He was silent with conceit of his son. Mrs. Morel sniffed, as if it were nothing.
“And when does he handle th’ money?” asked the collier.
“That I couldn’t tell you. When the picture is sent home, I suppose.”
There was silence. Morel stared at the sugar-basin instead of eating his dinner. His black arm, with the hand all gnarled with work, lay on the table. His wife pretended not to see him rub the back of his hand across his eyes, nor the smear in the coal-dust on his black face.
“Yes, an’ that other lad ’ud ’a done as much if they hadna ha’ killed ’im,” he said quietly.
The thought of William went through Mrs. Morel like a cold blade. It left her feeling she was tired, and wanted rest.
Paul was invited to dinner at Mr. Jordan’s. Afterwards he said:
“Mother, I want an evening suit.”
“Yes, I was afraid you would,” she said. She was glad. There was a moment or two of silence. “There’s that one of William’s,” she continued, “that I know cost four pounds ten and which he’d only worn three times.”
“Should you like me to wear it, mother?” he asked.
“Yes. I think it would fit you—at least the coat. The trousers would want shortening.”
He went upstairs and put on the coat and vest. Coming down, he looked strange in a flannel collar and a flannel shirt-front, with an evening coat and vest. It was rather large.
“The tailor can make it right,” she said, smoothing her hand over his shoulder. “It’s beautiful stuff. I never could find in my heart to let your father wear the trousers, and very glad I am now.”
And as she smoothed her hand over the silk collar she thought of her eldest son. But this son was living enough inside the clothes. She passed her hand down his back to feel him. He was alive and hers. The other was dead.
He went out to dinner several times in his evening suit that had been William’s. Each time his mother’s heart was firm with pride and joy. He was started now. The studs she and the children had bought for William were in his shirt-front; he wore one of William’s dress shirts. But he had an elegant figure. His face was rough, but warm-looking and rather pleasing. He did not look particularly a gentleman, but she thought he looked quite a man.
