David Herbert Lawrence

situation in Nottingham. In his new place he had thirty shillings a week

instead of eighteen. This was indeed a rise. His mother and his father

were brimmed up with pride. Everybody praised William. It seemed he was

going to get on rapidly. Mrs. Morel hoped, with his aid, to help her

younger sons. Annie was now studying to be a teacher. Paul, also very

clever, was getting on well, having lessons in French and German from

his godfather, the clergyman who was still a friend to Mrs. Morel.

Arthur, a spoilt and very good-looking boy, was at the Board school, but

there was talk of his trying to get a scholarship for the High School in

Nottingham.

William remained a year at his new post in Nottingham. He was studying

hard, and growing serious. Something seemed to be fretting him. Still

he went out to the dances and the river parties. He did not drink. The

children were all rabid teetotallers. He came home very late at night,

and sat yet longer studying. His mother implored him to take more care,

to do one thing or another.

"Dance, if you want to dance, my son; but don't think you can work in

the office, and then amuse yourself, and THEN study on top of all. You

can't; the human frame won't stand it. Do one thing or the other--amuse

yourself or learn Latin; but don't try to do both."

Then he got a place in London, at a hundred and twenty a year. This

seemed a fabulous sum. His mother doubted almost whether to rejoice or

to grieve.

"They want me in Lime Street on Monday week, mother," he cried, his

eyes blazing as he read the letter. Mrs. Morel felt everything go silent

inside her. He read the letter: "'And will you reply by Thursday whether

you accept. Yours faithfully--' They want me, mother, at a hundred and

twenty a year, and don't even ask to see me. Didn't I tell you I could

do it! Think of me in London! And I can give you twenty pounds a year,

mater. We s'll all be rolling in money."

"We shall, my son," she answered sadly.

It never occurred to him that she might be more hurt at his going

away than glad of his success. Indeed, as the days drew near for his

departure, her heart began to close and grow dreary with despair. She

loved him so much! More than that, she hoped in him so much. Almost she

lived by him. She liked to do things for him: she liked to put a cup for

his tea and to iron his collars, of which he was so proud. It was a joy

to her to have him proud of his collars. There was no laundry. So she

used to rub away at them with her little convex iron, to polish them,

till they shone from the sheer pressure of her arm. Now she would not do

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