Sons and Lovers by D. H. Lawrence (best short novels .txt) 📕

over me.”

“Do you think I’m a fool!” she exclaimed.

“Not at all. But you don’t understand me, my dear.”

There was a pause between them.

“But you ought not to expose yourself,” she pleaded.

He shrugged his shoulders.

“ ‘The man in righteousness arrayed,
The pure and blameless liver,
Needs not the keen Toledo blade,
Nor venom-freighted quiver,’ ”

he quoted.

She looked at him searchingly.

“I wish I could understand you,” she said.

“There’s simply nothing to understand,” he laughed.

She bowed her head, brooding.

He did not see Dawes for several days; then one morning as he ran upstairs from the Spiral room he almost collided with the burly metalworker.

“What the⁠—!” cried the smith.

“Sorry!” said Paul, and passed on.

“Sorry!” sneered Dawes.

Paul whistled lightly, “Put Me Among the Girls.”

“I’ll stop your whistle, my jockey!” he said.

The other took no notice.

“You’re goin’ to answer for that job of the other night.”

Paul went to his desk in his corner, and turned over the leaves of the ledger.

“Go and tell Fanny I want order 097, quick!” he said to his boy.

Dawes stood in the doorway, tall and threatening, looking at the top of the young man’s head.

“Six and five’s eleven and seven’s one-and-six,” Paul added aloud.

“An’ you hear, do you!” said Dawes.

“Five and ninepence!” He wrote a figure. “What’s that?” he said.

“I’m going to show you what it is,” said the smith.

The other went on adding the figures aloud.

“Yer crawlin’ little ⸻, yer daresn’t face me proper!”

Paul quickly snatched the heavy ruler. Dawes started. The young man ruled some lines in his ledger. The elder man was infuriated.

“But wait till I light on you, no matter where it is, I’ll settle your hash for a bit, yer little swine!”

“All right,” said Paul.

At that the smith started heavily from the doorway. Just then a whistle piped shrilly. Paul went to the speaking-tube.

“Yes!” he said, and he listened. “Er⁠—yes!” He listened, then he laughed. “I’ll come down directly. I’ve got a visitor just now.”

Dawes knew from his tone that he had been speaking to Clara. He stepped forward.

“Yer little devil!” he said. “I’ll visitor you, inside of two minutes! Think I’m goin’ to have you whipperty-snappin’ round?”

The other clerks in the warehouse looked up. Paul’s office-boy appeared, holding some white article.

“Fanny says you could have had it last night if you’d let her know,” he said.

“All right,” answered Paul, looking at the stocking. “Get it off.” Dawes stood frustrated, helpless with rage. Morel turned round.

“Excuse me a minute,” he said to Dawes, and he would have run downstairs.

“By God, I’ll stop your gallop!” shouted the smith, seizing him by the arm. He turned quickly.

“Hey! Hey!” cried the office-boy, alarmed.

Thomas Jordan started out of his little glass office, and came running down the room.

“What’s a-matter, what’s a-matter?” he said, in his old man’s sharp voice.

“I’m just goin’ ter settle this little ⸻, that’s all,” said Dawes desperately.

“What do you mean?” snapped Thomas Jordan.

“What I say,” said Dawes, but he hung fire.

Morel was leaning against the counter, ashamed, half-grinning.

“What’s it all about?” snapped Thomas Jordan.

“Couldn’t say,” said Paul, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders.

“Couldn’t yer, couldn’t yer!” cried Dawes, thrusting forward his handsome, furious face, and squaring his fist.

“Have you finished?” cried the old man, strutting. “Get off about your business, and don’t come here tipsy in the morning.”

Dawes turned his big frame slowly upon him.

“Tipsy!” he said. “Who’s tipsy? I’m no more tipsy than you are!”

“We’ve heard that song before,” snapped the old man. “Now you get off, and don’t be long about it. Comin’ here with your rowdying.”

The smith looked down contemptuously on his employer. His hands, large, and grimy, and yet well shaped for his labour, worked restlessly. Paul remembered they were the hands of Clara’s husband, and a flash of hate went through him.

“Get out before you’re turned out!” snapped Thomas Jordan.

“Why, who’ll turn me out?” said Dawes, beginning to sneer.

Mr. Jordan started, marched up to the smith, waving him off, thrusting his stout little figure at the man, saying:

“Get off my premises⁠—get off!”

He seized and twitched Dawes’s arm.

“Come off!” said the smith, and with a jerk of the elbow he sent the little manufacturer staggering backwards.

Before anyone could help him, Thomas Jordan had collided with the flimsy spring-door. It had given way, and let him crash down the half-dozen steps into Fanny’s room. There was a second of amazement; then men and girls were running. Dawes stood a moment looking bitterly on the scene, then he took his departure.

Thomas Jordan was shaken and braised, not otherwise hurt. He was, however, beside himself with rage. He dismissed Dawes from his employment, and summoned him for assault.

At the trial Paul Morel had to give evidence. Asked how the trouble began, he said:

“Dawes took occasion to insult Mrs. Dawes and me because I accompanied her to the theatre one evening; then I threw some beer at him, and he wanted his revenge.”

“Cherchez la femme!” smiled the magistrate.

The case was dismissed after the magistrate had told Dawes he thought him a skunk.

“You gave the case away,” snapped Mr. Jordan to Paul.

“I don’t think I did,” replied the latter. “Besides, you didn’t really want a conviction, did you?”

“What do you think I took the case up for?”

“Well,” said Paul, “I’m sorry if I said the wrong thing.”

Clara was also very angry.

“Why need my name have been dragged in?” she said.

“Better speak it openly than leave it to be whispered.”

“There was no need for anything at all,” she declared.

“We are none the poorer,” he said indifferently.

“You may not be,” she said.

“And you?” he asked.

“I need never have been mentioned.”

“I’m sorry,” he said; but he did not sound sorry.

He told himself easily: “She will come round.” And she did.

He told his mother about the fall of Mr. Jordan and the trial of Dawes. Mrs. Morel watched him closely.

“And what do you think of it all?” she asked him.

“I think he’s a fool,” he said.

But he was very uncomfortable, nevertheless.

“Have you ever considered where it will end?” his mother said.

“No,” he answered; “things work out of themselves.”

“They do, in a way one doesn’t like, as