The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists [26]
myself, but I can't bear it when you speak to me like you do lately. You seem to blame me for everything. You usen't to speak to me like that before I - before - Oh, I am so tired - I am so tired, I wish I could lie down somewhere and sleep and never wake up any more.'
She turned away from him, half kneeling, half sitting on the floor, her arms folded on the seat of the chair, and her head resting upon them. She was crying in a heartbroken helpless way.
`I'm sorry I spoke to you like that,' said Easton, awkwardly. `I didn't mean what I said. It's all my fault. I leave things too much to you, and it's more than you can be expected to manage. I'll help you to think things out in future; only forgive me, I'm very sorry. I know you try your best.'
She suffered him to draw her to him, laying her head on his shoulder as he kissed and fondled her, protesting that he would rather be poor and hungry with her than share riches with anyone else.
The child in the cradle - who had been twisting and turning restlessly all this time - now began to cry loudly. The mother took it from the cradle and began to hush and soothe it, walking about the room and rocking it in her arms. The child, however, continued to scream, so she sat down to nurse it: for a little while the infant refused to drink, struggling and kicking in its mother's arms, then for a few minutes it was quite, taking the milk in a half-hearted, fretful way. Then it began to scream and twist and struggle.
They both looked at it in a helpless manner. Whatever could be the matter with it? It must be those teeth.
Then suddenly as they were soothing and patting him, the child vomited all over its own and its mother's clothing a mass of undigested food. Mingled with the curdled milk were fragments of egg, little bits of bacon, bread and particles of potato.
Having rid his stomach of this unnatural burden, the unfortunate baby began to cry afresh, his face very pale, his lips colourless, and his eyes red-rimmed and running with water.
Easton walked about with him while Ruth cleaned up the mess and got ready some fresh clothing. They both agreed that it was the coming teeth that had upset the poor child's digestion. It would be a good job when they were through.
This work finished, Easton, who was still convinced in his own mind that with the aid of a little common sense and judicious management their affairs might be arranged more satisfactorily, said:
`We may as well make a list of all the things we must pay and buy tomorrow. The great thing is to think out exactly what you are going to do before you spend anything; that saves you from getting things you don't really need and prevents you forgetting the things you MUST have. Now, first of all, the rent; two weeks, twelve shillings.'
He took a fresh piece of paper and wrote this item down.
`What else is there that we must pay or buy tomorrow?'
`Well, you know I promised the baker and the grocer that I would begin to pay them directly you got a job, and if I don't keep my word they won't let us have anything another time, so you'd better put down two shillings each for them.
`I've got that,' said Easton.
`Two and seven for the butcher. We must pay that. I'm ashamed to pass the shop, because when I got the meat I promised to pay him the next week, and it's nearly three weeks ago now.'
`I've put that down. What else?'
`A hundred of coal: one and six.'
`Next?'
`The instalment for the furniture and floor-cloth, twelve shillings.'
`Next?'
`We owe the milkman four weeks; we'd better pay one week on account; that's one and two.'
`Next?'
`The greengrocer; one shilling on account.'
`Anything else?'
`We shall want a piece of meat of some kind; we've had none for nearly three weeks. You'd better say one and six for that.'
`That's down.'
`One and nine for bread; that's one loaf a day.'
`But I've got two shillings down for bread already,' said Easton.
`Yes, I know, dear, but that's to go towards paying off what we owe, and what you have down
She turned away from him, half kneeling, half sitting on the floor, her arms folded on the seat of the chair, and her head resting upon them. She was crying in a heartbroken helpless way.
`I'm sorry I spoke to you like that,' said Easton, awkwardly. `I didn't mean what I said. It's all my fault. I leave things too much to you, and it's more than you can be expected to manage. I'll help you to think things out in future; only forgive me, I'm very sorry. I know you try your best.'
She suffered him to draw her to him, laying her head on his shoulder as he kissed and fondled her, protesting that he would rather be poor and hungry with her than share riches with anyone else.
The child in the cradle - who had been twisting and turning restlessly all this time - now began to cry loudly. The mother took it from the cradle and began to hush and soothe it, walking about the room and rocking it in her arms. The child, however, continued to scream, so she sat down to nurse it: for a little while the infant refused to drink, struggling and kicking in its mother's arms, then for a few minutes it was quite, taking the milk in a half-hearted, fretful way. Then it began to scream and twist and struggle.
They both looked at it in a helpless manner. Whatever could be the matter with it? It must be those teeth.
Then suddenly as they were soothing and patting him, the child vomited all over its own and its mother's clothing a mass of undigested food. Mingled with the curdled milk were fragments of egg, little bits of bacon, bread and particles of potato.
Having rid his stomach of this unnatural burden, the unfortunate baby began to cry afresh, his face very pale, his lips colourless, and his eyes red-rimmed and running with water.
Easton walked about with him while Ruth cleaned up the mess and got ready some fresh clothing. They both agreed that it was the coming teeth that had upset the poor child's digestion. It would be a good job when they were through.
This work finished, Easton, who was still convinced in his own mind that with the aid of a little common sense and judicious management their affairs might be arranged more satisfactorily, said:
`We may as well make a list of all the things we must pay and buy tomorrow. The great thing is to think out exactly what you are going to do before you spend anything; that saves you from getting things you don't really need and prevents you forgetting the things you MUST have. Now, first of all, the rent; two weeks, twelve shillings.'
He took a fresh piece of paper and wrote this item down.
`What else is there that we must pay or buy tomorrow?'
`Well, you know I promised the baker and the grocer that I would begin to pay them directly you got a job, and if I don't keep my word they won't let us have anything another time, so you'd better put down two shillings each for them.
`I've got that,' said Easton.
`Two and seven for the butcher. We must pay that. I'm ashamed to pass the shop, because when I got the meat I promised to pay him the next week, and it's nearly three weeks ago now.'
`I've put that down. What else?'
`A hundred of coal: one and six.'
`Next?'
`The instalment for the furniture and floor-cloth, twelve shillings.'
`Next?'
`We owe the milkman four weeks; we'd better pay one week on account; that's one and two.'
`Next?'
`The greengrocer; one shilling on account.'
`Anything else?'
`We shall want a piece of meat of some kind; we've had none for nearly three weeks. You'd better say one and six for that.'
`That's down.'
`One and nine for bread; that's one loaf a day.'
`But I've got two shillings down for bread already,' said Easton.
`Yes, I know, dear, but that's to go towards paying off what we owe, and what you have down