Page 83 - sons-and-lovers

earn nowt. What’s ‘e startin’ wi’?’
‘It doesn’t matter what he’s starting with,’ said Mrs. Mo-
rel.
‘It wouldna! Put ‘im i’ th’ pit we me, an’ ‘ell earn a easy
ten shillin’ a wik from th’ start. But six shillin’ wearin’ his
truck-end out on a stool’s better than ten shillin’ i’ th’ pit
wi’me, I know.’
‘He is NOT going in the pit,’ said Mrs. Morel, ‘and there’s
an end of it.’
‘It wor good enough for me, but it’s non good enough
for ‘im.’
‘If your mother put you in the pit at twelve, it’s no reason
why I should do the same with my lad.’
‘Twelve! It wor a sight afore that!’
‘Whenever it was,’ said Mrs. Morel.
She was very proud of her son. He went to the night
school, and learned shorthand, so that by the time he was
sixteen he was the best shorthand clerk and book-keeper on
the place, except one. Then he taught in the night schools.
But he was so fiery that only his good-nature and his size
protected him.
All the things that men do—the decent things—William
did. He could run like the wind. When he was twelve he
won a first prize in a race; an inkstand of glass, shaped like
an anvil. It stood proudly on the dresser, and gave Mrs. Mo-
rel a keen pleasure. The boy only ran for her. He flew home
with his anvil, breathless, with a ‘Look, mother!’ That was
the first real tribute to herself. She took it like a queen.
‘How pretty!’ she exclaimed.

Sons and Lovers