Philip remembered all sorts of things of his childhood which he thought he had long forgotten.  He took hold of the baby’s toes.

“This little pig went to market, this little pig stayed at home.”

When he came home in the evening and entered the sitting-room his first glance was for the baby sprawling on the floor, and it gave him a little thrill of delight to hear the child’s crow of pleasure at seeing him.  Mildred taught her to call him daddy, and when the child did this for the first time of her own accord, laughed immoderately.

“I wonder if you’re that stuck on baby because she’s mine,” asked Mildred, “or if you’d be the same with anybody’s baby.”

“I’ve never known anybody else’s baby, so I can’t say,” said Philip.

Towards the end of his second term as in-patients’ clerk a piece of good fortune befell Philip.  It was the middle of July.  He went one Tuesday evening to the tavern in Beak Street and found nobody there but Macalister.  They sat together, chatting about their absent friends, and after a while Macalister said to him: 

“Oh, by the way, I heard of a rather good thing today, New Kleinfonteins; it’s a gold mine in Rhodesia.  If you’d like to have a flutter you might make a bit.”

Philip had been waiting anxiously for such an opportunity, but now that it came he hesitated.  He was desperately afraid of losing money.  He had little of the gambler’s spirit.

“I’d love to, but I don’t know if I dare risk it.  How much could I lose if things went wrong?”

“I shouldn’t have spoken of it, only you seemed so keen about it,” Macalister answered coldly.

Philip felt that Macalister looked upon him as rather a donkey.

“I’m awfully keen on making a bit,” he laughed.

“You can’t make money unless you’re prepared to risk money.”

Macalister began to talk of other things and Philip, while he was answering him, kept thinking that if the venture turned out well the stockbroker would be very facetious at his expense next time they met.  Macalister had a sarcastic tongue.

“I think I will have a flutter if you don’t mind,” said Philip anxiously.

“All right.  I’ll buy you two hundred and fifty shares and if I see a half-crown rise I’ll sell them at once.”

Philip quickly reckoned out how much that would amount to, and his mouth watered; thirty pounds would be a godsend just then, and he thought the fates owed him something.  He told Mildred what he had done when he saw her at breakfast next morning.  She thought him very silly.

“I never knew anyone who made money on the Stock Exchange,” she said.  “That’s what Emil always said, you can’t expect to make money on the Stock Exchange, he said.”

Philip bought an evening paper on his way home and turned at once to the money columns.  He knew nothing about these things and had difficulty in finding the stock which Macalister had spoken of.  He saw they had advanced a quarter.  His heart leaped, and then he felt sick with apprehension in case Macalister had forgotten or for some reason had not bought.  Macalister had promised to telegraph.  Philip could not wait to take a tram home.  He jumped into a cab.  It was an unwonted extravagance.