Of Human Bondage (88 page)

  "I don't know what you mean," she answered.

  "Please don't be angry with me. I should never have
asked you to come and live here if I'd not meant our relations to
be merely friendly. I suggested it because I thought you wanted a
home and you would have a chance of looking about for something to
do."

  "Oh, don't think I care."

  "I don't for a moment," he hastened to say. "You
mustn't think I'm ungrateful. I realise that you only proposed it
for my sake. It's just a feeling I have, and I can't help it, it
would make the whole thing ugly and horrid."

  "You are funny" she said, looking at him curiously.
"I can't make you out."

  She was not angry with him now, but puzzled; she had
no idea what he meant: she accepted the situation, she had indeed a
vague feeling that he was behaving in a very noble fashion and that
she ought to admire it; but also she felt inclined to laugh at him
and perhaps even to despise him a little.

  "He's a rum customer," she thought.

  Life went smoothly enough with them. Philip spent
all day at the hospital and worked at home in the evening except
when he went to the Athelnys' or to the tavern in Beak Street. Once
the physician for whom he clerked asked him to a solemn dinner, and
two or three times he went to parties given by fellow-students.
Mildred accepted the monotony of her life. If she minded that
Philip left her sometimes by herself in the evening she never
mentioned it. Occasionally he took her to a music hall. He carried
out his intention that the only tie between them should be the
domestic service she did in return for board and lodging. She had
made up her mind that it was no use trying to get work that summer,
and with Philip's approval determined to stay where she was till
the autumn. She thought it would be easy to get something to do
then.

  "As far as I'm concerned you can stay on here when
you've got a job if it's convenient. The room's there, and the
woman who did for me before can come in to look after the
baby."

  He grew very much attached to Mildred's child. He
had a naturally affectionate disposition, which had had little
opportunity to display itself. Mildred was not unkind to the little
girl. She looked after her very well and once when she had a bad
cold proved herself a devoted nurse; but the child bored her, and
she spoke to her sharply when she bothered; she was fond of her,
but had not the maternal passion which might have induced her to
forget herself. Mildred had no demonstrativeness, and she found the
manifestations of affection ridiculous. When Philip sat with the
baby on his knees, playing with it and kissing it, she laughed at
him.

  "You couldn't make more fuss of her if you was her
father," she said. "You're perfectly silly with the child."

  Philip flushed, for he hated to be laughed at. It
was absurd to be so devoted to another man's baby, and he was a
little ashamed of the overflowing of his heart. But the child,
feeling Philip's attachment, would put her face against his or
nestle in his arms.

  "It's all very fine for you," said Mildred. "You
don't have any of the disagreeable part of it. How would you like
being kept awake for an hour in the middle of the night because her
ladyship wouldn't go to sleep?"

  Philip remembered all sorts of things of his
childhood which he thought he had long forgotten. He took hold of
the baby's toes.

  "This little pig went to market, this little pig
stayed at home."

  When he came home in the evening and entered the
sitting-room his first glance was for the baby sprawling on the
floor, and it gave him a little thrill of delight to hear the
child's crow of pleasure at seeing him. Mildred taught her to call
him daddy, and when the child did this for the first time of her
own accord, laughed immoderately.

  "I wonder if you're that stuck on baby because she's
mine," asked Mildred, "or if you'd be the same with anybody's
baby."

  "I've never known anybody else's baby, so I can't
say," said Philip.

  Towards the end of his second term as in-patients'
clerk a piece of good fortune befell Philip. It was the middle of
July. He went one Tuesday evening to the tavern in Beak Street and
found nobody there but Macalister. They sat together, chatting
about their absent friends, and after a while Macalister said to
him:

  "Oh, by the way, I heard of a rather good thing
today, New Kleinfonteins; it's a gold mine in Rhodesia. If you'd
like to have a flutter you might make a bit."

  Philip had been waiting anxiously for such an
opportunity, but now that it came he hesitated. He was desperately
afraid of losing money. He had little of the gambler's spirit.

  "I'd love to, but I don't know if I dare risk it.
How much could I lose if things went wrong?"

  "I shouldn't have spoken of it, only you seemed so
keen about it," Macalister answered coldly.

  Philip felt that Macalister looked upon him as
rather a donkey.

  "I'm awfully keen on making a bit," he laughed.

  "You can't make money unless you're prepared to risk
money."

  Macalister began to talk of other things and Philip,
while he was answering him, kept thinking that if the venture
turned out well the stockbroker would be very facetious at his
expense next time they met. Macalister had a sarcastic tongue.

  "I think I will have a flutter if you don't mind,"
said Philip anxiously.

  "All right. I'll buy you two hundred and fifty
shares and if I see a half-crown rise I'll sell them at once."

  Philip quickly reckoned out how much that would
amount to, and his mouth watered; thirty pounds would be a godsend
just then, and he thought the fates owed him something. He told
Mildred what he had done when he saw her at breakfast next morning.
She thought him very silly.

  "I never knew anyone who made money on the Stock
Exchange," she said. "That's what Emil always said, you can't
expect to make money on the Stock Exchange, he said."

  Philip bought an evening paper on his way home and
turned at once to the money columns. He knew nothing about these
things and had difficulty in finding the stock which Macalister had
spoken of. He saw they had advanced a quarter. His heart leaped,
and then he felt sick with apprehension in case Macalister had
forgotten or for some reason had not bought. Macalister had
promised to telegraph. Philip could not wait to take a tram home.
He jumped into a cab. It was an unwonted extravagance.

  "Is there a telegram for me?" he said, as he burst
in.

  "No," said Mildred.

  His face fell, and in bitter disappointment he sank
heavily into a chair.

  "Then he didn't buy them for me after all. Curse
him," he added violently. "What cruel luck! And I've been thinking
all day of what I'd do with the money."

  "Why, what were you going to do?" she asked.

  "What's the good of thinking about that now? Oh, I
wanted the money so badly."

  She gave a laugh and handed him a telegram.

  "I was only having a joke with you. I opened
it."

  He tore it out of her hands. Macalister had bought
him two hundred and fifty shares and sold them at the half-crown
profit he had suggested. The commission note was to follow next
day. For one moment Philip was furious with Mildred for her cruel
jest, but then he could only think of his joy.

  "It makes such a difference to me," he cried. "I'll
stand you a new dress if you like."

  "I want it badly enough," she answered.

  "I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to be
operated upon at the end of July."

  "Why, have you got something the matter with you?"
she interrupted.

  It struck her that an illness she did not know might
explain what had so much puzzled her. He flushed, for he hated to
refer to his deformity.

  "No, but they think they can do something to my
foot. I couldn't spare the time before, but now it doesn't matter
so much. I shall start my dressing in October instead of next
month. I shall only be in hospital a few weeks and then we can go
away to the seaside for the rest of the summer. It'll do us all
good, you and the baby and me."

  "Oh, let's go to Brighton, Philip, I like Brighton,
you get such a nice class of people there." Philip had vaguely
thought of some little fishing village in Cornwall, but as she
spoke it occurred to him that Mildred would be bored to death
there.

  "I don't mind where we go as long as I get the
sea."

  He did not know why, but he had suddenly an
irresistible longing for the sea. He wanted to bathe, and he
thought with delight of splashing about in the salt water. He was a
good swimmer, and nothing exhilarated him like a rough sea.

  "I say, it will be jolly," he cried.

  "It'll be like a honeymoon, won't it?" she said.
"How much can I have for my new dress, Phil?"

  XCIV

  Philip asked Mr. Jacobs, the assistant-surgeon for
whom he had dressed, to do the operation. Jacobs accepted with
pleasure, since he was interested just then in neglected talipes
and was getting together materials for a paper. He warned Philip
that he could not make his foot like the other, but he thought he
could do a good deal; and though he would always limp he would be
able to wear a boot less unsightly than that which he had been
accustomed to. Philip remembered how he had prayed to a God who was
able to remove mountains for him who had faith, and he smiled
bitterly.

  "I don't expect a miracle," he answered.

  "I think you're wise to let me try what I can do.
You'll find a club-foot rather a handicap in practice. The layman
is full of fads, and he doesn't like his doctor to have anything
the matter with him."

  Philip went into a `small ward', which was a room on
the landing, outside each ward, reserved for special cases. He
remained there a month, for the surgeon would not let him go till
he could walk; and, bearing the operation very well, he had a
pleasant enough time. Lawson and Athelny came to see him, and one
day Mrs. Athelny brought two of her children; students whom he knew
looked in now and again to have a chat; Mildred came twice a week.
Everyone was very kind to him, and Philip, always surprised when
anyone took trouble with him, was touched and grateful. He enjoyed
the relief from care; he need not worry there about the future,
neither whether his money would last out nor whether he would pass
his final examinations; and he could read to his heart's content.
He had not been able to read much of late, since Mildred disturbed
him: she would make an aimless remark when he was trying to
concentrate his attention, and would not be satisfied unless he
answered; whenever he was comfortably settled down with a book she
would want something done and would come to him with a cork she
could not draw or a hammer to drive in a nail.

  They settled to go to Brighton in August. Philip
wanted to take lodgings, but Mildred said that she would have to do
housekeeping, and it would only be a holiday for her if they went
to a boarding-house.

  "I have to see about the food every day at home, I
get that sick of it I want a thorough change."

  Philip agreed, and it happened that Mildred knew of
a boarding-house at Kemp Town where they would not be charged more
than twenty-five shillings a week each. She arranged with Philip to
write about rooms, but when he got back to Kennington he found that
she had done nothing. He was irritated.

  "I shouldn't have thought you had so much to do as
all that," he said.

  "Well, I can't think of everything. It's not my
fault if I forget, is it?"

  Philip was so anxious to get to the sea that he
would not wait to communicate with the mistress of the
boarding-house.

  "We'll leave the luggage at the station and go to
the house and see if they've got rooms, and if they have we can
just send an outside porter for our traps."

  "You can please yourself," said Mildred stiffly.

  She did not like being reproached, and, retiring
huffily into a haughty silence, she sat by listlessly while Philip
made the preparations for their departure. The little flat was hot
and stuffy under the August sun, and from the road beat up a
malodorous sultriness. As he lay in his bed in the small ward with
its red, distempered walls he had longed for fresh air and the
splashing of the sea against his breast. He felt he would go mad if
he had to spend another night in London. Mildred recovered her good
temper when she saw the streets of Brighton crowded with people
making holiday, and they were both in high spirits as they drove
out to Kemp Town. Philip stroked the baby's cheek.

  "We shall get a very different colour into them when
we've been down here a few days," he said, smiling.

  They arrived at the boarding-house and dismissed the
cab. An untidy maid opened the door and, when Philip asked if they
had rooms, said she would inquire. She fetched her mistress. A
middle-aged woman, stout and business-like, came downstairs, gave
them the scrutinising glance of her profession, and asked what
accommodation they required.

  "Two single rooms, and if you've got such a thing
we'd rather like a cot in one of them."

  "I'm afraid I haven't got that. I've got one nice
large double room, and I could let you have a cot."

  "I don't think that would do," said Philip.

  "I could give you another room next week. Brighton's
very full just now, and people have to take what they can get."

  "If it were only for a few days, Philip, I think we
might be able to manage," said Mildred.

  "I think two rooms would be more convenient. Can you
recommend any other place where they take boarders?"

  "I can, but I don't suppose they'd have room any
more than I have."