Chapter XXXVI

by William Somerset Maugham

　　A few days later Philip went to London. The curate had recommended roomsin Barnes, and these Philip engaged by letter at fourteen shillings aweek. He reached them in the evening; and the landlady, a funny little oldwoman with a shrivelled body and a deeply wrinkled face, had prepared hightea for him. Most of the sitting-room was taken up by the sideboard and asquare table; against one wall was a sofa covered with horsehair, and bythe fireplace an arm-chair to match: there was a white antimacassar overthe back of it, and on the seat, because the springs were broken, a hardcushion.After having his tea he unpacked and arranged his books, then he sat downand tried to read; but he was depressed. The silence in the street madehim slightly uncomfortable, and he felt very much alone.Next day he got up early. He put on his tail-coat and the tall hat whichhe had worn at school; but it was very shabby, and he made up his mind tostop at the Stores on his way to the office and buy a new one. When he haddone this he found himself in plenty of time and so walked along theStrand. The office of Messrs. Herbert Carter & Co. was in a little streetoff Chancery Lane, and he had to ask his way two or three times. He feltthat people were staring at him a great deal, and once he took off his hatto see whether by chance the label had been left on. When he arrived heknocked at the door; but no one answered, and looking at his watch hefound it was barely half past nine; he supposed he was too early. He wentaway and ten minutes later returned to find an office-boy, with a longnose, pimply face, and a Scotch accent, opening the door. Philip asked forMr. Herbert Carter. He had not come yet."When will he be here?""Between ten and half past.""I'd better wait," said Philip."What are you wanting?" asked the office-boy.Philip was nervous, but tried to hide the fact by a jocose manner."Well, I'm going to work here if you have no objection.""Oh, you're the new articled clerk? You'd better come in. Mr.Goodworthy'll be here in a while."Philip walked in, and as he did so saw the office-boy--he was about thesame age as Philip and called himself a junior clerk--look at his foot. Heflushed and, sitting down, hid it behind the other. He looked round theroom. It was dark and very dingy. It was lit by a skylight. There werethree rows of desks in it and against them high stools. Over thechimney-piece was a dirty engraving of a prize-fight. Presently a clerkcame in and then another; they glanced at Philip and in an undertone askedthe office-boy (Philip found his name was Macdougal) who he was. A whistleblew, and Macdougal got up."Mr. Goodworthy's come. He's the managing clerk. Shall I tell him you'rehere?""Yes, please," said Philip.The office-boy went out and in a moment returned."Will you come this way?"Philip followed him across the passage and was shown into a room, smalland barely furnished, in which a little, thin man was standing with hisback to the fireplace. He was much below the middle height, but his largehead, which seemed to hang loosely on his body, gave him an oddungainliness. His features were wide and flattened, and he had prominent,pale eyes; his thin hair was sandy; he wore whiskers that grew unevenly onhis face, and in places where you would have expected the hair to growthickly there was no hair at all. His skin was pasty and yellow. He heldout his hand to Philip, and when he smiled showed badly decayed teeth. Hespoke with a patronising and at the same time a timid air, as though hesought to assume an importance which he did not feel. He said he hopedPhilip would like the work; there was a good deal of drudgery about it,but when you got used to it, it was interesting; and one made money, thatwas the chief thing, wasn't it? He laughed with his odd mixture ofsuperiority and shyness."Mr. Carter will be here presently," he said. "He's a little late onMonday mornings sometimes. I'll call you when he comes. In the meantime Imust give you something to do. Do you know anything about book-keeping oraccounts?""I'm afraid not," answered Philip."I didn't suppose you would. They don't teach you things at school thatare much use in business, I'm afraid." He considered for a moment. "Ithink I can find you something to do."He went into the next room and after a little while came out with a largecardboard box. It contained a vast number of letters in great disorder,and he told Philip to sort them out and arrange them alphabeticallyaccording to the names of the writers."I'll take you to the room in which the articled clerk generally sits.There's a very nice fellow in it. His name is Watson. He's a son ofWatson, Crag, and Thompson--you know--the brewers. He's spending a yearwith us to learn business."Mr. Goodworthy led Philip through the dingy office, where now six or eightclerks were working, into a narrow room behind. It had been made into aseparate apartment by a glass partition, and here they found Watsonsitting back in a chair, reading The Sportsman. He was a large, stoutyoung man, elegantly dressed, and he looked up as Mr. Goodworthy entered.He asserted his position by calling the managing clerk Goodworthy. Themanaging clerk objected to the familiarity, and pointedly called him Mr.Watson, but Watson, instead of seeing that it was a rebuke, accepted thetitle as a tribute to his gentlemanliness."I see they've scratched Rigoletto," he said to Philip, as soon as theywere left alone."Have they?" said Philip, who knew nothing about horse-racing.He looked with awe upon Watson's beautiful clothes. His tail-coat fittedhim perfectly, and there was a valuable pin artfully stuck in the middleof an enormous tie. On the chimney-piece rested his tall hat; it was saucyand bell-shaped and shiny. Philip felt himself very shabby. Watson beganto talk of hunting--it was such an infernal bore having to waste one'stime in an infernal office, he would only be able to hunt onSaturdays--and shooting: he had ripping invitations all over the countryand of course he had to refuse them. It was infernal luck, but he wasn'tgoing to put up with it long; he was only in this internal hole for ayear, and then he was going into the business, and he would hunt four daysa week and get all the shooting there was."You've got five years of it, haven't you?" he said, waving his arm roundthe tiny room."I suppose so," said Philip."I daresay I shall see something of you. Carter does our accounts, youknow."Philip was somewhat overpowered by the young gentleman's condescension. AtBlackstable they had always looked upon brewing with civil contempt, theVicar made little jokes about the beerage, and it was a surprisingexperience for Philip to discover that Watson was such an important andmagnificent fellow. He had been to Winchester and to Oxford, and hisconversation impressed the fact upon one with frequency. When hediscovered the details of Philip's education his manner became morepatronising still."Of course, if one doesn't go to a public school those sort of schools arethe next best thing, aren't they?"Philip asked about the other men in the office."Oh, I don't bother about them much, you know," said Watson. "Carter's nota bad sort. We have him to dine now and then. All the rest are awfulbounders."Presently Watson applied himself to some work he had in hand, and Philipset about sorting his letters. Then Mr. Goodworthy came in to say that Mr.Carter had arrived. He took Philip into a large room next door to his own.There was a big desk in it, and a couple of big arm-chairs; a Turkeycarpet adorned the floor, and the walls were decorated with sportingprints. Mr. Carter was sitting at the desk and got up to shake hands withPhilip. He was dressed in a long frock coat. He looked like a militaryman; his moustache was waxed, his gray hair was short and neat, he heldhimself upright, he talked in a breezy way, he lived at Enfield. He wasvery keen on games and the good of the country. He was an officer in theHertfordshire Yeomanry and chairman of the Conservative Association. Whenhe was told that a local magnate had said no one would take him for a Cityman, he felt that he had not lived in vain. He talked to Philip in apleasant, off-hand fashion. Mr. Goodworthy would look after him. Watsonwas a nice fellow, perfect gentleman, good sportsman--did Philip hunt?Pity, the 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 toRugby, fine school Rugby, nice class of boys there, in a couple of yearshis son would be articled, that would be nice for Philip, he'd like hisson, thorough sportsman. He hoped Philip would get on well and like thework, he mustn't miss his lectures, they were getting up the tone of theprofession, they wanted gentlemen in it. Well, well, Mr. Goodworthy wasthere. If he wanted to know anything Mr. Goodworthy would tell him. Whatwas his handwriting like? Ah well, Mr. Goodworthy would see about that.Philip was overwhelmed by so much gentlemanliness: in East Anglia theyknew who were gentlemen and who weren't, but the gentlemen didn't talkabout it.