The name has an aristocratic sound, and
I think I have heard you say he is an eldest son."
Ernest flushed at the sound of Towneley's name.
What had really happened in respect of Ernest's friends was
briefly this: His mother liked to get hold of the names of the boys
and especially of any who were at all intimate with her son; the
more she heard, the more she wanted to know; there was no gorging
her to satiety; she was like a ravenous young cuckoo being fed upon
a grass plot by a water wag-tail, she would swallow all that Ernest
could bring her, and yet be as hungry as before. And she always went
to Ernest for her meals rather than to Joey, for Joey was either
more stupid or more impenetrable- at any rate she could pump Ernest
much the better of the two.
From time to time an actual live boy had been thrown to her,
either by being caught and brought to Battersby, or by being asked
to meet her if at any time she came to Roughborough. She had generally
made herself agreeable, or fairly agreeable, as long as the boy was
present, but as soon as she got Ernest to herself again she changed
her note. Into whatever form she might throw her criticisms it came
always in the end to this, that his friend was no good, that Ernest
was not much better, and that he should have brought her someone else,
for this one would not do at all.
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