“Ah, you see, you don’t have to go to Paris.  You’ve only got to say what you want and there you are.”

The work was put in hand at once, and Philip felt quite a thrill of satisfaction when he saw the costume completed.  The buyer and Mrs. Hodges took all the credit of it; but he did not care, and when he went with them to the Tivoli to see Miss Antonia wear it for the first time he was filled with elation.  In answer to her questions he at last told Mrs. Hodges how he had learnt to draw—­fearing that the people he lived with would think he wanted to put on airs, he had always taken the greatest care to say nothing about his past occupations—­and she repeated the information to Mr. Sampson.  The buyer said nothing to him on the subject, but began to treat him a little more deferentially and presently gave him designs to do for two of the country customers.  They met with satisfaction.  Then he began to speak to his clients of a “clever young feller, Paris art-student, you know,” who worked for him; and soon Philip, ensconced behind a screen, in his shirt sleeves, was drawing from morning till night.  Sometimes he was so busy that he had to dine at three with the `stragglers.’  He liked it, because there were few of them and they were all too tired to talk; the food also was better, for it consisted of what was left over from the buyers’ table.  Philip’s rise from shop-walker to designer of costumes had a great effect on the department.  He realised that he was an object of envy.  Harris, the assistant with the queer-shaped head, who was the first person he had known at the shop and had attached himself to Philip, could not conceal his bitterness.

“Some people ’ave all the luck,” he said.  “You’ll be a buyer yourself one of these days, and we shall all be calling you sir.”

He told Philip that he should demand higher wages, for notwithstanding the difficult work he was now engaged in, he received no more than the six shillings a week with which he started.  But it was a ticklish matter to ask for a rise.  The manager had a sardonic way of dealing with such applicants.

“Think you’re worth more, do you?  How much d’you think you’re worth, eh?”

The assistant, with his heart in his mouth, would suggest that he thought he ought to have another two shillings a week.

“Oh, very well, if you think you’re worth it.  You can ’ave it.”  Then he paused and sometimes, with a steely eye, added:  “And you can ’ave your notice too.”

It was no use then to withdraw your request, you had to go.  The manager’s idea was that assistants who were dissatisfied did not work properly, and if they were not worth a rise it was better to sack them at once.  The result was that they never asked for one unless they were prepared to leave.  Philip hesitated.  He was a little suspicious of the men in his room who told him that the buyer could not do without him.  They were decent fellows, but their sense of humour was primitive, and it would have