ess.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

FOUR.

Darius was breathing and fidgeting all over him as he sat bent at the
desk. His presence overwhelmed every other physical phenomenon.

"What's this?" asked Darius, picking up the bit of paper on which Edwin
had written the memorandum about "The Light of Asia."

Edwin explained, self-consciously, lamely.

When the barometer of Darius's temper was falling rapidly, there was a
sign: a small spot midway on the bridge of his nose turned ivory-white.
Edwin glanced upwards now to see if the sign was there, and it was. He
flushed slightly and resumed his work.

Then Darius began.

"What did I tell ye?" he shouted. "What in the name of God's the use o'
me telling ye things? Have I told ye not to take any more orders for
books, or haven't I? Haven't I said over and over again that I want
this shop to be known for wholesale?" He raved.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

FIVE.

Stifford could hear. Any person who might chance to come into the shop
would hear. But Darius cared neither for his own dignity nor for that
of his son. He was in a passion. The real truth was that this celibate
man, who never took alcohol, enjoyed losing his temper; it was his one
outlet; he gave himself up almost luxuriously to a passion; he looked
forward to it as some men look forward to brandy. And Edwin had never
stopped him by some drastic step. At first, years before, Edwin had
said to himself, trembling with resentment in his bedroom, "The next
time, the very next time, he humiliates me like that in front of other
people, I'll walk out of his damned house and shop, and I swear I won't
come back until he's apologised. I'll bring him to his senses. He
can't do without me. Once for all I'll stop it. What! He forces me
into his business, and then insults me!"

But Edwin had never done it. Always, it was `the very next time'!
Edwin was not capable of doing it. His father had a sort of moral
brute-force, against which he could not stand firm. He soon recognised
this, with his intellectual candour. Then he had tried to argue with
Darius, to `make him see'! Worse than futile! Argument simply put
Darius beside himself. So that in the end Edwin employed silence and
secret scorn, as a weapon and as a defence. And somehow without a word
he conveyed to Stifford and to Big James precisely what his at