air-raids was beginning to tell. For some time now there had been no sleepers to paint in the Underground, and he had begun an entirely new canvas called “Sewer”. This involved a clandestine arrangement with a man living in Bermondsey who did nights, and who for asmall consideration supplied overalls and two powerful lamps to illuminate the great sewer junction, where Philip painted the fat circles of the pipes and the graceful curves of the effluent spilling into the main channels below. He came in at five-thirty in the morning and slept till lunchtime.
*
Philip went out after lunch for his war effort. This took the form of voluntary infection by anopheles mosquitoes as part of a test group for malaria research. So far he had successfully resisted infection, even though his left arm was bitten avidly every time, and he was beginning to be regarded as unnaturally immune.
“Don’t let too many of them bite you, darling,” said Catherine as she kissed him goodbye. “I’m sure none of these new things will be any good. I’ll be packing Balaclavas this afternoon at the Lady Ongar Club and putting enigmatic loving messages in. Luckily they’re going to Iceland, so there won’t be any come-backs .”
“That chap Desmond,” said Philip irritably. “He was peering in and declaiming at me at half-past eight this morning. I told him to push off.”
Stanley knocked on the door just after eight in the evening.
“I’m on escort duty, Kat,” he explained. “I’ve got the night off.”
“Good gracious,” said Catherine. “You haven’t come for Herbert, have you?”
“I’ve never heard of Herbert,” said Stanley. “It’s a man in Woolwich.”
“Well, you shall meet Herbert, darling,” saidCatherine. “He’s a sort of tramp. Let’s all go along to the Parapluie for supper.”
“There’s the question of another train,” said Stanley as they walked along the Embankment, “6.10 in the morning this time, and I mustn’t miss it. I have to get my breakfast in the cookhouse at Woolwich with my corporal by eight.”
“That’s all right,” said Philip. “I’ll give you a shout when I get back from my sewers.”
The Parapluie was crowded and hilarious. The Armenian proprietor, still stroking his cat, was only intermittently visible through the press of people at and around the tables.
When they were eating a rather lumpy apple tart the Wykehamist arrived at their side.
“Ah!” he bawled cheerily. “What’s the form?”
He had acquired a green corduroy jacket since the morning and wore it with the sand-coloured trousers of his appalling suit.
“Hullo, Herbert,” said Catherine. “This is Stanley. He’s on escort duty.”
Herbert flinched a little.
“My brother,” said Catherine.
“Oh,” said Herbert, recovering. “Founder’s kin? That’s all right, then. Just for the moment I thought …’
He went off and returned a little later with a ginger-haired man in pop-bottle glasses.
“Meet my friend,” he said. “He stutters, I’m afraid.”
“H-h-how,” said the friend, “d’you d-d-do.”
At this they both at once went away, laughing uproariously .
“I think I’ll disappear down my manhole,” said Philip abruptly, and left.
“Have you any money, pet?” asked Catherine.
“Twenty-three shillings,” said Stanley.
“Then it’ll have to be the Brass Farthing,” sighed Catherine. “Do hurry up with your commission and get some cash. Isn’t there any way of buying one or blackmailing someone? Philip’s mother is being courted by a major-general. Would that help, d’you suppose?”
“I don’t think so,” said Stanley hastily. “I’d really rather you didn’t say anything about it.”
“He’s not just any old major-general,” said Catherine. “He is in the War Office.”
At the Brass Farthing several strange young men were sipping gins, giggling and thrusting each other coyly away.
“Hullo, Gilbert,” waved Catherine. “Look at that,” she
*
Philip went out after lunch for his war effort. This took the form of voluntary infection by anopheles mosquitoes as part of a test group for malaria research. So far he had successfully resisted infection, even though his left arm was bitten avidly every time, and he was beginning to be regarded as unnaturally immune.
“Don’t let too many of them bite you, darling,” said Catherine as she kissed him goodbye. “I’m sure none of these new things will be any good. I’ll be packing Balaclavas this afternoon at the Lady Ongar Club and putting enigmatic loving messages in. Luckily they’re going to Iceland, so there won’t be any come-backs .”
“That chap Desmond,” said Philip irritably. “He was peering in and declaiming at me at half-past eight this morning. I told him to push off.”
Stanley knocked on the door just after eight in the evening.
“I’m on escort duty, Kat,” he explained. “I’ve got the night off.”
“Good gracious,” said Catherine. “You haven’t come for Herbert, have you?”
“I’ve never heard of Herbert,” said Stanley. “It’s a man in Woolwich.”
“Well, you shall meet Herbert, darling,” saidCatherine. “He’s a sort of tramp. Let’s all go along to the Parapluie for supper.”
“There’s the question of another train,” said Stanley as they walked along the Embankment, “6.10 in the morning this time, and I mustn’t miss it. I have to get my breakfast in the cookhouse at Woolwich with my corporal by eight.”
“That’s all right,” said Philip. “I’ll give you a shout when I get back from my sewers.”
The Parapluie was crowded and hilarious. The Armenian proprietor, still stroking his cat, was only intermittently visible through the press of people at and around the tables.
When they were eating a rather lumpy apple tart the Wykehamist arrived at their side.
“Ah!” he bawled cheerily. “What’s the form?”
He had acquired a green corduroy jacket since the morning and wore it with the sand-coloured trousers of his appalling suit.
“Hullo, Herbert,” said Catherine. “This is Stanley. He’s on escort duty.”
Herbert flinched a little.
“My brother,” said Catherine.
“Oh,” said Herbert, recovering. “Founder’s kin? That’s all right, then. Just for the moment I thought …’
He went off and returned a little later with a ginger-haired man in pop-bottle glasses.
“Meet my friend,” he said. “He stutters, I’m afraid.”
“H-h-how,” said the friend, “d’you d-d-do.”
At this they both at once went away, laughing uproariously .
“I think I’ll disappear down my manhole,” said Philip abruptly, and left.
“Have you any money, pet?” asked Catherine.
“Twenty-three shillings,” said Stanley.
“Then it’ll have to be the Brass Farthing,” sighed Catherine. “Do hurry up with your commission and get some cash. Isn’t there any way of buying one or blackmailing someone? Philip’s mother is being courted by a major-general. Would that help, d’you suppose?”
“I don’t think so,” said Stanley hastily. “I’d really rather you didn’t say anything about it.”
“He’s not just any old major-general,” said Catherine. “He is in the War Office.”
At the Brass Farthing several strange young men were sipping gins, giggling and thrusting each other coyly away.
“Hullo, Gilbert,” waved Catherine. “Look at that,” she
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