Page 513 - sons-and-lovers

‘And it’s a word as I use,’ she retorted.
‘My mother does sometimes, and it’s no good my telling
her,’ he said.
‘I s’d think she boxes your ears,’ said Mrs. Radford, good-
humouredly.
‘She’d like to, and she says she will, so I give her a little
stool to stand on.’
‘That’s the worst of my mother,’ said Clara. ‘She never
wants a stool for anything.’
‘But she often can’t touch THAT lady with a long prop,’
retorted Mrs. Radford to Paul.
‘I s’d think she doesn’t want touching with a prop,’ he
laughed. ‘I shouldn’t.’
‘It might do the pair of you good to give you a crack on
the head with one,’ said the mother, laughing suddenly.
‘Why are you so vindictive towards me?’ he said. ‘I’ve not
stolen anything from you.’
‘No; I’ll watch that,’ laughed the older woman.
Soon the supper was finished. Mrs. Radford sat guard in
her chair. Paul lit a cigarette. Clara went upstairs, returning
with a sleeping-suit, which she spread on the fender to air.
‘Why, I’d forgot all about THEM!’ said Mrs. Radford.
‘Where have they sprung from?’
‘Out of my drawer.’
‘H’m! You bought ‘em for Baxter, an’ he wouldn’t wear
‘em, would he?’—laughing. ‘Said he reckoned to do wi’out
trousers i’ bed.’ She turned confidentially to Paul, saying:
‘He couldn’t BEAR ‘em, them pyjama things.’
The young man sat making rings of smoke.

1 Sons and Lovers