Of Human Bondage (111 page)

  "Damn his impudence," he chuckled to himself. "Damn
his impudence."

  Philip had written to Athelny to tell him that he
was doing a locum in Dorsetshire and in due course received an
answer from him. It was written in the formal manner he affected,
studded with pompous epithets as a Persian diadem was studded with
precious stones; and in the beautiful hand, like black letter and
as difficult to read, upon which he prided himself. He suggested
that Philip should join him and his family in the Kentish hop-field
to which he went every year; and to persuade him said various
beautiful and complicated things about Philip's soul and the
winding tendrils of the hops. Philip replied at once that he would
come on the first day he was free. Though not born there, he had a
peculiar affection for the Isle of Thanet, and he was fired with
enthusiasm at the thought of spending a fortnight so close to the
earth and amid conditions which needed only a blue sky to be as
idyllic as the olive groves of Arcady.

  The four weeks of his engagement at Farnley passed
quickly. On the cliff a new town was springing up, with red brick
villas round golf links, and a large hotel had recently been opened
to cater for the summer visitors; but Philip went there seldom.
Down below, by the harbour, the little stone houses of a past
century were clustered in a delightful confusion, and the narrow
streets, climbing down steeply, had an air of antiquity which
appealed to the imagination. By the water's edge were neat cottages
with trim, tiny gardens in front of them; they were inhabited by
retired captains in the merchant service, and by mothers or widows
of men who had gained their living by the sea; and they had an
appearance which was quaint and peaceful. In the little harbour
came tramps from Spain and the Levant, ships of small tonnage; and
now and then a windjammer was borne in by the winds of romance. It
reminded Philip of the dirty little harbour with its colliers at
Blackstable, and he thought that there he had first acquired the
desire, which was now an obsession, for Eastern lands and sunlit
islands in a tropic sea. But here you felt yourself closer to the
wide, deep ocean than on the shore of that North Sea which seemed
always circumscribed; here you could draw a long breath as you
looked out upon the even vastness; and the west wind, the dear soft
salt wind of England, uplifted the heart and at the same time
melted it to tenderness.

  One evening, when Philip had reached his last week
with Doctor South, a child came to the surgery door while the old
doctor and Philip were making up prescriptions. It was a little
ragged girl with a dirty face and bare feet. Philip opened the
door.

  "Please, sir, will you come to Mrs. Fletcher's in
Ivy Lane at once?"

  "What's the matter with Mrs. Fletcher?" called out
Doctor South in his rasping voice.

  The child took no notice of him, but addressed
herself again to Philip.

  "Please, sir, her little boy's had an accident and
will you come at once?"

  "Tell Mrs. Fletcher I'm coming," called out Doctor
South.

  The little girl hesitated for a moment, and putting
a dirty finger in a dirty mouth stood still and looked at
Philip.

  "What's the matter, Kid?" said Philip, smiling.

  "Please, sir, Mrs. Fletcher says, will the new
doctor come?" There was a sound in the dispensary and Doctor South
came out into the passage.

  "Isn't Mrs. Fletcher satisfied with me?" he barked.
"I've attended Mrs. Fletcher since she was born. Why aren't I good
enough to attend her filthy brat?"

  The little girl looked for a moment as though she
were going to cry, then she thought better of it; she put out her
tongue deliberately at Doctor South, and, before he could recover
from his astonishment, bolted off as fast as she could run. Philip
saw that the old gentleman was annoyed.

  "You look rather fagged, and it's a goodish way to
Ivy Lane," he said, by way of giving him an excuse not to go
himself.

  Doctor South gave a low snarl.

  "It's a damned sight nearer for a man who's got the
use of both legs than for a man who's only got one and a half."

  Philip reddened and stood silent for a while.

  "Do you wish me to go or will you go yourself?" he
said at last frigidly.

  "What's the good of my going? They want you."

  Philip took up his hat and went to see the patient.
It was hard upon eight o'clock when he came back. Doctor South was
standing in the dining-room with his back to the fireplace.

  "You've been a long time," he said.

  "I'm sorry. Why didn't you start dinner?"

  "Because I chose to wait. Have you been all this
while at Mrs. Fletcher's?"

  "No, I'm afraid I haven't. I stopped to look at the
sunset on my way back, and I didn't think of the time."

  Doctor South did not reply, and the servant brought
in some grilled sprats. Philip ate them with an excellent appetite.
Suddenly Doctor South shot a question at him.

  "Why did you look at the sunset?"

  Philip answered with his mouth full.

  "Because I was happy."

  Doctor South gave him an odd look, and the shadow of
a smile flickered across his old, tired face. They ate the rest of
the dinner in silence; but when the maid had given them the port
and left the room, the old man leaned back and fixed his sharp eyes
on Philip.

  "It stung you up a bit when I spoke of your game
leg, young fellow?" he said.

  "People always do, directly or indirectly, when they
get angry with me."

  "I suppose they know it's your weak point."

  Philip faced him and looked at him steadily.

  "Are you very glad to have discovered it?"

  The doctor did not answer, but he gave a chuckle of
bitter mirth. They sat for a while staring at one another. Then
Doctor South surprised Philip extremely.

  "Why don't you stay here and I'll get rid of that
damned fool with his mumps?"

  "It's very kind of you, but I hope to get an
appointment at the hospital in the autumn. It'll help me so much in
getting other work later."

  "I'm offering you a partnership," said Doctor South
grumpily.

  "Why?" asked Philip, with surprise.

  "They seem to like you down here."

  "I didn't think that was a fact which altogether met
with your approval," Philip said drily.

  "D'you suppose that after forty years' practice I
care a twopenny damn whether people prefer my assistant to me? No,
my friend. There's no sentiment between my patients and me. I don't
expect gratitude from them, I expect them to pay my fees. Well,
what d'you say to it?"

  Philip made no reply, not because he was thinking
over the proposal, but because he was astonished. It was evidently
very unusual for someone to offer a partnership to a newly
qualified man; and he realised with wonder that, although nothing
would induce him to say so, Doctor South had taken a fancy to him.
He thought how amused the secretary at St. Luke's would be when he
told him.

  "The practice brings in about seven hundred a year.
We can reckon out how much your share would be worth, and you can
pay me off by degrees. And when I die you can succeed me. I think
that's better than knocking about hospitals for two or three years,
and then taking assistantships until you can afford to set up for
yourself."

  Philip knew it was a chance that most people in his
profession would jump at; the profession was over-crowded, and half
the men he knew would be thankful to accept the certainty of even
so modest a competence as that.

  "I'm awfully sorry, but I can't," he said. "It means
giving up everything I've aimed at for years. In one way and
another I've had a roughish time, but I always had that one hope
before me, to get qualified so that I might travel; and now, when I
wake in the morning, my bones simply ache to get off, I don't mind
where particularly, but just away, to places I've never been
to."

  Now the goal seemed very near. He would have
finished his appointment at St. Luke's by the middle of the
following year, and then he would go to Spain; he could afford to
spend several months there, rambling up and down the land which
stood to him for romance; after that he would get a ship and go to
the East. Life was before him and time of no account. He could
wander, for years if he chose, in unfrequented places, amid strange
peoples, where life was led in strange ways. He did not know what
he sought or what his journeys would bring him; but he had a
feeling that he would learn something new about life and gain some
clue to the mystery that he had solved only to find more
mysterious. And even if he found nothing he would allay the unrest
which gnawed at his heart. But Doctor South was showing him a great
kindness, and it seemed ungrateful to refuse his offer for no
adequate reason; so in his shy way, trying to appear as matter of
fact as possible, he made some attempt to explain why it was so
important to him to carry out the plans he had cherished so
passionately.

  Doctor South listened quietly, and a gentle look
came into his shrewd old eyes. It seemed to Philip an added
kindness that he did not press him to accept his offer. Benevolence
is often very peremptory. He appeared to look upon Philip's reasons
as sound. Dropping the subject, he began to talk of his own youth;
he had been in the Royal Navy, and it was his long connection with
the sea that, when he retired, had made him settle at Farnley. He
told Philip of old days in the Pacific and of wild adventures in
China. He had taken part in an expedition against the head-hunters
of Borneo and had known Samoa when it was still an independent
state. He had touched at coral islands. Philip listened to him
entranced. Little by little he told Philip about himself. Doctor
South was a widower, his wife had died thirty years before, and his
daughter had married a farmer in Rhodesia; he had quarrelled with
him, and she had not come to England for ten years. It was just as
if he had never had wife or child. He was very lonely. His
gruffness was little more than a protection which he wore to hide a
complete disillusionment; and to Philip it seemed tragic to see him
just waiting for death, not impatiently, but rather with loathing
for it, hating old age and unable to resign himself to its
limitations, and yet with the feeling that death was the only
solution of the bitterness of his life. Philip crossed his path,
and the natural affection which long separation from his daughter
had killed – she had taken her husband's part in the quarrel and
her children he had never seen – settled itself upon Philip. At
first it made him angry, he told himself it was a sign of dotage;
but there was something in Philip that attracted him, and he found
himself smiling at him he knew not why. Philip did not bore him.
Once or twice he put his hand on his shoulder: it was as near a
caress as he had got since his daughter left England so many years
before. When the time came for Philip to go Doctor South
accompanied him to the station: he found himself unaccountably
depressed.

  "I've had a ripping time here," said Philip. "You've
been awfully kind to me."

  "I suppose you're very glad to go?"

  "I've enjoyed myself here."

  "But you want to get out into the world? Ah, you
have youth." He hesitated a moment. "I want you to remember that if
you change your mind my offer still stands."

  "That's awfully kind of you."

  Philip shook hands with him out of the carriage
window, and the train steamed out of the station. Philip thought of
the fortnight he was going to spend in the hop-field: he was happy
at the idea of seeing his friends again, and he rejoiced because
the day was fine. But Doctor South walked slowly back to his empty
house. He felt very old and very lonely.