The cashier finished counting off the money; the boy dragged the whole down the counter to Mr.Winterbottom, to whom the stoppages for rent and tools must be paid.
Here he suffered again.
"Sixteen an' six," said Mr.Winterbottom.
The lad was too much upset to count.

He pushed forward some loose silver and half a sovereign.
"How much do you think you've given me ?" asked Mr.Winterbottom.
The boy looked at him, but said nothing.

He had not the faintest notion.
"Haven't you got a tongue in your head ?" Paul bit his lip, and pushed forward some more silver.
"Don't they teach you to count at the Board-school ?" he asked.
"Nowt but algibbra an' French," said a collier.
"An' cheek an' impidence," said another.
Paul was keeping someone waiting.

With trembling fingers he got his money into the bag and slid out.

He suffered the tortures of the damned on these occasions.
His relief, when he got outside, and was walking along the Mansfield Road, was infinite.