“I won’t,” he said stormily. “Don’t you imagine I’m going, any of you. No dirty Germanies for me, [223] ]thank you. If you want their dirty money go yourselves, all of you.”
“Wish I had the chance,” Ted said. “You don’t know when you’re well off, Alf. None of us ever had such a chance of education.”
“Education!” Little Alf fairly snorted with wrath. “As if I don’t get enough now with old Brownlow to make me sick of everything. Here I’m about as stuffed up with their beastly Latin and Euclid as I can be, and you want to choke some more on me.”
“Well, think of the pleasure to be derived from rolling in money,” said Clif. “You’ll be the important person of the family, Alf; we shall all take our hats off to you when we meet you.”
“I’d rather roll in mud!” said the fierce, small youth. “Sixpence a week’s all I want—you wouldn’t think the Pater ’ud grudge me that!”
The doctor came behind him and laid a quiet hand on his shoulder. “Alf,” he said.
“W—wouldn’t think you’d g—g—grudge me sixpence a week,” blubbered Alf, struggling away and dashing his fist so rapidly across his ashamed eyes one green eyebrow was smeared half-way down his cheek.
“Alf,” said the doctor again, and Alf, looking up, found tears also in the keen fatherly eyes.
The fierce young muscles relaxed, his head drooped.
“G—g—grudge me s—s—sixpence,” he repeated, [224] ]the tears gushing out in self-pity. His father put an arm round his shoulder and led him out very quietly.