Chapter LXVIII

by William Somerset Maugham

　　One morning Philip on getting up felt his head swim, and going back to bedsuddenly discovered he was ill. All his limbs ached and he shivered withcold. When the landlady brought in his breakfast he called to her throughthe open door that he was not well, and asked for a cup of tea and a pieceof toast. A few minutes later there was a knock at his door, and Griffithscame in. They had lived in the same house for over a year, but had neverdone more than nod to one another in the passage."I say, I hear you're seedy," said Griffiths. "I thought I'd come in andsee what was the matter with you."Philip, blushing he knew not why, made light of the whole thing. He wouldbe all right in an hour or two."Well, you'd better let me take your temperature," said Griffiths."It's quite unnecessary," answered Philip irritably."Come on."Philip put the thermometer in his mouth. Griffiths sat on the side of thebed and chatted brightly for a moment, then he took it out and looked atit."Now, look here, old man, you must stay in bed, and I'll bring old Deaconin to have a look at you.""Nonsense," said Philip. "There's nothing the matter. I wish you wouldn'tbother about me.""But it isn't any bother. You've got a temperature and you must stay inbed. You will, won't you?"There was a peculiar charm in his manner, a mingling of gravity andkindliness, which was infinitely attractive."You've got a wonderful bed-side manner," Philip murmured, closing hiseyes with a smile.Griffiths shook out his pillow for him, deftly smoothed down thebedclothes, and tucked him up. He went into Philip's sitting-room to lookfor a siphon, could not find one, and fetched it from his own room. Hedrew down the blind."Now, go to sleep and I'll bring the old man round as soon as he's donethe wards."It seemed hours before anyone came to Philip. His head felt as if it wouldsplit, anguish rent his limbs, and he was afraid he was going to cry. Thenthere was a knock at the door and Griffiths, healthy, strong, andcheerful, came in."Here's Doctor Deacon," he said.The physician stepped forward, an elderly man with a bland manner, whomPhilip knew only by sight. A few questions, a brief examination, and thediagnosis."What d'you make it?" he asked Griffiths, smiling."Influenza.""Quite right."Doctor Deacon looked round the dingy lodging-house room."Wouldn't you like to go to the hospital? They'll put you in a privateward, and you can be better looked after than you can here.""I'd rather stay where I am," said Philip.He did not want to be disturbed, and he was always shy of newsurroundings. He did not fancy nurses fussing about him, and the drearycleanliness of the hospital."I can look after him, sir," said Griffiths at once."Oh, very well."He wrote a prescription, gave instructions, and left."Now you've got to do exactly as I tell you," said Griffiths. "I'mday-nurse and night-nurse all in one.""It's very kind of you, but I shan't want anything," said Philip.Griffiths put his hand on Philip's forehead, a large cool, dry hand, andthe touch seemed to him good."I'm just going to take this round to the dispensary to have it made up,and then I'll come back."In a little while he brought the medicine and gave Philip a dose. Then hewent upstairs to fetch his books."You won't mind my working in your room this afternoon, will you?" hesaid, when he came down. "I'll leave the door open so that you can give mea shout if you want anything."Later in the day Philip, awaking from an uneasy doze, heard voices in hissitting-room. A friend had come in to see Griffiths."I say, you'd better not come in tonight," he heard Griffiths saying.And then a minute or two afterwards someone else entered the room andexpressed his surprise at finding Griffiths there. Philip heard himexplain."I'm looking after a second year's man who's got these rooms. The wretchedblighter's down with influenza. No whist tonight, old man."Presently Griffiths was left alone and Philip called him."I say, you're not putting off a party tonight, are you?" he asked."Not on your account. I must work at my surgery.""Don't put it off. I shall be all right. You needn't bother about me.""That's all right."Philip grew worse. As the night came on he became slightly delirious, buttowards morning he awoke from a restless sleep. He saw Griffiths get outof an arm-chair, go down on his knees, and with his fingers put pieceafter piece of coal on the fire. He was in pyjamas and a dressing-gown."What are you doing here?" he asked."Did I wake you up? I tried to make up the fire without making a row.""Why aren't you in bed? What's the time?""About five. I thought I'd better sit up with you tonight. I brought anarm-chair in as I thought if I put a mattress down I should sleep sosoundly that I shouldn't hear you if you wanted anything.""I wish you wouldn't be so good to me," groaned Philip. "Suppose you catchit?""Then you shall nurse me, old man," said Griffiths, with a laugh.In the morning Griffiths drew up the blind. He looked pale and tired afterhis night's watch, but was full of spirits."Now, I'm going to wash you," he said to Philip cheerfully."I can wash myself," said Philip, ashamed."Nonsense. If you were in the small ward a nurse would wash you, and I cando it just as well as a nurse."Philip, too weak and wretched to resist, allowed Griffiths to wash hishands and face, his feet, his chest and back. He did it with charmingtenderness, carrying on meanwhile a stream of friendly chatter; then hechanged the sheet just as they did at the hospital, shook out the pillow,and arranged the bed-clothes."I should like Sister Arthur to see me. It would make her sit up. Deacon'scoming in to see you early.""I can't imagine why you should be so good to me," said Philip."It's good practice for me. It's rather a lark having a patient."Griffiths gave him his breakfast and went off to get dressed and havesomething to eat. A few minutes before ten he came back with a bunch ofgrapes and a few flowers."You are awfully kind," said Philip.He was in bed for five days.Norah and Griffiths nursed him between them. Though Griffiths was the sameage as Philip he adopted towards him a humorous, motherly attitude. He wasa thoughtful fellow, gentle and encouraging; but his greatest quality wasa vitality which seemed to give health to everyone with whom he came incontact. Philip was unused to the petting which most people enjoy frommothers or sisters and he was deeply touched by the feminine tenderness ofthis strong young man. Philip grew better. Then Griffiths, sitting idly inPhilip's room, amused him with gay stories of amorous adventure. He was aflirtatious creature, capable of carrying on three or four affairs at atime; and his account of the devices he was forced to in order to keep outof difficulties made excellent hearing. He had a gift for throwing aromantic glamour over everything that happened to him. He was crippledwith debts, everything he had of any value was pawned, but he managedalways to be cheerful, extravagant, and generous. He was the adventurer bynature. He loved people of doubtful occupations and shifty purposes; andhis acquaintance among the riff-raff that frequents the bars of London wasenormous. Loose women, treating him as a friend, told him the troubles,difficulties, and successes of their lives; and card-sharpers, respectinghis impecuniosity, stood him dinners and lent him five-pound notes. He wasploughed in his examinations time after time; but he bore this cheerfully,and submitted with such a charming grace to the parental expostulationsthat his father, a doctor in practice at Leeds, had not the heart to beseriously angry with him."I'm an awful fool at books," he said cheerfully, "but I can't work."Life was much too jolly. But it was clear that when he had got through theexuberance of his youth, and was at last qualified, he would be atremendous success in practice. He would cure people by the sheer charm ofhis manner.Philip worshipped him as at school he had worshipped boys who were talland straight and high of spirits. By the time he was well they were fastfriends, and it was a peculiar satisfaction to Philip that Griffithsseemed to enjoy sitting in his little parlour, wasting Philip's time withhis amusing chatter and smoking innumerable cigarettes. Philip took himsometimes to the tavern off Regent Street. Hayward found him stupid, butLawson recognised his charm and was eager to paint him; he was apicturesque figure with his blue eyes, white skin, and curly hair. Oftenthey discussed things he knew nothing about, and then he sat quietly, witha good-natured smile on his handsome face, feeling quite rightly that hispresence was sufficient contribution to the entertainment of the company.When he discovered that Macalister was a stockbroker he was eager fortips; and Macalister, with his grave smile, told him what fortunes hecould have made if he had bought certain stock at certain times. It madePhilip's mouth water, for in one way and another he was spending more thanhe had expected, and it would have suited him very well to make a littlemoney by the easy method Macalister suggested."Next time I hear of a really good thing I'll let you know," said thestockbroker. "They do come along sometimes. It's only a matter of bidingone's time."Philip could not help thinking how delightful it would be to make fiftypounds, so that he could give Norah the furs she so badly needed for thewinter. He looked at the shops in Regent Street and picked out thearticles he could buy for the money. She deserved everything. She made hislife very happy