seemed funny to them if they had persuaded Philip to ask for more wages and he were sacked.  He could not forget the mortification he had suffered in looking for work, he did not wish to expose himself to that again, and he knew there was small chance of his getting elsewhere a post as designer:  there were hundreds of people about who could draw as well as he.  But he wanted money very badly; his clothes were worn out, and the heavy carpets rotted his socks and boots; he had almost persuaded himself to take the venturesome step when one morning, passing up from breakfast in the basement through the passage that led to the manager’s office, he saw a queue of men waiting in answer to an advertisement.  There were about a hundred of them, and whichever was engaged would be offered his keep and the same six shillings a week that Philip had.  He saw some of them cast envious glances at him because he had employment.  It made him shudder.  He dared not risk it.

CVIII

The winter passed.  Now and then Philip went to the hospital, slinking in when it was late and there was little chance of meeting anyone he knew, to see whether there were letters for him.  At Easter he received one from his uncle.  He was surprised to hear from him, for the Vicar of Blackstable had never written him more than half a dozen letters in his whole life, and they were on business matters.

Dear Philip,

If you are thinking of taking a holiday soon and care to come down here I
shall be pleased to see you.  I was very ill with my bronchitis in the
winter and Doctor Wigram never expected me to pull through.  I have a
wonderful constitution and I made, thank God, a marvellous recovery. 
                                            Yours affectionately,
          
                                                 William Carey.

The letter made Philip angry.  How did his uncle think he was living?  He did not even trouble to inquire.  He might have starved for all the old man cared.  But as he walked home something struck him; he stopped under a lamp-post and read the letter again; the handwriting had no longer the business-like firmness which had characterised it; it was larger and wavering:  perhaps the illness had shaken him more than he was willing to confess, and he sought in that formal note to express a yearning to see the only relation he had in the world.  Philip wrote back that he could come down to Blackstable for a fortnight in July.  The invitation was convenient, for he had not known what to do, with his brief holiday.  The Athelnys went hopping in September, but he could not then be spared, since during that month the autumn models were prepared.  The rule of Lynn’s was that everyone must take a fortnight whether he wanted it or not; and during that time, if he had nowhere to go, the assistant might sleep in his room, but he was not allowed food.  A number had no friends