He returned with a piece of pork-pie in his fist.

It was what Mrs.Morel had bought for her son.
"Nor was that bought for you.

If you can give me no more than twenty-five shillings, I'm sure I'm not going to buy you pork-pie to stuff, after you've swilled a bellyful of beer." "Wha-at--wha-at!" snarled Morel, toppling in his balance.

"Wha-at--not for me ?" He looked at the piece of meat and crust, and suddenly, in a vicious spurt of temper, flung it into the fire.
Paul started to his feet.
"Waste your own stuff!" he cried.
"What--what!" suddenly shouted Morel, jumping up and clenching his fist.
"I'll show yer, yer young jockey!" "All right!" said Paul viciously, putting his head on one side.

"Show me!" He would at that moment dearly have loved to have a smack at something.
Morel was half crouching, fists up, ready to spring.