Chapter 3

CHAPTER III

THE CASTING OFF OF MOREL--THE TAKING ON OF WILLIAM

DURING the next week Morel's temper was almost unbearable.
Like all miners, he was a great lover of medicines, which,
strangely enough, he would often pay for himself.

"You mun get me a drop o' laxy vitral," he said. "It's a
winder as we canna ha'e a sup i' th' 'ouse."

So Mrs. Morel bought him elixir of vitriol, his favourite
first medicine. And he made himself a jug of wormwood tea. He had
hanging in the attic great bunches of dried herbs:
wormwood, rue, horehound, elder flowers, parsley-purt,
marshmallow, hyssop, dandelion, and centaury. Usually there was a jug of
one or other decoction standing on the hob, from which he drank largely.

"Grand!" he said, smacking his lips after wormwood. "Grand!"
And he exhorted the children to try.

"It's better than any of your tea or your cocoa stews," he vowed.
But they were not to be tempted.

This time, however, neither pills nor vitriol nor all his herbs
would shift the "nasty peens in his head". He was sickening for an
attack of an inflammation of the brain. He had never been well since
his sleeping on the ground when he went with Jerry to Nottingham.
Since then he had drunk and stormed. Now he fell seriously ill,
and Mrs. Morel had him to nurse. He was one of the worst
patients imaginable. But, in spite of all, and putting aside the
fact that he was breadwinner, she never quite wanted him to die.
Still there was one part of her wanted him for herself.

The neighbours were very good to her: occasionally some
had the children in to meals, occasionally some would do the
downstairs work for her, one would mind the baby for a day.
But it was a great drag, nevertheless. It was not every day
the neighbours helped. Then she had nursing of baby and husband,
cleaning and cooking, everything to do. She was quite worn out,
but she did what was wanted of her.

And the money was just sufficient. She had seventeen
shillings a week from clubs, and every Friday Barker and the other
butty put by a portion of the stall's profits for Morel's wife.
And the neighbours made broths, and gave eggs, and such invalids'
trifles. If they had not helped her so generously in those times,
Mrs. Morel would never have pulled through, without incurring
debts that would have dragged her down.

The weeks passed. Morel, almost against hope, grew better.
He had a fine constitution, so that, once on the mend, he went straight
forward to recovery. Soon he was pottering about downstairs.
During his illness his wife had spoilt him a little. Now he wanted
her to continue. He often put his band to his head, pulled down
the comers of his mouth, and shammed pains he did not