10

"I'm not going to the Bell to–night," Mr. Whitlow senior announced.

"But, my dear! What will you do at home?"

"There's the radio. And Patience. But at the Bell!…

"The things I get said to me! Unfriendly things. You'd hardly imagine. It takes away all the pleasure of going out. No relaxation, it isn't. No distraction. Always harping on Rud, they are. What's Rud going to do next? Where does Rud get his money from? I don't know what to tell 'em. He's got into Politics, I say, and that's the truth of it. As for what he's going to do about it—don't ask me. I always said letting him go to Camford was a mistake."

"I expect he's been led into it," said Mrs. Whitlow.

"Led! I never remember Rud being led by anyone," said Mr. Whitlow. "It's just his own damned headstrong, ungovernable temper. I spared the rod on that boy—all that stuff about repressions of yours. And here we are!"

"He might have been worse with repressions," said Mrs. Whitlow.

"And he might not. Is there such a thing in this house as a couple of packs of cards that Alf hasn't taken two or three out of for his blasted model–making?…Yes, I said blasted model–making. B–L–A–R—No! I mean B–L–A–S–T–I–D model–making. Now then…Evening paper? No, thank you. I can't take up a newspaper now not without seeing something about Rud. Why! The Daily Warning had a photograph of him all tied up like mumps or something."

"He always did set about things in his own fashion," said Mrs. Whitlow. "I hope nobody didn't hurt him. He's got a sort of sturdy look about him, but really he's as delicate as a girl."