Sons and Lovers - Daimon Club

eappeared coatless, turning up a smart striped shirt-cuff over
a thin and hairy arm. Then he slipped into his coat. Paul noticed
how thin he was, and that his trousers were in folds behind.
He seized a stool, dragged it beside the boy's, and sat down.
"Sit down," he said.
Paul took a seat.
Mr. Pappleworth was very close to him. The man seized
the letters, snatched a long entry-book out of a rack in front
of him, flung it open, seized a pen, and said:
"Now look here. You want to copy these letters in here."
He sniffed twice, gave a quick chew at his gum, stared fixedly at
a letter, then went very still and absorbed, and wrote the entry rapidly,
in a beautiful flourishing hand. He glanced quickly at Paul.
"See that?"
"Yes."
"Think you can do it all right?"
"Yes."
"All right then, let's see you."
He sprang off his stool. Paul took a pen. Mr. Pappleworth
disappeared. Paul rather liked copying the letters, but he wrote slowly,
laboriously, and exceedingly badly. He was doing the fourth letter,
and feeling quite busy and happy, when Mr. Pappleworth reappeared.
"Now then, how'r' yer getting on? Done 'em?"
He leaned over the boy's shoulder, chewing, and smelling
of chlorodyne.
"Strike my bob, lad, but you're a beautiful writer!"
he exclaimed satirically. "Ne'er mind, how many h'yer done?
Only three! I'd 'a eaten 'em. Get on, my lad, an' put numbers
on 'em. Here, look! Get on!"
Paul ground away at the letters, whilst Mr. Pappleworth fussed
over various jobs. Suddenly the boy started as a shrill whistle
sounded near his ear. Mr. Pappleworth came, took a plug out of a pipe,