Chapter CI

by William Somerset Maugham

　　When Philip rang a head was put out of the window, and in a minute heheard a noisy clatter on the stairs as the children ran down to let himin. It was a pale, anxious, thin face that he bent down for them to kiss.He was so moved by their exuberant affection that, to give himself time torecover, he made excuses to linger on the stairs. He was in a hystericalstate and almost anything was enough to make him cry. They asked him whyhe had not come on the previous Sunday, and he told them he had been ill;they wanted to know what was the matter with him; and Philip, to amusethem, suggested a mysterious ailment, the name of which, double-barrelledand barbarous with its mixture of Greek and Latin (medical nomenclaturebristled with such), made them shriek with delight. They dragged Philipinto the parlour and made him repeat it for their father's edification.Athelny got up and shook hands with him. He stared at Philip, but with hisround, bulging eyes he always seemed to stare, Philip did not know why onthis occasion it made him self-conscious."We missed you last Sunday," he said.Philip could never tell lies without embarrassment, and he was scarletwhen he finished his explanation for not coming. Then Mrs. Athelny enteredand shook hands with him."I hope you're better, Mr. Carey," she said.He did not know why she imagined that anything had been the matter withhim, for the kitchen door was closed when he came up with the children,and they had not left him."Dinner won't be ready for another ten minutes," she said, in her slowdrawl. "Won't you have an egg beaten up in a glass of milk while you'rewaiting?"There was a look of concern on her face which made Philip uncomfortable.He forced a laugh and answered that he was not at all hungry. Sally camein to lay the table, and Philip began to chaff her. It was the family jokethat she would be as fat as an aunt of Mrs. Athelny, called AuntElizabeth, whom the children had never seen but regarded as the type ofobscene corpulence."I say, what has happened since I saw you last, Sally?" Philip began."Nothing that I know of.""I believe you've been putting on weight.""I'm sure you haven't," she retorted. "You're a perfect skeleton."Philip reddened."That's a tu quoque, Sally," cried her father. "You will be fined onegolden hair of your head. Jane, fetch the shears.""Well, he is thin, father," remonstrated Sally. "He's just skin and bone.""That's not the question, child. He is at perfect liberty to be thin, butyour obesity is contrary to decorum."As he spoke he put his arm proudly round her waist and looked at her withadmiring eyes."Let me get on with the table, father. If I am comfortable there are somewho don't seem to mind it.""The hussy!" cried Athelny, with a dramatic wave of the hand. "She tauntsme with the notorious fact that Joseph, a son of Levi who sells jewels inHolborn, has made her an offer of marriage.""Have you accepted him, Sally?" asked Philip."Don't you know father better than that by this time? There's not a wordof truth in it.""Well, if he hasn't made you an offer of marriage," cried Athelny, "bySaint George and Merry England, I will seize him by the nose and demand ofhim immediately what are his intentions.""Sit down, father, dinner's ready. Now then, you children, get along withyou and wash your hands all of you, and don't shirk it, because I mean tolook at them before you have a scrap of dinner, so there."Philip thought he was ravenous till he began to eat, but then discoveredthat his stomach turned against food, and he could eat hardly at all. Hisbrain was weary; and he did not notice that Athelny, contrary to hishabit, spoke very little. Philip was relieved to be sitting in acomfortable house, but every now and then he could not prevent himselffrom glancing out of the window. The day was tempestuous. The fine weatherhad broken; and it was cold, and there was a bitter wind; now and againgusts of rain drove against the window. Philip wondered what he should dothat night. The Athelnys went to bed early, and he could not stay where hewas after ten o'clock. His heart sank at the thought of going out into thebleak darkness. It seemed more terrible now that he was with his friendsthan when he was outside and alone. He kept on saying to himself thatthere were plenty more who would be spending the night out of doors. Hestrove to distract his mind by talking, but in the middle of his words aspatter of rain against the window would make him start."It's like March weather," said Athelny. "Not the sort of day one wouldlike to be crossing the Channel."Presently they finished, and Sally came in and cleared away."Would you like a twopenny stinker?" said Athelny, handing him a cigar.Philip took it and inhaled the smoke with delight. It soothed himextraordinarily. When Sally had finished Athelny told her to shut the doorafter her."Now we shan't be disturbed," he said, turning to Philip. "I've arrangedwith Betty not to let the children come in till I call them."Philip gave him a startled look, but before he could take in the meaningof his words, Athelny, fixing his glasses on his nose with the gesturehabitual 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 beatviolently. Athelny did not speak, and presently the silence seemedintolerable 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 shesaid you owed her for the last month. Where have you been sleeping allthis 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 tolook 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 eyesand frowned, trying to control himself. He felt a sudden flash of angerwith Athelny because he would not leave him alone; but he was broken; andpresently, his eyes still closed, slowly in order to keep his voicesteady, 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 itstill 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," saidAthelny, 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 hewould 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 theirlarge family had neither space nor money to entertain a stranger."Of course you must come here," said Athelny. "Thorpe will tuck in withone of his brothers and you can sleep in his bed. You don't suppose yourfood's going to make any difference to us."Philip was afraid to speak, and Athelny, going to the door, called hiswife."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 tohim, and when they were it surprised and moved him. Now he could notprevent two large tears from rolling down his cheeks. The Athelnysdiscussed the arrangements and pretended not to notice to what a state hisweakness had brought him. When Mrs. Athelny left them Philip leaned backin his chair, and looking out of the window laughed a little."It's not a very nice night to be out, is it?"