Page 47 - sons-and-lovers

Bottoms a man stood in a sort of old-fashioned trap, bend-
ing over bundles of cream-coloured stuff; while a cluster of
women held up their arms to him, some with bundles. Mrs.
Anthony herself had a heap of creamy, undyed stockings
hanging over her arm.
‘I’ve done ten dozen this week,’ she said proudly to Mrs.
Morel.
‘T-t-t!’ went the other. ‘I don’t know how you can find
time.’
‘Eh!’ said Mrs. Anthony. ‘You can find time if you make
time.’
‘I don’t know how you do it,’ said Mrs. Morel. ‘And how
much shall you get for those many?’
‘Tuppence-ha’penny a dozen,’ replied the other.
‘Well,’ said Mrs. Morel. ‘I’d starve before I’d sit down
and seam twenty-four stockings for twopence ha’penny.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Mrs. Anthony. ‘You can rip along
with ‘em.’
Hose was coming along, ringing his bell. Women were
waiting at the yard-ends with their seamed stockings hang-
ing over their arms. The man, a common fellow, made jokes
with them, tried to swindle them, and bullied them. Mrs.
Morel went up her yard disdainfully.
It was an understood thing that if one woman wanted
her neighbour, she should put the poker in the fire and bang
at the back of the fireplace, which, as the fires were back to
back, would make a great noise in the adjoining house. One
morning Mrs. Kirk, mixing a pudding, nearly started out of
her skin as she heard the thud, thud, in her grate. With her

Sons and Lovers