England -- Fiction; Socialism -- Fiction; Socialists -- Fiction
‘As long as you live in this house, it shan’t go on,’ his mother was
saying. ‘Sunday or Monday, it’s no matter; you’ll be home before eleven
o’clock, and you’ll come home sober. You’re no better than a pig!’
‘Arry was seated in a far corner of the room, where he had dropped his
body on entering. His attire was such as the cheap tailors turn out in
imitation of extreme fashions: trousers closely moulded upon the leg, a
huff waistcoat, a short coat with pockets everywhere. A very high collar
kept his head up against his will; his necktie was crimson, and passed
through a brass ring; he wore a silver watch-chain, or what seemed to be
such. One hand was gloved, and a cane lay across his knees. His attitude
was one of relaxed muscles, his legs very far apart, his body not quite
straight.
‘What d’ you call sober, I’d like to know?’ he replied, with looseness
of utterance. ‘I’m as sober ‘s anybody in this room. If a chap can’t go
out with ‘s friends ‘t Easter an’ all--?’
‘Easter, indeed! It’s getting to be a regular thing, Saturday and
Sunday. Get up and go to bed! I’ll have my say out with you in the
morning, young man.’
‘Go to bed!’ repeated the lad with scorn. ‘Tell you I ain’t had no
supper.’
Richard had walked to the neighbourhood of the fireplace, and was
regarding his brother with anger and contempt. At this point of the
dialogue he interfered.
‘And you won’t have any, either, that I’ll see to! What’s more, you’ll
do as your mother bids you, or I’ll know the reason why. Go upstairs at
once!’
It was not a command to be disregarded. ‘Arry rose, but half-defiantly.
‘What have you to do with it? You’re not my master.’
‘Do you hear what I say?’ Richard observed, yet more autocratically.
‘Take yourself off, and at once!’
The lad growled, hesitated, but approached the door. His motion was
slinking; he could not face Richard’s eye. They heard him stumble up the
stairs.
CHAPTER V
On ordinary days Richard of necessity rose early; a holiday did not lead
him to break the rule, for free hours were precious. He had his body
well under control; six hours of sleep he found sufficient to keep
him in health, and temptations to personal ease, in whatever form, he
resisted as a matter of principle.
Easter Monday found him down-stairs at half-past six. His mother would
to-day allow herself another hour. ‘Arry would be down just in time to
breakfast, not daring to be late. The Princess might be looked for--some
time in the course of the morning; she was licensed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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