“‘先生’——请给我寄——嗯——嗯——我不认识这个——嗯——‘两双’——‘grisfilbas’——灰色长统麻纱袜——嗯——嗯——‘sans’——没有——嗯——我不认识这个字——嗯——doigts——手指——嗯——我不认识这个——”
他想说“笔迹”，但还是说不出来。看见他卡壳了，乔丹先生从他手里夺过那张纸。
“请寄两双无趾灰色长麻纱袜来。”
“噢，”保罗恍然大悟“‘doigts’是‘手指’的意思——也可以指，……不过一般指……”
这个小老头看着他。他不知道“doigts”是否有“手指”的意思。但从他的意图来说，是“脚趾”的意思。
“手指和长袜子能联系起来！”他大声嚷道。
“可这的确是手指的意思呀。”男孩坚持说。
他痛恨这个小老头，让他出了这样一个五。乔丹先生看着这个脸色苍白、傻乎乎的倔犟的孩子，又看了看一声不响坐着的母亲，一副不得不依靠别人生活的穷人才有的听天由命的样子。
“他什么时候可以来？”他问。
“哦，”莫瑞尔太太说：“由你决定，他现在已经毕业了。”
“他还要住在贝斯伍德吗？”
“是的，但是他能在8点差一刻到火车站。”
“嗯！”
结果保罗被录用为蜷线车间的办事员，每月八先令。这孩子坚持说“doigts”是“手指”的意思之后，再没说过一句语，他跟着母亲下了楼。她用那双明亮的蓝眼睛充满了疼爱和快乐注视着 他。
“我想你会喜欢这份工作的。”她说。
“‘doigts’是‘手指’的意思，妈妈，而且那个笔迹，我不会认那个笔迹。”
“没关系，我肯定他以后会对你好的，而且你也不会常见到他。刚开始那个年轻人就相当不错，我肯定你会喜欢他的。”
“但是，妈妈，乔丹是不是一个很俗气的人？难道他拥有这整个厂？”
“我想他过去是个工人，后来发了，”她说：“你一定不能和别人太计较，他们不是不喜欢你——只是他们待人接物的方式不同罢了。你总认为别人对你过不去，其实不是。”
阳光明媚。市场的人已经散了，那片开阔地的上空，蓝天显的格外耀眼，地上铺路的圆石子熠熠发亮。大街两旁的店铺都遮掩在朦胧阴暗之中，阴影处也显出色彩斑烂的窗户，就在有轨马车穿过市场向前开去的地方，有一排水果摊，水果在太阳下闪着光——苹果、一堆堆的桔子、青梅、香蕉。母子俩路过时，那股浓浓的水果香扑面而来。保罗被羞辱气愤的情绪终于慢慢消失了。
“我们 去哪儿吃饭？”母亲问。
这让人感觉有点挥霍无度。保罗长这么大，只去过馆子一两次，而且只要一杯茶和一个小圆面包。大多数贝斯伍德的人认为他们在诺丁汉的馆子里，最多吃得起茶和黄油面包，或是罐炯牛肉之类的东西，吃真正大厨师做的东西，被 认为是奢侈。因此，保罗觉得很不是滋味。
他们找了一个看起来非常普通的餐馆，但是当莫瑞尔太太溜了一眼菜单时，她的心情就格外的沉重起来，东西太贵了。于是她点了腰子馅饼和土豆，这是最便宜的菜。
“我们不应该来这儿，妈妈。”保罗说。
“没什么，”她说：“我们不会再来的！”
她坚持给他要了一个葡萄干小馅饼，因为他爱吃甜点。
“我不想吃，妈妈。”他恳求似地说。
“要的。”她坚持 说，“你应该吃。”
她四下找着女招待，女招待正忙着，莫瑞尔太太也不愿这个时候去打扰她。因此，当女招待在男人们中打情骂俏时，母子俩就等着适合的呼叫机会。
“不要脸的贱人！”莫瑞尔太太对保罗说，“看，她在给那个男人端布了呢，他比咱们来得晚得多。”
“没什么，妈妈。”保罗说。
莫瑞尔太太愤慨不已，可是她太穷了，要的东西又太不起眼，因此她当时还没有足够的勇气维护自己的权利。他们只好等啊等。
“我们该走了吧，妈妈？”他说。
这个女侍走过来，莫瑞尔太太站起身来。
“你能拿一个葡萄干馅饼吗？”莫瑞尔太太清清楚楚地说。
这个女恃无礼地往四周张望。
“马上就来。”她说。
“我们已经等得够长的了。”莫瑞尔太太说。
一会儿，姑娘就端来馅饼。莫瑞尔太太冷冷地让她结帐。保罗真想钻到地下去，他很佩服母亲的那份勇气。他知道她和他一样胆怯，只是长年的风风雨雨才教会了她维护自己这么点权利。
“这是我最后一次来这儿吃东西！”当 他们惟恐避之不及地走出那个餐馆，她就大声发誓。
“我们去，”她说。“去看看凯普和波特商店，或其他地方，好吗？”
他们一路讨论着绘画，莫瑞尔太太想给他买一支他向往以久的貂毛画笔，但他拒绝了这份美意。他站在女帽店、布店前，百无聊赖，但她兴趣盎然， 他也就心满意足了。他们继续逛着。
“噢，看那些黑葡萄！”她说，“简直让人流口水。好多年来我想买一些，但我还得等段时间才能买。”
然后她又兴高彩烈地来到花店前，站在门口，闻着扑鼻的香味。
“噢，噢，太香了，太可爱了！”
保罗看见了，在花店的阴影中，有一个穿黑衣服的漂亮小姐正在好奇地往柜台看着。
“人家正看着你呢。”他说着想把母亲拉走。
“那又是什么香味？”她不愿走，又大声问道。
“紫罗兰！”他一面回答，一面匆匆闻了一下：“那儿有满满一桶呢。”
“噢，在那儿——有红色的有白色的。说真的，我从不知道紫罗兰是这种香味！”她走出花店门口，他才如释重负。她又站在了橱窗前。
“保罗！”她大声叫他。而他却正想法躲开那个穿黑衣服的漂亮小姐——女店员的目光。“保罗，看这儿！”
他极不情愿地走了回来。
“哎，看那株吊金钟！”她指着花，大叫着。
“哦。”他惊奇而赞赏地说道：“时刻都觉得这些又大又沉的花朵会掉下来。”
“而且开得很密。”她大声说。
“看那些枝节都朝下 长！”
“是啊，”她惊呼，“多可爱！”
“我不知道谁会买这种花。”他说。
“我不知道。”她回答说：“我们可不会买的。”
“它在咱们家的客厅里会枯死的。”
“是啊，那个地洞真冷，看不到太阳，种什么都不行，可是放在厨房里又会烤坏。”
他们买了一些东西，然后往车站 走去，从楼房建筑之间的暗暗通道抬眼望去，看见运河上游那座城堡矗立在布满绿色灌木的褐色悬崖顶上，在柔和的阳光里，宛若仙境。
“以后午饭时出来走走会很不错的。”保罗说：“我可以在这儿到处逛逛，看看这一切，我会爱上这地儿的。”
“你会的，”母亲随声应道。
他和母亲一起度过了一个美好的下午。黄昏时分，他们才到家。脸色通红，心情愉悦，但也困顿不堪。
早晨，他填好季票表，拿着它 去了车站。回来时，母亲刚开始擦地板。他蜷坐在沙发上。
“他们说星期六把季票送来。” 他说。
“要多少钱？”
“大约一英镑十一先令。”他回答。
她一声不吭地继续擦地板。
“花得太多了吗？”他回。
“没有我想象的多。”她回答。
“我每星期挣八先令。”他说。
她没有回答，继续干着活儿，最后她说：
“威廉答应我，他去了伦敦后，每月给我一英镑。他给过我一两次，每次十先令。现在，我知道，如果我问他要钱，他连一个子儿也拿不出来。我并不想问他要钱，只是你希望他能帮你买季票。我从来没想依赖他。”
“他挣的钱很多，”他说。
“他能挣一百三十镑。年轻人都一个样，答应给你些钱，等给你时却少得可怜。”
“ 他自己每星期要花50多先令呢。”保罗说。
“而我维持全家花费还用不了三十先令。”她回答说：“而且还得 想法攒点钱应付额外开支。年轻人一旦长大了，他们就不再想着帮你了，他宁愿把钱花在那个浓妆艳抹的东西身上。”
“她那么自以为了不起，就应该有自己的钱。”保罗说。
“她应该 有，但她确实不名一文，我问过他了，而且我知道他不会不花钱白白给她拣一个金镯子的。谁会给我买个金镯子呢。”
威廉和那个他称为“吉普赛人”的姑娘发展的很顺利。他问那个名叫路易丝·莉莉·戴恩斯·韦丝特的姑娘要了一张像片寄给母亲。像片寄到了——一个漂亮的肤色微微发黑的女孩子的侧面像，面带微笑可能是张裸体照，因为照片看不到一丝衣服，只有袒露着的胸部。
“是的。”信里莫瑞尔太太给儿子写道：“路易丝的像片十分动人，而且我也相信她一定非常吸引人。可是，孩子，你想过没有，一个女孩子第一次给她男朋友一张这样的像片寄给他母亲，品位会高吗？当然，像你说的一样，她的肩膀很美丽，但我根本没料到第一眼就看到露出这么多。”
莫瑞尔在客厅的五斗柜上看到这张照片。他用粗壮的拇指和食指夹着照片走到外面。
“这是谁的姑娘？”他问妻子。
“和我们的威廉谈恋爱的女孩。”莫瑞尔太太回答。
“哦，看样子挺漂亮的，不过对他没有什么好处，她叫啥？”
“叫路易丝·莉莉·戴恩斯·韦丝特。”
“不会明天就来吧！”这个矿工惊奇地说：“她是个演员吗？”
“不是，据说是位小姐。”
“我敢打赌，”他大叫着，仍然盯着照片，“一位小姐，她是吗？她有多少钱来维持她这种排场啊？”
“什么都没有。她和一个她痛恨的姨妈住在一起，都是别人给她多少钱，她就拿多少。”
“哼！”莫瑞尔说着，放下照片：“跟这样的人来往，他真是一个傻瓜。”
“亲爱的妈妈，”威廉回信说：“我很遗憾你不喜欢这张像片。我寄照片的时候根本没有想到你会认为它不成体统。我告诉吉普赛人那张相片不很符合你们的正统观念，她打算再给您另寄一张，希望能合你的意。她常常拍照，事实上，有些摄影师免费求着给她照相呢。”
不久以后，新照片到了，还附有那姑娘写的一张傻乎乎的便条。这次，这位淑女穿了一件黑缎子紧身晚礼服，方领口，小灯笼袖，胳膊上披着黑色的花边。
“我不知道她除了晚礼服之外还穿不穿别的衣服。”莫瑞尔太太讽刺地 说。“我确信自己该满意了。”
“你老和别人不一致，妈妈。”保罗说，“我觉得第一张露肩膀的那张挺可爱的。”
“是吗？”他母亲回答，“可是，我不觉得。”
星期一的早晨，保罗六点起床就去上班。他把曾使自己不安的季票放进背心口袋里。他喜欢票上的那两条黄杠杠。母亲把他的饭放在一只小小的盖得严严的篮子里，随后他七点差一刻出发，去赶七点一刻的火车，莫瑞尔太太送他到门口。
那天早晨天气棒极了，白蜡树上结满了一些又细又长的果子，孩子们叫它“鸽子”。微风吹来，可爱的闪光的果子掉在屋前的庭院。山谷笼罩着黑色的雾，透过雾气可以看到成熟的谷子微微闪光。敏顿矿井升起的水蒸汽也转瞬消失了。轻风吹来，保罗的目光越过阿尔德斯利的高高的树林，远眺在阳光下闪闪发光的田野。家从来没有像此刻这样对他有如此大的吸引力。
“早晨好，妈妈。” 他微 笑着说，实际上内心闷闷不乐。
“早晨好。”她愉快而温柔地回答。
她围着白围裙站在大路上，目送他穿过田野。他身材矮小，但很结实，看上去充满活力。她看着他步履沉重地走在田野上，觉得只要他决心去哪儿，他就一定会到哪儿。她想起威廉，他准会跳过篱笆墙，决不会绕弯路 走台阶。他去了伦敦，干得还不错，保罗也就要在诺丁汉开始工作了。现在，她有两个儿子步入社会，她就有两个地方要思念了，两个大工业中心，她觉得自己给两个大工业中心各添了一个男子汉，感到这两个男子汉会干出她所希望的事业。这两人是她血肉灵魂的一部分，是从她身躯中分离出去，所以他们的事业也是她的事业了。整个早上她就一直想着保罗。
八点钟，他爬上了乔丹外科医疗器械厂的那座阴暗的楼梯，无助地站在第一排大货架前，等着有什么人来招呼他，这个地方似乎都在沉睡，柜台上盖着很大的遮尘布。两个男人刚刚 到，正在一个角落里边聊天，边脱下外衣，卷起衬衣袖子。已是八点十分了，很明显，不用按时上班。保罗听着这两个职员在谈话，随后又听见有人咳嗽，看见屋子尽头的办公室有一个慢吞吞的老职员，戴着顶绣着红绿花纹的黑丝绒吸烟帽，正在拆信。保罗等啊等，一个年轻的办事员走过去兴冲冲地大声跟这个老头打了个招呼。显然，这个年老的“头儿”是个聋子。接着，那个年轻的小伙子又神气活现地大踏步回到自己的柜台。他看到了保罗。
He wanted to say "handwriting", but the word still refusedto come. Seeing him stuck, Mr. Jordan snatched the paper from him.
"'Please send by return two pairs grey thread stockingswithout TOES.'"
"Well," flashed Paul, "'doigts' means 'fingers'--as well--asa rule---"
The little man looked at him. He did not know whether "doigts"meant "fingers"; he knew that for all HIS purposes it meant "toes".
"Fingers to stockings!" he snapped.
"Well, it DOES mean fingers," the boy persisted.
He hated the little man, who made such a clod of him. Mr. Jordan looked at the pale, stupid, defiant boy, then at the mother,who sat quiet and with that peculiar shut-off look of the poorwho have to depend on the favour of others.
"And when could he come?" he asked.
"Well," said Mrs. Morel, "as soon as you wish. He has finishedschool now."
"He would live in Bestwood?"
"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 eightshillings a week. The boy did not open his mouth to say anotherword, after having insisted that "doigts" meant "fingers". Hefollowed his mother down the stairs. She looked at him with herbright 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 youwon'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 disagreeableto YOU--it's their way. You always think people are meaning thingsfor you. But they don't."
It was very sunny. Over the big desolate space of the market-placethe blue sky shimmered, and the granite cobbles of the paving glistened. Shops down the Long Row were deep in obscurity, and the shadow was fullof colour. Just where the horse trams trundled across the marketwas a row of fruit stalls, with fruit blazing in the sun--applesand piles of reddish oranges, small green-gage 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 onlybeen in an eating-house once or twice in his life, and then onlyto have a cup of tea and a bun. Most of the people of Bestwoodconsidered that tea and bread-and-butter, and perhaps potted beef,was all they could afford to eat in Nottingham. Real cooked dinnerwas considered great extravagance. Paul felt rather guilty.
They found a place that looked quite cheap. But when Mrs. Morelscanned 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."
She insisted on his having a small currant tart, because heliked sweets.
"I don't want it, mother," he pleaded.
"Yes," she insisted; "you'll have it."
And she looked round for the waitress. But the waitresswas busy, and Mrs. Morel did not like to bother her then. So the mother and son waited for the girl's pleasure, whilst sheflirted among the men.
"Brazen hussy!" said Mrs. Morel to Paul. "Look now,she's taking that man HIS pudding, and he came long after us."
"It doesn't matter, mother," said Paul.
Mrs. Morel was angry. But she was too poor, and her orderswere too meagre, so that she had not the courage to insist on herrights just then. They waited and waited.
"Should we go, mother?" he said.
Then Mrs. Morel stood up. The girl was passing near.
"Will you bring one currant tart?" said Mrs. Morel clearly.
The girl looked round insolently.
"Directly," she said.
"We have waited quite long enough," said Mrs. Morel.
In a moment the girl came back with the tart. Mrs. Morelasked coldly for the bill. Paul wanted to sink through the floor. He marvelled at his mother's hardness. He knew that only yearsof battling had taught her to insist even so little on her rights. She shrank as much as he.
"It's the last time I go THERE for anything!" she declared,when they were outside the place, thankful to be clear.
"We'll go," she said, "and look at Keep's and Boot's, and oneor two places, shall we?"
They had discussions over the pictures, and Mrs. Morelwanted to buy him a little sable brush that be hankered after. But this indulgence he refused. He stood in front of milliners'shops and drapers' shops almost bored, but content for her tobe interested. They wandered on.
"Now, just look at those black grapes!" she said. "They makeyour mouth water. I've wanted some of those for years, but I s'llhave to wait a bit before I get them."
Then she rejoiced in the florists, standing in the doorway sniffing.
"Oh! oh! Isn't it simply lovely!"
Paul saw, in the darkness of the shop, an elegant young ladyin black peering over the counter curiously.
"They're looking at you," he said, trying to draw his mother away.
"But what is it?" she exclaimed, refusing to be moved.
"Stocks!" he answered, sniffing hastily. "Look, there'sa tubful."
"So there is--red and white. But really, I never knewstocks to smell like it!" And, to his great relief, she movedout of the doorway, but only to stand in front of the window.
"Paul!" she cried to him, who was trying to get out ofsight of the elegant young lady in black--the shop-girl. "Paul! Just look here!"
He came reluctantly back.
"Now, just look at that fuchsia!" she exclaimed, pointing.
"H'm!" He made a curious, interested sound. "You'd thinkevery second as the flowers was going to fall off, they hangso big an' heavy."
"And such an abundance!" she cried.
"And the way they drop downwards with their threads and knots!"
"Yes!" she exclaimed. "Lovely!"
"I wonder who'll buy it!" he said.
"I wonder!" she answered. "Not us."
"It would die in our parlour."
"Yes, beastly cold, sunless hole; it kills every bit of a plantyou put in, and the kitchen chokes them to death."
They bought a few things, and set off towards the station. Looking up the canal, through the dark pass of the buildings,they saw the Castle on its bluff of brown, green-bushed rock,in a positive miracle of delicate sunshine.
"Won't it be nice for me to come out at dinner-times?" said Paul. "I can go all round here and see everything. I s'll love it."
"You will," assented his mother.
He had spent a perfect afternoon with his mother. They arrivedhome in the mellow evening, happy, and glowing, and tired.
In the morning he filled in the form for his season-ticketand took it to the station. When he got back, his mother was justbeginning to wash the floor. He sat crouched up on the sofa.
"He says it'll be here on Saturday," he said.
"And how much will it be?"
"About one pound eleven," he said.
She went on washing her floor in silence.
"Is it a lot?" he asked.
"It's no more than I thought," she answered.
"An' I s'll earn eight shillings a week," he said.
She did not answer, but went on with her work. At last she said:
"That William promised me, when he went to London, as he'd giveme a pound a month. He has given me ten shillings--twice; and now Iknow he hasn't a farthing if I asked him. Not that I want it. Only just now you'd think he might be able to help with this ticket,which I'd never expected."
"He earns a lot," said Paul.
"He earns a hundred and thirty pounds. But they're all alike. They're large in promises, but it's precious little fulfilmentyou get."
"He spends over fifty shillings a week on himself," said Paul.
"And I keep this house on less than thirty," she replied;"and am supposed to find money for extras. But they don't careabout helping you, once they've gone. He'd rather spend it onthat dressed-up creature."
"She should have her own money if she's so grand," said Paul.
"She should, but she hasn't. I asked him. And I know hedoesn't buy her a gold bangle for nothing. I wonder whoever boughtME a gold bangle."
William was succeeding with his "Gipsy", as he called her. He asked the girl--her name was Louisa Lily Denys Western--for aphotograph to send to his mother. The photo came--a handsome brunette,taken in profile, smirking slightly--and, it might be, quite naked,for on the photograph not a scrap of clothing was to be seen,only a naked bust.
"Yes," wrote Mrs. Morel to her son, "the photograph ofLouie is very striking, and I can see she must be attractive. But do you think, my boy, it was very good taste of a girl togive her young man that photo to send to his mother--the first? Certainly the shoulders are beautiful, as you say. But I hardlyexpected to see so much of them at the first view."
Morel found the photograph standing on the chiffonier inthe parlour. He came out with it between his thick thumb and finger.
"Who dost reckon this is?" he asked of his wife.
"It's the girl our William is going with," replied Mrs. Morel.
"H'm! 'Er's a bright spark, from th' look on 'er, an'one as wunna do him owermuch good neither. Who is she?"
"Her name is Louisa Lily Denys Western."
"An' come again to-morrer!" exclaimed the miner. "An' is 'eran actress?"
"She is not. She's supposed to be a lady."
"I'll bet!" he exclaimed, still staring at the photo. "A lady,is she? An' how much does she reckon ter keep up this sort o'game on?"
"On nothing. She lives with an old aunt, whom she hates,and takes what bit of money's given her."
"H'm!" said Morel, laying down the photograph. "Then he'sa fool to ha' ta'en up wi' such a one as that."
"Dear Mater," William replied. "I'm sorry you didn't likethe photograph. It never occurred to me when I sent it, that youmightn't think it decent. However, I told Gyp that it didn't quitesuit your prim and proper notions, so she's going to send you another,that I hope will please you better. She's always being photographed;in fact, the photographers ask her if they may take her for nothing."
Presently the new photograph came, with a little silly notefrom the girl. This time the young lady was seen in a black satinevening bodice, cut square, with little puff sleeves, and blacklace hanging down her beautiful arms.
"I wonder if she ever wears anything except evening clothes,"said Mrs. Morel sarcastically. "I'm sure I ought to be impressed."
"You are disagreeable, mother," said Paul. "I think the firstone with bare shoulders is lovely."
"Do you?" answered his mother. "Well, I don't."
On the Monday morning the boy got up at six to start work. He had the season-ticket, which had cost such bitterness, in hiswaistcoat pocket. He loved it with its bars of yellow across. His mother packed his dinner in a small, shut-up basket, and he setoff at a quarter to seven to catch the 7.15 train. Mrs. Morel cameto the entry-end to see him off.
It was a perfect morning. From the ash tree the slendergreen fruits that the children call "pigeons" were twinkling gailydown on a little breeze, into the front gardens of the houses. The valley was full of a lustrous dark haze, through which the ripecorn shimmered, and in which the steam from Minton pit melted swiftly. Puffs of wind came. Paul looked over the high woods of Aldersley,where the country gleamed, and home had never pulled at himso powerfully.
"Good-morning, mother," he said, smiling, but feeling very unhappy.
"Good-morning," she replied cheerfully and tenderly.
She stood in her white apron on the open road, watching himas he crossed the field. He had a small, compact body that lookedfull of life. She felt, as she saw him trudging over the field,that where he determined to go he would get. She thought of William. He would have leaped the fence instead of going round the stile. He was away in London, doing well. Paul would be working in Nottingham. Now she had two sons in the world. She could think of two places,great centres of industry, and feel that she had put a man into eachof them, that these men would work out what SHE wanted; they werederived from her, they were of her, and their works also would be hers. All the morning long she thought of Paul.
At eight o'clock he climbed the dismal stairs of Jordan'sSurgical Appliance Factory, and stood helplessly against the firstgreat parcel-rack, waiting for somebody to pick him up. The placewas still not awake. Over the counters were great dust sheets. Two men only had arrived, and were heard talking in a corner,as they took off their coats and rolled up their shirt-sleeves. Itwas ten past eight. Evidently there was no rush of punctuality. Paul listened to the voices of the two clerks. Then he heardsomeone cough, and saw in the office at the end of the room an old,decaying clerk, in a round smoking-cap of black velvet embroideredwith red and green, opening letters. He waited and waited. One of the junior clerks went to the old man, greeted himcheerily and loudly. Evidently the old "chief" was deaf. Then the young fellow came striding importantly down to his counter. He spied Paul.
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