Of Human Bondage (96 page)

  Philip gave him a startled look, but before he could
take in the meaning of his words, Athelny, fixing his glasses on
his nose with the gesture habitual to him, went on.

  "I wrote to you last Sunday to ask if anything was
the matter with you, and as you didn't answer I went to your rooms
on Wednesday."

  Philip turned his head away and did not answer. His
heart began to beat violently. Athelny did not speak, and presently
the silence seemed intolerable to Philip. He could not think of a
single word to say.

  "Your landlady told me you hadn't been in since
Saturday night, and she said you owed her for the last month. Where
have you been sleeping all this week?"

  It made Philip sick to answer. He stared out of the
window.

  "Nowhere."

  "I tried to find you."

  "Why?" asked Philip.

  "Betty and I have been just as broke in our day,
only we had babies to look after. Why didn't you come here?"

  "I couldn't."

  Philip was afraid he was going to cry. He felt very
weak. He shut his eyes and frowned, trying to control himself. He
felt a sudden flash of anger with Athelny because he would not
leave him alone; but he was broken; and presently, his eyes still
closed, slowly in order to keep his voice steady, he told him the
story of his adventures during the last few weeks. As he spoke it
seemed to him that he had behaved inanely, and it made it still
harder to tell. He felt that Athelny would think him an utter
fool.

  "Now you're coming to live with us till you find
something to do," said Athelny, when he had finished.

  Philip flushed, he knew not why.

  "Oh, it's awfully kind of you, but I don't think
I'll do that."

  "Why not?"

  Philip did not answer. He had refused instinctively
from fear that he would be a bother, and he had a natural
bashfulness of accepting favours. He knew besides that the Athelnys
lived from hand to mouth, and with their large family had neither
space nor money to entertain a stranger.

  "Of course you must come here," said Athelny.
"Thorpe will tuck in with one of his brothers and you can sleep in
his bed. You don't suppose your food's going to make any difference
to us."

  Philip was afraid to speak, and Athelny, going to
the door, called his wife.

  "Betty," he said, when she came in, "Mr. Carey's
coming to live with us."

  "Oh, that is nice," she said. "I'll go and get the
bed ready."

  She spoke in such a hearty, friendly tone, taking
everything for granted, that Philip was deeply touched. He never
expected people to be kind to him, and when they were it surprised
and moved him. Now he could not prevent two large tears from
rolling down his cheeks. The Athelnys discussed the arrangements
and pretended not to notice to what a state his weakness had
brought him. When Mrs. Athelny left them Philip leaned back in his
chair, and looking out of the window laughed a little.

  "It's not a very nice night to be out, is it?"

  Athelny told Philip that he could easily get him
something to do in the large firm of linendrapers in which himself
worked. Several of the assistants had gone to the war, and Lynn and
Sedley with patriotic zeal had promised to keep their places open
for them. They put the work of the heroes on those who remained,
and since they did not increase the wages of these were able at
once to exhibit public spirit and effect an economy; but the war
continued and trade was less depressed; the holidays were coming,
when numbers of the staff went away for a fortnight at a time: they
were bound to engage more assistants. Philip's experience had made
him doubtful whether even then they would engage him; but Athelny,
representing himself as a person of consequence in the firm,
insisted that the manager could refuse him nothing. Philip, with
his training in Paris, would be very useful; it was only a matter
of waiting a little and he was bound to get a well-paid job to
design costumes and draw posters. Philip made a poster for the
summer sale and Athelny took it away. Two days later he brought it
back, saying that the manager admired it very much and regretted
with all his heart that there was no vacancy just then in that
department. Philip asked whether there was nothing else he could
do.

  "I'm afraid not."

  "Are you quite sure?"

  "Well, the fact is they're advertising for a
shop-walker tomorrow," said Athelny, looking at him doubtfully
through his glasses.

  "D'you think I stand any chance of getting it?"

  Athelny was a little confused; he had led Philip to
expect something much more splendid; on the other hand he was too
poor to go on providing him indefinitely with board and
lodging.

  "You might take it while you wait for something
better. You always stand a better chance if you're engaged by the
firm already."

  "I'm not proud, you, know" smiled Philip.

  "If you decide on that you must be there at a
quarter to nine tomorrow morning."

  Notwithstanding the war there was evidently much
difficulty in finding work, for when Philip went to the shop many
men were waiting already. He recognised some whom he had seen in
his own searching, and there was one whom he had noticed lying
about the park in the afternoon. To Philip now that suggested that
he was as homeless as himself and passed the night out of doors.
The men were of all sorts, old and young, tall and short; but every
one had tried to make himself smart for the interview with the
manager: they had carefully brushed hair and scrupulously clean
hands. They waited in a passage which Philip learnt afterwards led
up to the dining-hall and the work rooms; it was broken every few
yards by five or six steps. Though there was electric light in the
shop here was only gas, with wire cages over it for protection, and
it flared noisily. Philip arrived punctually, but it was nearly ten
o'clock when he was admitted into the office. It was
three-cornered, like a cut of cheese lying on its side: on the
walls were pictures of women in corsets, and two poster-proofs, one
of a man in pyjamas, green and white in large stripes, and the
other of a ship in full sail ploughing an azure sea: on the sail
was printed in large letters `great white sale.' The widest side of
the office was the back of one of the shop-windows, which was being
dressed at the time, and an assistant went to and fro during the
interview. The manager was reading a letter. He was a florid man,
with sandy hair and a large sandy moustache; from the middle of his
watch-chain hung a bunch of football medals. He sat in his shirt
sleeves at a large desk with a telephone by his side; before him
were the day's advertisements, Athelny's work, and cuttings from
newspapers pasted on a card. He gave Philip a glance but did not
speak to him; he dictated a letter to the typist, a girl who sat at
a small table in one corner; then he asked Philip his name, age,
and what experience he had had. He spoke with a cockney twang in a
high, metallic voice which he seemed not able always to control;
Philip noticed that his upper teeth were large and protruding; they
gave you the impression that they were loose and would come out if
you gave them a sharp tug.

  "I think Mr. Athelny has spoken to you about me,"
said Philip.

  "Oh, you are the young feller who did that
poster?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "No good to us, you know, not a bit of good."

  He looked Philip up and down. He seemed to notice
that Philip was in some way different from the men who had preceded
him.

  "You'd 'ave to get a frock coat, you know. I suppose
you 'aven't got one. You seem a respectable young feller. I suppose
you found art didn't pay."

  Philip could not tell whether he meant to engage him
or not. He threw remarks at him in a hostile way.

  "Where's your home?"

  "My father and mother died when I was a child."

  "I like to give young fellers a chance. Many's the
one I've given their chance to and they're managers of departments
now. And they're grateful to me, I'll say that for them. They know
what I done for them. Start at the bottom of the ladder, that's the
only way to learn the business, and then if you stick to it there's
no knowing what it can lead to. If you suit, one of these days you
may find yourself in a position like what mine is. Bear that in
mind, young feller."

  "I'm very anxious to do my best, sir," said
Philip.

  He knew that he must put in the sir whenever he
could, but it sounded odd to him, and he was afraid of overdoing
it. The manager liked talking. It gave him a happy consciousness of
his own importance, and he did not give Philip his decision till he
had used a great many words.

  "Well, I daresay you'll do," he said at last, in a
pompous way. "Anyhow I don't mind giving you a trial."

  "Thank you very much, sir."

  "You can start at once. I'll give you six shillings
a week and your keep. Everything found, you know; the six shillings
is only pocket money, to do what you like with, paid monthly. Start
on Monday. I suppose you've got no cause of complaint with
that."

  "No, sir."

  "Harrington Street, d'you know where that is,
Shaftesbury Avenue. That's where you sleep. Number ten, it is. You
can sleep there on Sunday night, if you like; that's just as you
please, or you can send your box there on Monday." The manager
nodded: "Good-morning."

  Mrs. Athelny lent Philip money to pay his landlady
enough of her bill to let him take his things away. For five
shillings and the pawn-ticket on a suit he was able to get from a
pawnbroker a frock coat which fitted him fairly well. He redeemed
the rest of his clothes. He sent his box to Harrington Street by
Carter Patterson and on Monday morning went with Athelny to the
shop. Athelny introduced him to the buyer of the costumes and left
him. The buyer was a pleasant, fussy little man of thirty, named
Sampson; he shook hands with Philip, and, in order to show his own
accomplishment of which he was very proud, asked him if he spoke
French. He was surprised when Philip told him he did.