“I don’t know—I—”
“I sh’d think not!” said his father. “D’ye think architecting’ll be any better than this?” ‘This’ meant printing.
“I don’t know—”
“Ye don’t know! Ye don’t know!” Darius repeated testily. His testiness was only like foam on the great wave of his resentment.
“Mr Orgreave—” Edwin began. It was unfortunate, because Darius had had a difficulty with Mr Orgreave, who was notoriously somewhat exacting in the matter of prices.
“Don’t talk to me about Mester Orgreave!” Darius almost shouted.
Edwin didn’t. He said to himself: “I am lost.”
“What’s this business o’ mine for, if it isna’ for you?” asked his father. “Architecting! There’s neither sense nor reason in it! Neither sense nor reason!”
He rose and walked out. Edwin was now sobbing. In a moment his father returned, and stood in the doorway.
“Ye’ve been doing well, I’ll say that, and I’ve shown it! I was beginning to have hopes of ye!” It was a great deal to say.