Free Sons and Lovers (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) by D. H. Lawrence Page A

replied the other.
    “Well,” said Mrs. Morel. “I’d starve before I’d sit down and seam twenty-four stockings for twopence ha’penny.”
    “Oh, I don’t know,” said Mrs. Anthony. “You can rip along ag with em.
    Hose was coming along, ringing his bell. Women were waiting at the yard-ends with their seamed stockings hanging over their arms. The man, a common fellow, made jokes with them, tried to swindle them, and bullied them. Mrs. Morel went up her yard disdainfully.
    It was an understood thing that if one woman wanted her neighbour, she should put the poker in the fire and bang at the back of the fireplace, which, as the fires were back to back, would make a great noise in the adjoining house. One morning Mrs. Kirk, mixing a pudding, nearly started out of her skin as she heard the thud, in her grate. With her hands all floury, she rushed to the fence.
    “Did you knock, Mrs. Morel?”
    “If you wouldn’t mind, Mrs. Kirk.”
    Mrs. Kirk climbed on to her copper, got over the wall on to Mrs. Morel’s copper, and ran in to her neighbour.
    “Eh, dear, how are you feeling?” she cried in concern.
    “You might fetch Mrs. Bower,” said Mrs. Morel.
    Mrs. Kirk went into the yard, lifted up her strong, shrill voice, and called:
    “Ag-gie-Ag-gie!”
    The sound was heard from one end of the Bottoms to the other. At last Aggie came running up, and was sent for Mrs. Bower, whilst Mrs. Kirk left her pudding and stayed with her neighbour.
    Mrs. Morel went to bed. Mrs. Kirk had Annie and William for dinner. Mrs. Bower, fat and waddling, bossed the house.
    “Hash ah some cold meat up for the master’s dinner, and make him an apple-charlotte pudding,” said Mrs. Morel.
    “He may go without pudding this day,” said Mrs. Bower.
    Morel was not as a rule one of the first to appear at the bottom of the pit, ready to come up. Some men were there before four o‘clock, when the whistle blew loose-all; but Morel, whose stall, a poor one, was at this time about a mile and a half away from the bottom, worked usually till the first mate stopped, then he finished also. This day, however, the miner was sick of the work. At two o’clock he looked at his watch, by the light of the green candle—he was in a safe working—and again at half-past two. 1 He was hewing at a piece of rock that was in the way for the next day’s work. As he sat on his heels, or kneeled, giving hard blows with his pick, “Uszza—uszza!” he went.
    “Shall ter finish, Sorry?” ai cried Barker, his fellow butty.
    “Finish? Niver while the world stands!” growled Morel.
    And he went on striking. He was tired.
    “It’s a heart-breaking job,” said Barker.
    But Morel was too exasperated, at the end of his tether, to answer. Still he struck and hacked with all his might.
    “Tha might as well leave it, Walter,” said Barker. “It’ll do tomorrow, without thee hackin’ thy guts out.”
    “I’ll lay no b—finger on this to-morrow, Isr’el!” cried Morel.
    “Oh, well, if tha wunna, someb‘dy else’ll ha’e to,” said Israel.
    Then Morel continued to strike.
    “Hey-up there— loose - a’!” aj cried the men, leaving the next stall.
    Morel continued to strike.
    “Tha’ll happen catch me up,” said Barker, departing.
    When he had gone, Morel, left alone, felt savage. He had not finished his job. He had overworked himself into a frenzy. Rising, wet with sweat, he threw his stool down, pulled on his coat, blew out his candle, took his lamp, and went. Down the main road the lights of the other men went swinging. There was a hollow sound of many voices. It was a long, heavy tramp underground.
    He sat at the bottom of the pit, where the great drops of water fell plash. Many colliers were waiting their turns to go up, talking noisily. Morel gave his answers short and disagreeable.
    “It’s rainin’, Sorry,” said old Giles, who had had the news from the top.
    Morel found one comfort. He had his old umbrella, which he loved, in the lamp