Page 32 - sons-and-lovers

nature was cold and shrewd. Generous where he intended
to be generous, he seemed to be very fond of Morel, and
more or less to take charge of him.
Mrs. Morel hated him. She had known his wife, who had
died of consumption, and who had, at the end, conceived
such a violent dislike of her husband, that if he came into
her room it caused her haemorrhage. None of which Jerry
had seemed to mind. And now his eldest daughter, a girl of
fifteen, kept a poor house for him, and looked after the two
younger children.
‘A mean, wizzen-hearted stick!’ Mrs. Morel said of him.
‘I’ve never known Jerry mean in MY life,’ protested Mo-
rel. ‘A opener-handed and more freer chap you couldn’t find
anywhere, accordin’ to my knowledge.’
‘Open-handed to you,’ retorted Mrs. Morel. ‘But his fist
is shut tight enough to his children, poor things.’
‘Poor things! And what for are they poor things, I should
like to know.’
But Mrs. Morel would not be appeased on Jerry’s score.
The subject of argument was seen, craning his thin neck
over the scullery curtain. He caught Mrs. Morel’s eye.
‘Mornin’, missis! Mester in?’
‘Yes—he is.’
Jerry entered unasked, and stood by the kitchen door-
way. He was not invited to sit down, but stood there, coolly
asserting the rights of men and husbands.
‘A nice day,’ he said to Mrs. Morel.
‘Yes.
‘Grand out this morning—grand for a walk.’

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