His mother had never let him know the actual pinch of poverty; she wore
that shoe upon her own foot. He had no more idea than a child of the
cost of mere daily necessities; and during the last few years, between
his work and hers, they had been comfortable enough.
"We can hang on for a bit," he said, when he spoke of leaving the
wood-yard; and she answered, almost with triumph, that she had "hung
on" well enough before he'd earned "aught but a licking."
At first she was proud of reshouldering the entire burden; it made him
more entirely hers. He could not do without her; even with Jenny he
could not do without her. But she had not been a young woman when Ben
was born; she was old now, and tired, with that sort of tiredness which
accumulates, heaps up, and which no single night's rest can ever cure;
the tiredness which is ready, more than ready, for a narrower
bed--eternal sleep.
"--Hold on until after the concert?"
"Sorry fur meself if I couldn't."
The concert! That was the goal. There was a public hall at Clapton
where Ben had chanced on some really good music--just one night of it,
and quite by chance--and this, to his mind, ennobled the Claptonites;
there was the place in which to start the revolutionising of the
musical world.
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