Of Human Bondage - W. Somerset Maugham [283]
“The only thing I look forward to is getting my refusal soon enough to give me time to look elsewhere.”
The man standing next him glanced at Philip and asked:
“Had any experience?”
“No,” said Philip.
He paused a moment and then made a remark: “Even the smaller houses won’t see you without appointment after lunch.”
Philip looked at the assistants. Some were draping chintzes and cretonnes, and others, his neighbor told him, were preparing country orders that had come in by post. At about a quarter past nine the buyer arrived. He heard one of the men who were waiting say to another that it was Mr. Gibbons. He was middle-aged, short and corpulent, with a black beard and dark, greasy hair. He had brisk movements and a clever face. He wore a silk hat and a frock coat, the lapel of which was adorned with a white geranium surrounded by leaves. He went into his office, leaving the door open; it was, very small and contained only an American roll-desk in the corner, a bookcase, and a cupboard. The men standing outside watched him mechanically take the geranium out of his coat and put it in an ink-pot filled with water. It was against the rules to wear flowers in business.
(During the day the department men who wanted to keep in with the governor admired the flower.
“I’ve never seen better,” they said; “you didn’t grow it yourself?”
“Yes I did,” he smiled, and a gleam of pride filled his intelligent eyes.)
He took off his hat and changed his coat, glanced at the letters and then at the men who were waiting to see him. He made a slight sign with one finger, and the first in the queue stepped into the office. They filed past him one by one and answered his questions. He put them very briefly, keeping his eyes fixed on the applicant’s face.
“Age? Experience? Why did you leave your job?” He listened to the replies without expression. When it came to Philip’s turn he fancied that Mr. Gibbons stared at him curiously. Philip’s clothes were neat and tolerably cut. He looked a little different from the others.
“Experience?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t any,” said Philip.
“No good,”
Philip walked out of the office. The ordeal had been so much less painful that he expected that he felt no particular disappointment. He could hardly hope to succeed in getting a place the first time he tried. He had kept the newspaper and now he looked at the advertisements again: a shop in Holborn needed a salesman too, and he went there; but when he arrived he found that someone had already been engaged. If he wanted to get anything to eat that day he must go to Lawson’s studio before he went out to luncheon, so he made his way along the Brompton Road to Yeoman’s Row.
“I say, I’m rather broke till the end of the month,” he said, as soon as he found an opportunity. “I wish you’d lend me half a sovereign, will you?”
It was incredible the difficulty he found in asking for money; and he remembered the casual way, as though almost they were conferring a favor, men at the hospital had extracted small sums out of him which they had no intention of repaying.
“Like a shot,” said Lawson.
But when he put his hand in his pocket he found that he had only eight shillings. Philip’s heart sank.
“Oh well, lend me five bob, will you?” he said lightly.
“Here you are.”
Philip went to the public baths in Westminster and spent sixpence on a bath. Then he got himself something to eat. He did not know what to do with himself in the afternoon. He could not go back to the hospital in case anyone should ask him questions, and besides, he had nothing to do there now; they would wonder in the two or three departments he had work in why he did not come, but they must think what they chose, it did not matter: he would not be the first student who