IV
On the following Friday afternoon young Paul Ford was again on the
Moorthorne car, and subject to the official ministrations of Thomas
Chadwick. Paul Ford was a man who never bore malice when the bearing of
malice might interfere with the gratification of his sense of humour.
Many men--perhaps most men--after being so grossly insulted by a
tram-conductor as Paul Ford had been insulted by Chadwick, would at the
next meeting have either knocked the insulter down or coldly ignored
him. But Paul Ford did neither. (In any case, Thomas Chadwick would have
wanted a deal of knocking down.) For some reason, everything that Thomas
Chadwick said gave immense amusement to Paul Ford. So the young man
commenced the conversation in the usual way:
"How do, Tommy?"
The car on this occasion was coming down from Moorthorne into Bursley,
with its usual bump and rattle of windows. As Thomas Chadwick made no
reply, Paul Ford continued:
"How much did she give you--the perfect lady, I mean?"
Paul Ford was sitting near the open door. Thomas Chadwick gazed
absently at the Town Park, with its terra-cotta fountains and terraces,
and beyond the Park, at the smoke rising from the distant furnaces of
Red Cow.
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