul.
‘You want to grate it,’ said Beatrice. ‘Fetch me the nut-
meg-grater.’
She arranged the bread in the oven. He brought the grat-
er, and she grated the bread on to a newspaper on the table.
He set the doors open to blow away the smell of burned
bread. Beatrice grated away, puffing her cigarette, knocking
the charcoal off the poor loaf.
‘My word, Miriam! you’re in for it this time,’ said Bea-
trice.
‘I!’ exclaimed Miriam in amazement.
‘You’d better be gone when his mother comes in. I know
why King Alfred burned the cakes. Now I see it! ‘Postle
would fix up a tale about his work making him forget, if he
thought it would wash. If that old woman had come in a bit
sooner, she’d have boxed the brazen thing’s ears who made
the oblivion, instead of poor Alfred’s.’
She giggled as she scraped the loaf. Even Miriam laughed
in spite of herself. Paul mended the fire ruefully.
The garden gate was heard to bang.
1