By D. H. Lawrence
She was his second wife， and so there was between them thattruce which is never held between a man and his first woman.
He was one for the women， and as such， an exception amongthe colliers. In spite of their prudery， the neighbour womenliked him； he was big， naive， and very courteous with them； hewas so， even to his second wife.
Being a large man of considerable strength and perfecthealth， he earned good money in the pit. His natural courtesysaved him from enemies， while his fresh interest in life madehis presence always agreeable. So he went his own way， hadalways plenty of friends， always a good job down pit.
He gave his wife thirty-five shillings a week. He had twogrown-up sons at home， and they paid twelve shillings each.
There was only one child by the second marriage， so Radfordconsidered his wife did well.
Eighteen months ago， Bryan and Wentworth’s men were outon strike for eleven weeks. During that time， Mrs. Radfordcould neither cajole nor entreat nor nag the ten shillings strikepayfrom her husband. So that when the second strike cameon， she was prepared for action.
Radford was going， quite inconspicuously， to the publican’swife at the “Golden Horn”. She is a large， easy-going ladyof forty， and her husband is sixty-three， moreover crippledwith rheumatism. She sits in the little bar-parlour of thewayside public-house， knitting for dear life， and sipping avery moderate glass of Scotch. When a decent man arrives atthe three-foot width of bar， she rises， serves him， surveys himover， and， if she likes his looks， says：
“Won’t you step inside， sir？”
If he steps inside， he will find not more than one or two menpresent. The room is warm， quite small. The landlady knits.
She gives a few polite words to the stranger， then resumesher conversation with the man who interests her most. She isstraight， highly-coloured， with indifferent brown eyes.
“What was that you asked me， Mr. Radford？”
“What is the difference between a donkey’s tail and arainbow？” asked Radford， who had a consuming passion forconundrums.
“All the difference in the world，” replied the landlady.
“Yes， but what special difference？”
“I s’ll have to give it up again. You’ll think me a donkey’shead， I’m afraid.”
“Not likely. But just you consider now， wheer . . .”
The conundrum was still under weigh， when a girl entered.
She was swarthy， a fine animal. After she had gone out：
“Do you know who that is？” asked the landlady.
“I can’t say as I do，” replied Radford.
“She’s Frederick Pinnock’s daughter， from Stony Ford. She’scourting our Willy.”
“And a fine lass， too.”
“Yes， fine enough， as far as that goes. What sort of a wife’llshe make him， think you？”
“You just let me consider a bit，” said the man. He took out apocket-book and a pencil. The landlady continued to talk to theother guests.
Radford was a big fellow， black-haired， with a brownmoustache， and darkish blue eyes. His voice， naturally deep，was pitched in his throat， and had a peculiar， tenor quality，rather husky， and disturbing. He modulated it a good deal as hespoke， as men do who talk much with women. Always， therewas a certain indolence in his carriage.
“Our mester’s lazy，” his wife said. “There’s many a bit of ajab wants doin’， but get him to do it if you can.”
But she knew he was merely indifferent to the little jobs， andnot lazy.
He sat writing for about ten minutes， at the end of whichtime， he read：
“I see a fine girl full of life.
I see her just ready for wedlock，
But there’s jealousy between her eyebrows
And jealousy on her mouth.
I see trouble ahead.
Willy is delicate.
She would do him no good.
She would never see when he wasn’t well，
She would only see what she wanted—”
So， in phrases， he got down his thoughts. He had to fumblefor expression， and therefore anything serious he wanted to sayhe wrote in “poetry”， as he called it.
Presently， the landlady rose， saying：
“Well， I s’ll have to be looking after our mester. I s’ll be inagain before we close.”
Radford sat quite comfortably on. In a while， he too bade thecompany good-night.
When he got home， at a quarter-past eleven， his sons werein bed， and his wife sat awaiting him. She was a woman ofmedium height， fat and sleek， a dumpling. Her black hair wasparted smooth， her narrow-opened eyes were sly and satirical，she had a peculiar twang in her rather sleering voice.
“Our missis is a puss-puss，” he said easily， of her. Herextraordinarily smooth， sleek face was remarkable. She wasvery healthy.
He never came in drunk. Having taken off his coat and hiscap， he sat down to supper in his shirt-sleeves. Do as he might，she was fascinated by him. He had a strong neck， with thecrisp hair growing low. Let her be angry as she would yet shehad a passion for that neck of his， particularly when she sawthe great vein rib under the skin.
“I think， missis，” he said， “I’d rather ha’e a smite o’ cheesethan this meat.”
“Well， can’t you get it yourself？”
“Yi， surely I can，” he said， and went out to the pantry.
“I think， if yer comin’ in at this time of night， you can waiton yourself，” she justified herself.
She moved uneasily in her chair. There were several jamtartsalongside the cheese on the dish he brought.
“Yi， Missis， them tan-tafflin s’ll go down very nicely，” hesaid.