Page 80 - sons-and-lovers

‘What do you want HIM for?’ asked Mrs. Morel, who
had guessed.
‘I’ll let ‘im know when I get him,’ said Morel, banging his
pit-bottle on to the dresser.
‘I suppose Mrs. Anthony’s got hold of you and been
yarning to you about Alfy’s collar,’ said Mrs. Morel, rather
sneering.
‘Niver mind who’s got hold of me,’ said Morel. ‘When I
get hold of ‘IM I’ll make his bones rattle.’
‘It’s a poor tale,’ said Mrs. Morel, ‘that you’re so ready to
side with any snipey vixen who likes to come telling tales
against your own children.’
‘I’ll learn ‘im!’ said Morel. ‘It none matters to me whose
lad ‘e is; ‘e’s none goin’ rippin’ an’ tearin’ about just as he’s
a mind.’
‘Ripping and tearing about!’’ repeated Mrs. Morel. ‘He
was running after that Alfy, who’d taken his cobbler, and
he accidentally got hold of his collar, because the other
dodged—as an Anthony would.’
‘I know!’ shouted Morel threateningly.
‘You would, before you’re told,’ replied his wife bitingly.
‘Niver you mind,’ stormed Morel. ‘I know my business.’
‘That’s more than doubtful,’ said Mrs. Morel, ‘suppos-
ing some loud-mouthed creature had been getting you to
thrash your own children.’
‘I know,’ repeated Morel.
And he said no more, but sat and nursed his bad temper.
Suddenly William ran in, saying:
‘Can I have my tea, mother?’