“Yes; but he could be in—at the station—at quarter to eight.”
“H’m!”
It ended by Paul’s being engaged as junior spiral clerk, at eight shillings a week. The boy did not open his mouth to say another word, after having insisted that “doigts” meant “fingers.” He followed his mother down the stairs. She looked at him with her bright blue eyes full of love and joy.
“I think you’ll like it,” she said.
“ ‘Doigts’ does mean ‘fingers,’ mother, and it was the writing. I couldn’t read the writing.”
“Never mind, my boy. I’m sure he’ll be all right, and you won’t see much of him. Wasn’t that first young fellow nice? I’m sure you’ll like them.”
“But wasn’t Mr. Jordan common, mother? Does he own it all?”
“I suppose he was a workman who has got on,” she said. “You mustn’t mind people so much. They’re not being disagreeable to you—it’s their way. You always think people are meaning things for you. But they don’t.”
It was very sunny. Over the big desolate space of the market-place the blue sky shimmered, and the granite cobbles of the paving glistened. Shops down the Long Row were deep in obscurity, and the shadow was full of colour. Just where the horse trams trundled across the market was a row of fruit stalls, with fruit blazing in the sun—apples and piles of reddish oranges, small greengage plums and bananas. There was a warm scent of fruit as mother and son passed. Gradually his feeling of ignominy and of rage sank.
“Where should we go for dinner?” asked the mother.
It was felt to be a reckless extravagance. Paul had only been in an eating-house once or twice in his life, and then only to have a cup of tea and a bun. Most of the people of Bestwood considered that tea and bread-and-butter, and perhaps potted beef, was all they could afford to eat in Nottingham. Real cooked dinner was considered great extravagance. Paul felt rather guilty.
They found a place that looked quite cheap. But when Mrs. Morel scanned the bill of fare, her heart was heavy, things were so dear. So she ordered kidney pies and potatoes as the cheapest available dish.
“We oughtn’t to have come here, mother,” said Paul.
“Never mind,” she said. “We won’t come again.”
