Chapter XCIX

by William Somerset Maugham

　　Philip began to pawn his clothes. He reduced his expenses by eating onlyone meal a day beside his breakfast; and he ate it, bread and butter andcocoa, at four so that it should last him till next morning. He was sohungry by nine o'clock that he had to go to bed. He thought of borrowingmoney from Lawson, but the fear of a refusal held him back; at last heasked him for five pounds. Lawson lent it with pleasure, but, as he didso, said:"You'll let me have it back in a week or so, won't you? I've got to pay myframer, and I'm awfully broke just now."Philip knew he would not be able to return it, and the thought of whatLawson would think made him so ashamed that in a couple of days he tookthe money back untouched. Lawson was just going out to luncheon and askedPhilip to come too. Philip could hardly eat, he was so glad to get somesolid food. On Sunday he was sure of a good dinner from Athelny. Hehesitated to tell the Athelnys what had happened to him: they had alwayslooked upon him as comparatively well-to-do, and he had a dread that theywould think less well of him if they knew he was penniless.Though he had always been poor, the possibility of not having enough toeat had never occurred to him; it was not the sort of thing that happenedto the people among whom he lived; and he was as ashamed as if he had somedisgraceful disease. The situation in which he found himself was quiteoutside the range of his experience. He was so taken aback that he did notknow what else to do than to go on at the hospital; he had a vague hopethat something would turn up; he could not quite believe that what washappening to him was true; and he remembered how during his first term atschool he had often thought his life was a dream from which he would awaketo find himself once more at home. But very soon he foresaw that in a weekor so he would have no money at all. He must set about trying to earnsomething at once. If he had been qualified, even with a club-foot, hecould have gone out to the Cape, since the demand for medical men was nowgreat. Except for his deformity he might have enlisted in one of theyeomanry regiments which were constantly being sent out. He went to thesecretary of the Medical School and asked if he could give him thecoaching of some backward student; but the secretary held out no hope ofgetting him anything of the sort. Philip read the advertisement columns ofthe medical papers, and he applied for the post of unqualified assistantto a man who had a dispensary in the Fulham Road. When he went to see him,he saw the doctor glance at his club-foot; and on hearing that Philip wasonly in his fourth year at the hospital he said at once that hisexperience was insufficient: Philip understood that this was only anexcuse; the man would not have an assistant who might not be as active ashe wanted. Philip turned his attention to other means of earning money. Heknew French and German and thought there might be some chance of findinga job as correspondence clerk; it made his heart sink, but he set histeeth; there was nothing else to do. Though too shy to answer theadvertisements which demanded a personal application, he replied to thosewhich asked for letters; but he had no experience to state and norecommendations: he was conscious that neither his German nor his Frenchwas commercial; he was ignorant of the terms used in business; he knewneither shorthand nor typewriting. He could not help recognising that hiscase was hopeless. He thought of writing to the solicitor who had been hisfather's executor, but he could not bring himself to, for it was contraryto his express advice that he had sold the mortgages in which his moneyhad been invested. He knew from his uncle that Mr. Nixon thoroughlydisapproved of him. He had gathered from Philip's year in the accountant'soffice that he was idle and incompetent."I'd sooner starve," Philip muttered to himself.Once or twice the possibility of suicide presented itself to him; it wouldbe easy to get something from the hospital dispensary, and it was acomfort to think that if the worst came to the worst he had at hand meansof making a painless end of himself; but it was not a course that heconsidered seriously. When Mildred had left him to go with Griffiths hisanguish had been so great that he wanted to die in order to get rid of thepain. He did not feel like that now. He remembered that the CasualtySister had told him how people oftener did away with themselves for wantof money than for want of love; and he chuckled when he thought that hewas an exception. He wished only that he could talk his worries over withsomebody, but he could not bring himself to confess them. He was ashamed.He went on looking for work. He left his rent unpaid for three weeks,explaining to his landlady that he would get money at the end of themonth; she did not say anything, but pursed her lips and looked grim. Whenthe end of the month came and she asked if it would be convenient for himto pay something on account, it made him feel very sick to say that hecould not; he told her he would write to his uncle and was sure to be ableto settle his bill on the following Saturday."Well, I 'ope you will, Mr. Carey, because I 'ave my rent to pay, and Ican't afford to let accounts run on." She did not speak with anger, butwith determination that was rather frightening. She paused for a momentand then said: "If you don't pay next Saturday, I shall 'ave to complainto the secretary of the 'ospital.""Oh yes, that'll be all right."She looked at him for a little and glanced round the bare room. When shespoke it was without any emphasis, as though it were quite a natural thingto say."I've got a nice 'ot joint downstairs, and if you like to come down to thekitchen you're welcome to a bit of dinner."Philip felt himself redden to the soles of his feet, and a sob caught athis throat."Thank you very much, Mrs. Higgins, but I'm not at all hungry.""Very good, sir."When she left the room Philip threw himself on his bed. He had to clenchhis fists in order to prevent himself from crying.