The awful fear seized him that his uncle, notwithstanding his promises, might leave everything he had to the parish or the church.  The thought made Philip sick.  He could not be so cruel.  But if that happened Philip was quite determined what to do, he would not go on in that way indefinitely; his life was only tolerable because he could look forward to something better.  If he had no hope he would have no fear.  The only brave thing to do then would be to commit suicide, and, thinking this over too, Philip decided minutely what painless drug he would take and how he would get hold of it.  It encouraged him to think that, if things became unendurable, he had at all events a way out.

“Second to the right, madam, and down the stairs.  First on the left and straight through.  Mr. Philips, forward please.”

Once a month, for a week, Philip was `on duty.’  He had to go to the department at seven in the morning and keep an eye on the sweepers.  When they finished he had to take the sheets off the cases and the models.  Then, in the evening when the assistants left, he had to put back the sheets on the models and the cases and `gang’ the sweepers again.  It was a dusty, dirty job.  He was not allowed to read or write or smoke, but just had to walk about, and the time hung heavily on his hands.  When he went off at half past nine he had supper given him, and this was the only consolation; for tea at five o’clock had left him with a healthy appetite, and the bread and cheese, the abundant cocoa which the firm provided, were welcome.

One day when Philip had been at Lynn’s for three months, Mr. Sampson, the buyer, came into the department, fuming with anger.  The manager, happening to notice the costume window as he came in, had sent for the buyer and made satirical remarks upon the colour scheme.  Forced to submit in silence to his superior’s sarcasm, Mr. Sampson took it out of the assistants; and he rated the wretched fellow whose duty it was to dress the window.

“If you want a thing well done you must do it yourself,” Mr. Sampson stormed.  “I’ve always said it and I always shall.  One can’t leave anything to you chaps.  Intelligent you call yourselves, do you?  Intelligent!”

He threw the word at the assistants as though it were the bitterest term of reproach.

“Don’t you know that if you put an electric blue in the window it’ll kill all the other blues?”

He looked round the department ferociously, and his eye fell upon Philip.

“You’ll dress the window next Friday, Carey. let’s see what you can make of it.”