Of Human Bondage - W. Somerset Maugham [236]
Cronshaw was often so ill-humored that Philip could only keep his temper by remembering all the time that this irritability was a symptom of the disease. Upjohn came sometimes before Philip was in, and then Cronshaw would complain of him bitterly. Upjohn listened with complacency.
“The fact is that Carey has no sense of beauty,” he smiled. “He has a middle-class mind.”
He was very sarcastic to Philip, and Philip exercised a good deal of self-control in his dealings with him. But one evening he could not contain himself. He had had a hard day at the hospital and was tired out. Leonard Upjohn came to him, while he was making himself a cup of tea in the kitchen, and said that Cronshaw was complaining of Philip’s insistence that he should have a doctor.
“Don’t you realize that you’re enjoying a very rare, a very exquisite privilege? You ought to do everything in your power, surely, to show your sense of the greatness of your trust.”
“It’s a rare and exquisite privilege which I can ill afford,” said Philip.
Whenever there was any question of money, Leonard Upjohn assumed a slightly disdainful expression. His sensitive temperament was offended by the reference.
“There’s something fine in Cronshaw’s attitude, and you disturb it by your importunity. You should make allowances for the delicate imaginings which you cannot feel.”
Philip’s face darkened.
“Let us go in to Cronshaw,” he said frigidly.
The poet was lying on his back, reading a book, with a pipe in his mouth. The air was musty; and the room, notwithstanding Philip’s tidying up, had the bedraggled look which seemed to accompany Cronshaw wherever he went. He took off his spectacles as they came in. Philip was in a towering rage.
“Upjohn tells me you’ve been complaining to him because I’ve urged you to have a doctor,” he said. “I want you to have a doctor, because you may die any day, and if you hadn’t been seen by anyone I shouldn’t be able to get a certificate. There’d have to be an inquest and I should be blamed for not calling a doctor in.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. I thought you wanted me to see a doctor for my sake and not for your own. I’ll see a doctor whenever you like.”
Philip did not answer, but gave an almost imperceptible shrug of the shoulders. Cronshaw, watching him, gave a little chuckle.
“Don’t look so angry, my dear. I know very well you want to do everything you can for me. Let’s see your doctor, perhaps he can do something for me, and at any rate it’ll comfort you.” He turned his eyes to Upjohn. “You’re a damned fool, Leonard. Why d’you want to worry the boy? He has quite enough to do to put up with me. You’ll do nothing more for me than write a pretty article about me after my death. I know you.”
Next day Philip went to Dr. Tyrell. He felt that he was the sort of man to be interested by the story, and as soon as Tyrell was free of his day’s work he accompanied Philip to Kennington. He could only agree with what Philip had told him. The case was hopeless.
“I’ll take him into the hospital if you like,” he said. “He can have a small ward.”
“Nothing would induce him to come.”
“You know, he may die any minute, or else he may get another attack of pneumonia.”
Philip nodded. Dr. Tyrell made one or two suggestions, and promised to come again whenever Philip wanted him to. He left his address. When Philip went back to Cronshaw he found him quietly reading. He did not trouble to inquire what the doctor had said.
“Are you satisfied now, dear boy?” he asked.
“I suppose nothing will induce you to do any of the things Tyrell advised?”
“Nothing,” smiled Cronshaw.
LXXXV
About a fortnight after this Philip, going home one evening after his day’s work at the hospital, knocked at the door of Cronshaw’s room. He got no answer and walked in. Cronshaw was lying huddled up on one side, and Philip went up to the bed. He did not know whether Cronshaw was asleep or merely lay there in one of his uncontrollable fits of irritability. He was surprised to see that his mouth was open. He touched