sport for gentlemen. Didn’t have much chance
of hunting now, had to leave that to his son.
His son was at Cambridge, he’d sent him to Rugby,
fine school Rugby, nice class of boys there, in a couple
of years his son would be articled, that would be
nice for Philip, he’d like his son, thorough
sportsman. He hoped Philip would get on well and
like the work, he mustn’t miss his lectures,
they were getting up the tone of the profession, they
wanted gentlemen in it. Well, well, Mr. Goodworthy
was there. If he wanted to know anything Mr.
Goodworthy would tell him. What was his handwriting
like? Ah well, Mr. Goodworthy would see about
that.
Philip was overwhelmed by so much gentlemanliness:
in East Anglia they knew who were gentlemen and who
weren’t, but the gentlemen didn’t talk
about it.
At first the novelty of the work kept Philip interested.
Mr. Carter dictated letters to him, and he had to
make fair copies of statements of accounts.
Mr. Carter preferred to conduct the office on gentlemanly
lines; he would have nothing to do with typewriting
and looked upon shorthand with disfavour: the
office-boy knew shorthand, but it was only Mr. Goodworthy
who made use of his accomplishment. Now and then
Philip with one of the more experienced clerks went
out to audit the accounts of some firm: he came
to know which of the clients must be treated with respect
and which were in low water. Now and then long
lists of figures were given him to add up. He
attended lectures for his first examination. Mr.
Goodworthy repeated to him that the work was dull
at first, but he would grow used to it. Philip
left the office at six and walked across the river
to Waterloo. His supper was waiting for him when
he reached his lodgings and he spent the evening reading.
On Saturday afternoons he went to the National Gallery.
Hayward had recommended to him a guide which had been
compiled out of Ruskin’s works, and with this
in hand he went industriously through room after room:
he read carefully what the critic had said about a
picture and then in a determined fashion set himself
to see the same things in it. His Sundays were
difficult to get through. He knew no one in London
and spent them by himself. Mr. Nixon, the solicitor,
asked him to spend a Sunday at Hampstead, and Philip
passed a happy day with a set of exuberant strangers;
he ate and drank a great deal, took a walk on the
heath, and came away with a general invitation to come
again whenever he liked; but he was morbidly afraid
of being in the way, so waited for a formal invitation.
Naturally enough it never came, for with numbers of
friends of their own the Nixons did not think of the
lonely, silent boy whose claim upon their hospitality
was so small. So on Sundays he got up late and
took a walk along the tow-path. At Barnes the
river is muddy, dingy, and tidal; it has neither the
graceful charm of the Thames above the locks nor the
