Page 329 - sons-and-lovers

‘What—what!’ suddenly shouted Morel, jumping up and
clenching his fist. ‘I’ll show yer, yer young jockey!’
‘All right!’ said Paul viciously, putting his head on one
side. ‘Show me!’
He would at that moment dearly have loved to have a
smack at something. Morel was half crouching, fists up,
ready to spring. The young man stood, smiling with his
lips.
‘Ussha!’ hissed the father, swiping round with a great
stroke just past his son’s face. He dared not, even though
so close, really touch the young man, but swerved an inch
away.
‘Right!’ said Paul, his eyes upon the side of his father’s
mouth, where in another instant his fist would have hit. He
ached for that stroke. But he heard a faint moan from be-
hind. His mother was deadly pale and dark at the mouth.
Morel was dancing up to deliver another blow.
‘Father!’ said Paul, so that the word rang.
Morel started, and stood at attention.
‘Mother!’ moaned the boy. ‘Mother!’
She began to struggle with herself. Her open eyes watched
him, although she could not move. Gradually she was com-
ing to herself. He laid her down on the sofa, and ran upstairs
for a little whisky, which at last she could sip. The tears were
hopping down his face. As he kneeled in front of her he did
not cry, but the tears ran down his face quickly. Morel, on
the opposite side of the room, sat with his elbows on his
knees glaring across.
‘What’s a-matter with ‘er?’ he asked.

Sons and Lovers