THEBULL
Tom Yorkfield had always regarded his half-brother, Laurence, with a lazy
instinct of dislike, toned down, as years went on, to a tolerant feeling
of indifference. There was nothing very tangible to dislike him for; he
was just a blood-relation, with whom Tom had no single taste or interest
in common, and with whom, at the same time, he had had no occasion for
quarrel. Laurence had left the farm early in life, and had lived for a
few years on a small sum of money left him by his mother; he had taken up
painting as a profession, and was reported to be doing fairly well at it,
well enough, at any rate, to keep body and soul together. He specialised
in painting animals, and he was successful in finding a certain number of
people to buy his pictures. Tom felt a comforting sense of assured
superiority in contrasting his position with that of his half-brother;
Laurence was an artist-chap, just that and nothing more, though you might
make it sound more important by calling an animal painter; Tom was a
farmer, not in a very big way, it was true, but the Helsery farm had been
in the family for some generations, and it had a good reputation for the
stock raised on it.
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