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He earned very little, but had a good chance of
getting on. But he was wild and restless. He did not drink nor gamble.
Yet he somehow contrived to get into endless scrapes, always through
some hot-headed thoughtlessness. Either he went rabbiting in the woods,
like a poacher, or he stayed in Nottingham all night instead of coming
home, or he miscalculated his dive into the canal at Bestwood, and
scored his chest into one mass of wounds on the raw stones and tins at
the bottom.
He had not been at his work many months when again he did not come home
one night.
"Do you know where Arthur is?" asked Paul at breakfast.
"I do not," replied his mother.
"He is a fool," said Paul. "And if he DID anything I shouldn't mind. But
no, he simply can't come away from a game of whist, or else he must see
a girl home from the skating-rink--quite proprietously--and so can't get
home. He's a fool."
"I don't know that it would make it any better if he did something to
make us all ashamed," said Mrs. Morel.


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