Radford to Paul.
"I s'd think she doesn't want touching with a prop," he laughed. "I
shouldn't."
"It might do the pair of you good to give you a crack on the head with
one," said the mother, laughing suddenly.
"Why are you so vindictive towards me?" he said. "I've not stolen
anything from you."
"No; I'll watch that," laughed the older woman.
Soon the supper was finished. Mrs. Radford sat guard in her chair. Paul
lit a cigarette. Clara went upstairs, returning with a sleeping-suit,
which she spread on the fender to air.
"Why, I'd forgot all about THEM!" said Mrs. Radford. "Where have they
sprung from?"
"Out of my drawer."
"H'm! You bought 'em for Baxter, an' he wouldn't wear 'em, would
he?"--laughing. "Said he reckoned to do wi'out trousers i' bed." She
turned confidentially to Paul, saying: "He couldn't BEAR 'em, them
pyjama things."
The young man sat making rings of smoke.
"Well, it's everyone to his taste," he laughed.
Then followed a little discussion of the merits of pyjamas.
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