Page 527 - sons-and-lovers

‘you’d better be getting on.’
And, by making Dawes edge away from his own close
proximity, he worked him to the door.
‘THAT’S the little sod as started it!’ cried Dawes, half-
cowed, pointing to Paul Morel.
‘Why, what a story, Mr. Dawes!’ said the barmaid. ‘You
know it was you all the time.’
Still the ‘chucker-out’ kept thrusting his chest forward at
him, still he kept edging back, until he was in the doorway
and on the steps outside; then he turned round.
‘All right,’ he said, nodding straight at his rival.
Paul had a curious sensation of pity, almost of affection,
mingled with violent hate, for the man. The coloured door
swung to; there was silence in the bar.
‘Serve, him, jolly well right!’ said the barmaid.
‘But it’s a nasty thing to get a glass of beer in your eyes,’
said the mutual friend.
‘I tell you I was glad he did,’ said the barmaid. ‘Will you
have another, Mr. Morel?’
She held up Paul’s glass questioningly. He nodded.
‘He’s a man as doesn’t care for anything, is Baxter Dawes,’
said one.
‘Pooh! is he?’ said the barmaid. ‘He’s a loud-mouthed
one, he is, and they’re never much good. Give me a pleas-
ant-spoken chap, if you want a devil!’
‘Well, Paul, my lad,’ said the friend, ‘you’ll have to take
care of yourself now for a while.’
‘You won’t have to give him a chance over you, that’s all,’
said the barmaid.

Sons and Lovers