He took off his coat and rolled up his sleeve.
"Gone off y'r bloomin' nut, Jack?" asked Tom, mystified.
"Gran told me she had put a stocking for Len in here," said Jack.
"Stocking be blowed!" said Tom testily. "We've heard that barm-stick yarn before. Leave it alone, boy."
He was looking at Jack's bare, brown, sinewy arm. It reminded him of the great North-West, and the heat, and the work, and the absolute carelessness. This money and stocking business was like a mill-stone round his neck. He felt he was gradually being drowned in soot, as Jack continued to fumble up inside the chimney, and the soot poured down over the naked arm.
"Oh, God's love, leave it alone, Jack!" he cried.
"Let him try," said Mrs. Ellis quietly. "If Gran told him. I wonder he didn't speak before."
"I never really thought about it," said Jack.
"Don't think about it now!" shouted Tom.
Jack could feel nothing in the chimney. He looked contemplatively at the fireplace. Something drew him to the place near Gran's arm-chair ... He began feeling, while the other two watched him in a state of nervous tension. Tom hated it.