"Ay, so you have got rid of her, have you? You must come back wi' me to tea." Polly's hand was caressing, and her eyes burnt brightly; evidently she had been watching him, and had left Jim Dixon for him. He turned and walked by Polly's side.
That night as Tom walked back to Dixon Street his feet were unsteady and his voice was husky and uncertain.
"What's matter with thee?" said his mother as he entered the house.
"Nowt's matter wi' me."
"Ay, but there is. Thou'st bin' drinkin' agean."
"Weel, and what if I have? It's cost me nowt."
"Ay, I know: thou'st been to the Thorn and Thistle after that Polly
Powell lass. Ay, you ninny. I thought you looked higher nor that.
What about Alice Lister?"
"She's got too much pie-jaw for me," said Tom sulkily. "I'm noan goin' to be a Methody parson."
"Thou'st goin' to be a bigger fool than I thought tha ever could be," retorted his mother angrily.
"That tak's a bit o' doin'," replied Tom as he fumbled with his boot laces.