A Kind of Loving Read Online Free Page B

says, and I see a gleam in his eyes as he lights up. "The new aristocracy, living off the fat o' the land, sending your lad to college to study medicine. And you should have some brass if anybody has. You're not the one to go out swilling it every night.'
    'Ey up! Ey up!' the Old Feller says, rising to it. 'Just because we're gettin' a decent livin' wage after all this time everybody's on to us.'
    'I wish I war earning twenty pound a week,' Uncle William says, 'and they could all be on to me as liked.'
    'Earn it,' the Old Man says. 'I'm glad you said earn it. I tell you what I tell everybody else, William. If you think you can addle twenty pound a week in t'pit, you can come an' have a try. It can be done, an' there's fellers takin' that kind o' money out reg'lar. But they work like blacks for it. Aagh! all these fellers proppin' bars up and openin' their mouths. The hardest work they ever do is lift a pint glass. They wouldn't last a shift down t'pit. I've done some coal-gettin' an' I know. I'm glad I haven't to do it now. I'm a deputy an' there's many a man under me earnin' more than I do; but I don't begrudge 'em it because I've addled money t'same way an' I know what it takes to do it. And there's another thing -'
    'Now then, Arthur, that's enough,' the Old Lady says. "There's no need to get arguin'. William's entitled to his opinion.'
    'No man's entitled to an opinion till he knows the facts. I'm just straightenin' him out...'
    The Old Lady and Auntie Edna look at one another and I decide it's time I was on my way. I get up.
    'Are you goin' to bed, Victor?'
    'No, I'm going out. There's a special dance on in town. I thought I'd go over for an hour.'
    'What, at this time?'
    "They'll only just have got warmed up.'
    'Well, better take a key. And don't be too late; you've been on the go all day, y'know.'
    'Have a good time, Victor,' Auntie Edna says.

    IV

    The first thing I do when I get upstairs is take a look at myself in the dressing-table mirror. It's one of those with three glasses in and if you get the knack of adjusting them you can see what you look like from the side as well as straight on. It seems to me I'm spending altogether too much time these days either looking in mirrors at home or catching sight of myself in mirrors outside. I never knew there were so many mirrors; the world's full of them, or shop windows with the blinds down, which amount to the same thing as far as what I'm talking about's concerned. When I'm washing my hands at the office I can see another pair of hands just like mine doing the same. If I go to the pictures ten to one I'll climb the stairs and come face to face with my twin brother coming up from the other side. (Only he's not strictly my twin because he's the opposite hand to me.) And I've only to look out of a bus at night to see this same opposite-handed me looking in from outside. It's not that I'm conceited - at least, not most of the time - and when I see myself in a window or some thing I don't think what a swell-looking geezer, but try to look at myself as though I'm somebody else and wonder what I think of me. And it's actually that I'm not a swell-looking geezer. At least, not most of the time. I never used to be like this. I can remember when I didn't give a monkey's what I looked like or what anybody thought of me. But now it's different; because now, you see, I'm conscious of women. Very conscious of them in fact.
    When I'm looking in my mirror at home like I am now, I don't think I'm so bad. Whichever way you look, and whoever's doing the looking, you couldn't call me ugly. Not handsome, maybe, but not ugly. My face is sort of square and what an author might call open, and it's a good colour. (Thank God I'm not one of these blokes who's plagued to death with boils and spots and blains and whatnot.) The scar over my left eye where I argued with the railing doesn't help, though I wonder sometimes if it doesn't make me look a bit tougher. I don't know. And there's always my