“Who’s George?”

“I call him George because his name is Adolphe.  He shares this palatial apartment with me.”

Philip noticed then that the second bed had not been made since it was slept in.  The pillow was black where the head had rested.

“You don’t mean to say you’re sharing this room with somebody else?” he cried.

“Why not?  Lodging costs money in Soho.  George is a waiter, he goes out at eight in the morning and does not come in till closing time, so he isn’t in my way at all.  We neither of us sleep well, and he helps to pass away the hours of the night by telling me stories of his life.  He’s a Swiss, and I’ve always had a taste for waiters.  They see life from an entertaining angle.”

“How long have you been in bed?”

“Three days.”

“D’you mean to say you’ve had nothing but a bottle of milk for the last three days?  Why on earth didn’t you send me a line?  I can’t bear to think of you lying here all day long without a soul to attend to you.”

Cronshaw gave a little laugh.

“Look at your face.  Why, dear boy, I really believe you’re distressed.  You nice fellow.”

Philip blushed.  He had not suspected that his face showed the dismay he felt at the sight of that horrible room and the wretched circumstances of the poor poet.  Cronshaw, watching Philip, went on with a gentle smile.

“I’ve been quite happy.  Look, here are my proofs.  Remember that I am indifferent to discomforts which would harass other folk.  What do the circumstances of life matter if your dreams make you lord paramount of time and space?”

The proofs were lying on his bed, and as he lay in the darkness he had been able to place his hands on them.  He showed them to Philip and his eyes glowed.  He turned over the pages, rejoicing in the clear type; he read out a stanza.

“They don’t look bad, do they?”

Philip had an idea.  It would involve him in a little expense and he could not afford even the smallest increase of expenditure; but on the other hand this was a case where it revolted him to think of economy.

“I say, I can’t bear the thought of your remaining here.  I’ve got an extra room, it’s empty at present, but I can easily get someone to lend me a bed.  Won’t you come and live with me for a while?  It’ll save you the rent of this.”

“Oh, my dear boy, you’d insist on my keeping my window open.”

“You shall have every window in the place sealed if you like.”

“I shall be all right tomorrow.  I could have got up today, only I felt lazy.”

“Then you can very easily make the move.  And then if you don’t feel well at any time you can just go to bed, and I shall be there to look after you.”

“If it’ll please you I’ll come,” said Cronshaw, with his torpid not unpleasant smile.

“That’ll be ripping.”