亚瑟学徒期满了，在敏顿矿井电工车间里找了一份工作。他挣钱不多，但这个工作倒是个提高技术的机会。但他任性又浮躁，却不喝酒，也不赌博。但他总是因为头脑发热而陷入困境。他要么去树林里偷猎兔子，要么就整夜呆在诺丁汉不回家，或在贝斯伍德的运河里跳水失误，胸部碰在河底的石头和铁片上，弄得伤痕累累。
他有好几个月没去上工。一天晚上，他又没回家。
“你知道亚瑟在哪吗？”早餐时保罗问。
“我不知道。”母亲说，
“他是个傻瓜，”保罗说。“如果他真在干些什么，我倒不会介意，可不是这样，他只是因为打牌打得走不开，要不就一定要送一个溜冰场上的姑娘回去——因此回不了家，他真是个傻瓜。”
“如果他干出什么事来弄得我们丢人现眼，你说也是白说。”莫瑞尔太太说。
“哦，要是那样，我倒会更尊重他一些了。”保罗说。
“我对此很怀疑。”母亲冷冷地说。
他们继续吃着早餐。
“你很爱他吗？”保罗问母亲。
“你为什么问这个问题？”
“因为别人说女人往往喜欢最小的那个孩子。”
“别人也许是这样——可我不。不，他烦死我了。”
“你真的希望他很听话吗？”
“我倒希望他拿出点男人应有的派头。”
保罗态度生硬急躁，他也常常惹得母亲心烦。她看到那种阳光般的神色从他脸上隐去了，自然不喜欢他这样。
快要吃完早饭时，邮递员送来了一封来自德比郡的信，莫瑞尔太太眯着眼看着地址。
“给我，瞎子！”儿子叫道，从她手里夺走了信。
她吃了一惊，差一点扇了他一耳光。
“是你儿子，亚瑟的信。”他说。
“ 说些什么……！”莫瑞尔太太喊道。
“‘我最亲爱的妈妈’”保罗念道，“‘我不知道什么让我变得这么傻，我希望你来这儿，把我带回去。昨天， 我没去上班，和杰克·克雷顿来到这里，应征入伍了。他说他已经厌透了工作，而我，你知道我是个傻瓜，我和他一起跑到这儿。’
“‘现在，我已经领了军饷，但如果你来领我，或许他们会让我跟你一起回去。我真是个傻瓜，竟然做出这种事。我不想呆在军队里。亲爱的妈妈，我只会给你添麻烦，不过，如果你能带我出去，我保证今后要长个心眼，遇事多考虑考虑……’”
莫瑞尔太太一下子跌坐在摇椅里。
“哦，好吧，”她大声说，“让他尝尝滋味。”
“对，”保罗说：“让他尝尝。”
屋里一片沉默，母亲坐在那里，两手交叉着搁在围裙上，板着脸想心事。
“我真受够了！”她突然说，“受够了！”
“嗯，”保罗说，眉头开始皱起来了。“ 听着，你用不着为这件事着急。”
“那么，我倒应该 把这事当成一件大喜事？”她转向儿子，发火了。
“但你也用不着大惊小怪地把它当成不幸的事啊。”他反驳说。
“这个傻瓜！——一这个小傻瓜！”她叫着。
“他穿上军服看上去可帅呢，”保罗故意招惹她说。
母亲对他大发雷霆。
“哦，帅！”她大嚷着，“我看不见得。”
“他应该被编人骑兵团，那他就可以快快活活地过一段，而且打扮帅极了。”
“帅——帅——帅得不得了——还不是一个普通兵！”
“哦，”保罗说：“那我呢，不就是个普通办事员吗？”
“强多了，孩子。”母亲讥笑着大声说。
“什么？”
“不管怎么说，你是一个男子汉，不是一个穿红色军装的东西！”
“我可不在乎是不是穿红军装——或藏青色的，那颜色也许更适合我——只要他们别过分使唤我就行了。”
不过母亲已经听不进他在说什么了。
“就在他现在干的这个工作有了点发展，或者可能会有发展的时候——这个讨人嫌——却毁了自己的一生。你想想看，干了这种事的人，他还会有什么好下场？”
“这样也许会把他逼成材。”保罗说：
“逼成材！——会 把他骨头里原有的那几点油都逼出来。一个士兵！——一个普通士兵！——除了一个听号令行动的驱壳外，他什么也不是！这真是件好事！”
“我真不明白，这为什么让你如此不高兴。”保罗说。
“噢，也许你不明白，但我明白。”说着，她又坐到椅子上，一手托着下巴，另一只手托着胳膊肘，满腹的怨气。
“那么你要去德比郡吗？”保罗问。
“要去。”
“那没用。”
“我想亲自去看看。”
“到底为什么你不让他待在那儿呢？这正是他需要的啊。”
“当然，”母亲大声说，“你倒挺明白他需要什么！”
她收拾好，赶乘最早的一班车去德比郡了。在那儿。她见到了儿子和军营负责人。然而，毫无用处。
晚上莫瑞尔吃饭时，她突然说：
“我今天去了德比郡一趟。”
矿工抬起眼睛，黑脸上只能看得见眼白。
“是吗，宝贝，你去那儿干吗？”
“为了那个亚瑟！”
“哦——这回又发生了什么事？”
“他刚入伍。”
莫瑞尔放下餐刀，仰靠在椅背上。
“不，”他说，“他决不会那么干的。”
“明天 他就要去奥尔德肖村了。”
“啊！”莫瑞尔叫道：“真出乎意料，”他考虑的一会儿，说了声：“呣！”又接着吃起饭来。突然，他的脸变得怒气冲冲，“我希望他永远别再进我的门。”他说。
“想得真美！”莫瑞尔太太叫道：“亏你能说出这样的话！”
“我就这么说，”莫瑞尔重复着：“只有傻瓜才去当兵呢。让他自己照顾自己吧，我不再为他操心了。”
“你要是为他操过心才怪呢。”她说：
那天晚上，莫瑞尔感到都不好意思去酒馆了。
“怎么，你去过了吗？”保罗回到家后问母亲。
“去过了。”
“可以让你见他吗？”
“可以。”
“他说了些什么？”
“我走的时候，他又哭又闹。”
“哼！”
“我也哭了，你用不着‘哼’！”
莫瑞尔太太为儿子苦恼不堪，她知道他不会喜欢军队的。他确实不喜欢，纪律就叫他受不了。
“不过，那个医生，”她有点得意她对保罗说：“他说他长的匀称极了——几乎挑不出毛病。所有的测量都合格。你知道，他长得很漂亮。”
“他长得好看极了，但他却不像威廉那样会吸引女孩子，对不对？”
“是这样，因为他俩性格不一样。他很像他爸爸，不负责任。”
为了安慰母亲，保罗这一段时间不大会威利农场了。在城堡举行的秋季学生作品展览会上，有他的两幅作品，一幅是水彩风景画，另一幅是静物油画，这两幅画都得了一等奖。他兴奋极了。
一天傍晚，他回家后问：“你知道我的画得了什么吗？妈妈？”她从他的眼睛里看出他很兴高采烈。她的脸也因此兴奋得通红。
“哦，我怎么会知道呢，孩子！”
“那张画着玻璃瓶子的得了一等奖……。”
“唔！”
“还有威利农场的那幅素描，也得了一等奖。”
“两个一等奖？”
“是的！”
“唔！”
虽然什么也没说，但脸上却像玫瑰花一样红光满面，喜气洋洋。
“很好，”他说，“是不是？”
“是的。”
“那为什么你不把我捧上天呢？”
她笑了起来。
“那我把你拽不到地上可就麻烦了。”她 说。
不过，她还是满怀喜悦。威廉曾经把参加体育比赛的奖带 给她，她一直保存着这些东西，她还不能对他的死释然于怀。亚瑟很英俊——至少，外表不错——而旦热情大方，将来也许会干出些名堂来。不过，保罗会出人头地，她对他最有信心，因为他还不知道自己的这种能力。他的潜力大着呢。生活对她来说充满了希望，她会看到自己称心如意的一天，她所有奋斗不是徒劳无益的。
展览会期间，莫瑞尔太太瞒着保罗到城堡 去了好几次。她沿着那间长长的画廊漫步走着，欣赏其它展品。是的，这些作品都不错。但这里面没有一件作品让她称心如意。有些作品让她感 到妒嫉，那些画得太好了。她长久地盯着那些作品，极力 想挑些毛病。突然间，她受到震动，心也狂跳起来。那儿就挂着保罗的画！她熟悉这幅画，就好象这幅画刻在她心上一样。
姓名——保罗·莫瑞尔——一等奖。
一生中，她曾在城堡画廊里看到过无数张画，现在这幅画当众挂在画廊墙上，这让她看来觉得奇怪。她四下望着，看是否有人注意她又站在这幅素描前了。
不过，她感到自己是个值得自豪的女人。当她回家经过斯宾尼公园时，碰到那些妆扮入时的太太们，她心里这样想：“是的，你们看上去挺神气的——但我想你们的儿子不见得也在城堡得过两个一等奖。”
她就这么走着，仿佛是诺丁汉最骄傲的“小妇人”了。
保罗也觉得他为母亲争了一口气，尽管这微不足道。他所有的收获都是归功于她。
一天，正当他向城堡大门走去，碰上了米丽亚姆。星期天，他已经 见过她，没想到又在城里碰上了。她正跟一个相当引人注目的女人一起走着，那女人一头金发，板着脸，一副目中无人的样子。奇怪的是，米丽亚姆低头弯腰，一副沉思状，走在这个肩膀很美的女人旁边，有些相形见继。米丽亚姆审视着保罗，保罗盯着那个对他不理不睬的陌生女人。米丽亚姆看得出他的雄性气概又出现在他身上。
“嗨！”他说，“你没有告诉我会来城里啊！”
“是的，”米丽亚姆抱歉地回答，“我和爸爸一起坐车来的。”
他看看她的同伴。
“我跟你说起来道伍斯太太。”米丽亚姆声音沙哑地说，她有些紧张。“克莱拉，你认识保罗吗？”
“我记得以前 见过他。”道伍斯太太跟他握了握手，冷淡地说。
她有一双目空一切的灰眼睛，雪白的皮肤，丰满的嘴巴，上唇微微翘起，不知道是表示瞧不起所有的男人呢，还是想要别人吻她。不过应该是前者，她的头朝后仰者，也许因为轻视男人的缘故而故意想避远一点吧。她戴着一顶陈旧过时的海狸皮黑帽子。穿着一身似乎非常朴素的衣服。显然她很穷，而且没有什么审美观。米丽亚姆则一向看上去很美。
“你在哪儿见过我？”保罗问这个女人。
她看着他，仿佛不屑于回答，过了会才说：“和露伊·特拉弗斯一起走的时候。”
露伊是蜷线车间的一个女工。
“哦，你认识她？”他问。
她没回答。保罗转过身来对着米丽亚姆。
“你要去哪儿？”他问。
“去城堡。”
“你准备乘哪趟火车回去？”
“我和爸爸一起坐车回去，我希望你也能来，你什么时候下班？”
“你知道一直到晚上八点，真够烦！”
这两个女人转身走了。
保罗想起来克莱拉。道伍斯是雷渥斯太太的一个老朋友的女儿。米丽亚姆选她作伴是因为她曾经在乔丹当过蜷线车间的头儿，也因为她丈夫巴克斯特·道伍斯是厂里的铁匠，专门为残破的器械打铁配件等。米丽亚姆觉得通过她，自己和乔丹厂就直接有了联系，可以更充分地了解保罗的情况了。不过，道伍斯太太和丈夫分居后，从事女权运动。她是个聪明人，这使保罗很感兴趣。
他知道迈克斯特·道伍斯这个人，但他不喜欢其人。这个铁匠大约三十一、二岁，偶尔他也从保罗的角落走过——他是个高个子，身体结实，也很引人注目，长相颇英俊，他跟妻子有一个奇怪的相似点，皮肤都很白皙，稍稍有一点明净的金黄色。他的头发是柔和的棕色，胡子是金黄色，举止态度是同样的目中无人。不过两人也有不同的地方，他的眼睛是深褐色的，滴溜溜转个不停，一副放荡轻浮的样子。眼睛还稍微有些鼓起，眼皮向下耷拉着，一幅叫人讨厌的神情。他的嘴也很丰满，给人咄咄逼人的印象。准备把任何不满意他的人打倒在地——也许他倒是对自己很不满意。
从一见面开始，道伍斯就恨保罗。他发现小伙子用艺术家的那种深思熟虑的冷漠眼光直盯他的脸，对此他大发脾气。
“你在看什么？”他气势汹汹地冷 笑着说。
保罗的眼光就移到别处了。但是这个铁匠常常站在柜台后面跟帕普沃斯先生说话。他满口脏话，令人厌恶，当他又发现小伙子是用审视的冷静眼光盯着他的脸时，他吃了一惊，好象被什么刺了一下。
“你在看什么呀，臭小子？”他大吼着说，
小伙子微微耸耸肩膀。
“为什么你……”道伍斯大叫起来。
“别管他，”帕普沃斯先生用含有暗示的语调仿佛在说：“他只不过是这里不管事的小家伙，不能怪他。”
He had not been at his work many months when again he didnot come home one night.
"Do you know where Arthur is?" asked Paul at breakfast.
"I do not," replied his mother.
"He is a fool," said Paul. "And if he DID anything Ishouldn't mind. But no, he simply can't come away from a gameof whist, or else he must see a girl home from the skating-rink--quiteproprietously--and so can't get home. He's a fool."
"I don't know that it would make it any better if he didsomething to make us all ashamed," said Mrs. Morel.
"Well, I should respect him more," said Paul.
"I very much doubt it," said his mother coldly.
They went on with breakfast.
"Are you fearfully fond of him?" Paul asked his mother.
"What do you ask that for?"
"Because they say a woman always like the youngest best."
"She may do--but I don't. No, he wearies me."
"And you'd actually rather he was good?"
"I'd rather he showed some of a man's common sense."
Paul was raw and irritable. He also wearied his mother very often. She saw the sunshine going out of him, and she resented it.
As they were finishing breakfast came the postman with a letterfrom Derby. Mrs. Morel screwed up her eyes to look at the address.
"Give it here, blind eye!" exclaimed her son, snatching itaway from her.
She started, and almost boxed his ears.
"It's from your son, Arthur," he said.
"What now---!" cried Mrs. Morel.
"'My dearest Mother,'" Paul read, "'I don't know what mademe such a fool. I want you to come and fetch me back from here. I came with Jack Bredon yesterday, instead of going to work,and enlisted. He said he was sick of wearing the seat of a stool out,and, like the idiot you know I am, I came away with him.
"'I have taken the King's shilling, but perhaps if youcame for me they would let me go back with you. I was a foolwhen I did it. I don't want to be in the army. My dear mother,I am nothing but a trouble to you. But if you get me out of this,I promise I will have more sense and consideration. . . .'"
Mrs. Morel sat down in her rocking-chair.
"Well, NOW," she cried, "let him stop!"
"Yes," said Paul, "let him stop."
There was silence. The mother sat with her hands foldedin her apron, her face set, thinking.
"If I'm not SICK!" she cried suddenly. "Sick!"
"Now," said Paul, beginning to frown, "you're not goingto worry your soul out about this, do you hear."
"I suppose I'm to take it as a blessing," she flashed,turning on her son.
"You're not going to mount it up to a tragedy, so there,"he retorted.
"The FOOL!--the young fool!" she cried.
"He'll look well in uniform," said Paul irritatingly.
His mother turned on him like a fury.
"Oh, will he!" she cried. "Not in my eyes!"
"He should get in a cavalry regiment; he'll have the timeof his life, and will look an awful swell."
"Swell!--SWELL!--a mighty swell idea indeed!--a common soldier!"
"Well," said Paul, "what am I but a common clerk?"
"A good deal, my boy!" cried his mother, stung.
"What?"
"At any rate, a MAN, and not a thing in a red coat."
"I shouldn't mind being in a red coat--or dark blue, that wouldsuit me better--if they didn't boss me about too much."
But his mother had ceased to listen.
"Just as he was getting on, or might have been getting on,at his job--a young nuisance--here he goes and ruins himself for life. What good will he be, do you think, after THIS?"
"It may lick him into shape beautifully," said Paul.
"Lick him into shape!--lick what marrow there WAS out of his bones. A SOLDIER!--a common SOLDIER!--nothing but a body that makes movementswhen it hears a shout! It's a fine thing!"
"I can't understand why it upsets you," said Paul.
"No, perhaps you can't. But I understand"; and she sat backin her chair, her chin in one hand, holding her elbow with the other,brimmed up with wrath and chagrin.
"And shall you go to Derby?" asked Paul.
"Yes."
"It's no good."
"I'll see for myself."
"And why on earth don't you let him stop. It's just whathe wants."
"Of course," cried the mother, "YOU know what he wants!"
She got ready and went by the first train to Derby, where shesaw her son and the sergeant. It was, however, no good.
When Morel was having his dinner in the evening, she said suddenly:
"I've had to go to Derby to-day."
The miner turned up his eyes, showing the whites in his black face.
"Has ter, lass. What took thee there?"
"That Arthur!"
"Oh--an' what's agate now?"
"He's only enlisted."
Morel put down his knife and leaned back in his chair.
"Nay," he said, "that he niver 'as!"
"And is going down to Aldershot tomorrow."
"Well!" exclaimed the miner. "That's a winder." He consideredit a moment, said "H'm!" and proceeded with his dinner. Suddenly hisface contracted with wrath. "I hope he may never set foot i'my house again," he said.
"The idea!" cried Mrs. Morel. "Saying such a thing!"
"I do," repeated Morel. "A fool as runs away for a soldier,let 'im look after 'issen; I s'll do no more for 'im."
"A fat sight you have done as it is," she said.
And Morel was almost ashamed to go to his public-housethat evening.
"Well, did you go?" said Paul to his mother when he came home.
"I did."
"And could you see him?"
"Yes."
"And what did he say?"
"He blubbered when I came away."
"H'm!"
"And so did I, so you needn't 'h'm'!"
Mrs. Morel fretted after her son. She knew he would notlike the army. He did not. The discipline was intolerable to him.
"But the doctor," she said with some pride to Paul, "said hewas perfectly proportioned--almost exactly; all his measurementswere correct. He IS good-looking, you know."
"He's awfully nice-looking. But he doesn't fetch the girlslike William, does he?"
"No; it's a different character. He's a good deal likehis father, irresponsible."
To console his mother, Paul did not go much to WilleyFarm at this time. And in the autumn exhibition of students'work in the Castle he had two studies, a landscape in water-colourand a still life in oil, both of which had first-prize awards. He was highly excited.
"What do you think I've got for my pictures, mother?" he asked,coming home one evening. She saw by his eyes he was glad. Her face flushed.
"Now, how should I know, my boy!"
"A first prize for those glass jars---"
"H'm!"
"And a first prize for that sketch up at Willey Farm."
"Both first?"
"Yes."
"H'm!"
There was a rosy, bright look about her, though she said nothing.
"It's nice," he said, "isn't it?"
"It is."
"Why don't you praise me up to the skies?"
She laughed.
"I should have the trouble of dragging you down again,"she said.
But she was full of joy, nevertheless. William had broughther his sporting trophies. She kept them still, and she did notforgive his death. Arthur was handsome--at least, a good specimen--and warmand generous, and probably would do well in the end. But Paulwas going to distinguish himself. She had a great belief in him,the more because he was unaware of his own powers. There wasso much to come out of him. Life for her was rich with promise. She was to see herself fulfilled. Not for nothing had beenher struggle.
Several times during the exhibition Mrs. Morel went to theCastle unknown to Paul. She wandered down the long room lookingat the other exhibits. Yes, they were good. But they had not inthem a certain something which she demanded for her satisfaction. Some made her jealous, they were so good. She looked at thema long time trying to find fault with them. Then suddenly shehad a shock that made her heart beat. There hung Paul's picture! She knew it as if it were printed on her heart.
"Name--Paul Morel--First Prize."
It looked so strange, there in public, on the walls of theCastle gallery, where in her lifetime she had seen so many pictures. And she glanced round to see if anyone had noticed her again in frontof the same sketch.
But she felt a proud woman. When she met well-dressed ladiesgoing home to the Park, she thought to herself:
"Yes, you look very well--but I wonder if YOUR son has twofirst prizes in the Castle."
And she walked on, as proud a little woman as any in Nottingham. And Paul felt he had done something for her, if only a trifle. All his work was hers.
One day, as he was going up Castle Gate, he met Miriam. He hadseen her on the Sunday, and had not expected to meet her in town. She was walking with a rather striking woman, blonde, with a sullenexpression, and a defiant carriage. It was strange how Miriam,in her bowed, meditative bearing, looked dwarfed beside this womanwith the handsome shoulders. Miriam watched Paul searchingly. His gaze was on the stranger, who ignored him. The girl saw hismasculine spirit rear its head.
"Hello!" he said, "you didn't tell me you were coming to town."
"No," replied Miriam, half apologetically. "I drovein to Cattle Market with father."
He looked at her companion.
"I've told you about Mrs. Dawes," said Miriam huskily;she was nervous. "Clara, do you know Paul?"
"I think I've seen him before," replied Mrs. Dawes indifferently,as she shook hands with him. She had scornful grey eyes, a skinlike white honey, and a full mouth, with a slightly lifted upperlip that did not know whether it was raised in scorn of all menor out of eagerness to be kissed, but which believed the former. She carried her head back, as if she had drawn away in contempt,perhaps from men also. She wore a large, dowdy hat of black beaver,and a sort of slightly affected simple dress that made her lookrather sack-like. She was evidently poor, and had not much taste. Miriam usually looked nice.
"Where have you seen me?" Paul asked of the woman.
She looked at him as if she would not trouble to answer. Then:
"Walking with Louie Travers," she said.
Louie was one of the "Spiral" girls.
"Why, do you know her?" he asked.
She did not answer. He turned to Miriam.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"To the Castle."
"What train are you going home by?"
"I am driving with father. I wish you could come too. What time are you free?"
"You know not till eight to-night, damn it!"
And directly the two women moved on.
Paul remembered that Clara Dawes was the daughter of an oldfriend of Mrs. Leivers. Miriam had sought her out because shehad once been Spiral overseer at Jordan's, and because her husband,Baxter Dawes, was smith for the factory, making the irons forcripple instruments, and so on. Through her Miriam felt she gotinto direct contact with Jordan's, and could estimate betterPaul's position. But Mrs. Dawes was separated from her husband,and had taken up Women's Rights. She was supposed to be clever. It interested Paul.
Baxter Dawes he knew and disliked. The smith was a manof thirty-one or thirty-two. He came occasionally through Paul'scorner--a big, well-set man, also striking to look at, and handsome. There was a peculiar similarity between himself and his wife. He had the same white skin, with a clear, golden tinge. His hairwas of soft brown, his moustache was golden. And he had a similardefiance in his bearing and manner. But then came the difference. His eyes, dark brown and quick-shifting, were dissolute. They protruded very slightly, and his eyelids hung over them in away that was half hate. His mouth, too, was sensual. His wholemanner was of cowed defiance, as if he were ready to knock anybodydown who disapproved of him--perhaps because he really disapprovedof himself.
From the first day he had hated Paul. Finding the lad's impersonal,deliberate gaze of an artist on his face, he got into a fury.
"What are yer lookin' at?" he sneered, bullying.
The boy glanced away. But the smith used to stand behindthe counter and talk to Mr. Pappleworth. His speech was dirty,with a kind of rottenness. Again he found the youth with his cool,critical gaze fixed on his face. The smith started round as if hehad been stung.
"What'r yer lookin' at, three hap'orth o' pap?" he snarled.
The boy shrugged his shoulders slightly.
"Why yer---!" shouted Dawes.
"Leave him alone," said Mr. Pappleworth, in that insinuatingvoice which means, "He's only one of your good little sops who can'thelp it."
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