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He was shut out from all family affairs. No one told him anything.
The children, alone with their mother, told her all about the day's
happenings, everything. Nothing had really taken place in them until it
was told to their mother. But as soon as the father came in, everything
stopped. He was like the scotch in the smooth, happy machinery of the
home. And he was always aware of this fall of silence on his entry,
the shutting off of life, the unwelcome. But now it was gone too far to
alter.
He would dearly have liked the children to talk to him, but they could
not. Sometimes Mrs. Morel would say:
"You ought to tell your father."
Paul won a prize in a competition in a child's paper. Everybody was
highly jubilant.
"Now you'd better tell your father when he comes in," said Mrs. Morel.
"You know how be carries on and says he's never told anything."
"All right," said Paul. But he would almost rather have forfeited the
prize than have to tell his father.
"I've won a prize in a competition, dad," he said.


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