“You must ask me again then,” said Philip.

“You mustn’t take any notice of what father says,” remarked Sally, with a smile.

“She’s a most self-possessed young woman,” added her parent.

They had supper of bread and cheese and beer, while Mrs. Athelny was putting the children to bed; and when Philip went into the kitchen to bid her good-night (she had been sitting there, resting herself and reading The Weekly Despatch) she invited him cordially to come again.

“There’s always a good dinner on Sundays so long as Athelny’s in work,” she said, “and it’s a charity to come and talk to him.”

On the following Saturday Philip received a postcard from Athelny saying that they were expecting him to dinner next day; but fearing their means were not such that Mr. Athelny would desire him to accept, Philip wrote back that he would only come to tea.  He bought a large plum cake so that his entertainment should cost nothing.  He found the whole family glad to see him, and the cake completed his conquest of the children.  He insisted that they should all have tea together in the kitchen, and the meal was noisy and hilarious.

Soon Philip got into the habit of going to Athelny’s every Sunday.  He became a great favourite with the children, because he was simple and unaffected and because it was so plain that he was fond of them.  As soon as they heard his ring at the door one of them popped a head out of window to make sure it was he, and then they all rushed downstairs tumultuously to let him in.  They flung themselves into his arms.  At tea they fought for the privilege of sitting next to him.  Soon they began to call him Uncle Philip.

Athelny was very communicative, and little by little Philip learned the various stages of his life.  He had followed many occupations, and it occurred to Philip that he managed to make a mess of everything he attempted.  He had been on a tea plantation in Ceylon and a traveller in America for Italian wines; his secretaryship of the water company in Toledo had lasted longer than any of his employments; he had been a journalist and for some time had worked as police-court reporter for an evening paper; he had been sub-editor of a paper in the Midlands and editor of another on the Riviera.  From all his occupations he had gathered amusing anecdotes, which he told with a keen pleasure in his own powers of entertainment.  He had read a great deal, chiefly delighting in books which were unusual; and he poured forth his stores of abstruse knowledge with child-like enjoyment of the amazement of his hearers.  Three or four years before abject poverty had driven him to take the job of press-representative to a large firm of drapers; and though he felt the work unworthy his abilities, which he rated highly, the firmness of his wife and the needs of his family had made him stick to it.

XC