第一百十六章
在圣路加医院的最后一年里，菲利普不得不刻苦攻读。他对生活心满意足，并感到自己不再为爱情牵心，还有足够的金钱满足自己的需要，这真是件非常惬意的事情。他曾经听到有些人用一种轻蔑的口吻谈论钱的事儿，他很想知道这此人是否当真过过一天捉襟见肘的窘困日子。他深知经济拮据会使人变得渺小、卑贱和贪婪，会扭曲他的性格，使他从一个庸俗的角度来看待世界。当一个人不得不掂量每一便士的分量时，那金钱就会变得异乎寻常地重要：一个人是该有一种能恰如其分地估出金钱价值的本领。菲利普离群索居，除了去看望阿特尔涅一家人之外，他谁都不见，尽管如此，他并不感到孤单。他忙着为自己今后的人生作着种种设想，有时也回味一下昔日的光景。间或，他也怀念起旧时的亲朋好友，但并没有去走访他们。他真想能知道一下诺拉·内斯比特的生活近况。眼下她可是姓另一个夫姓的诺拉了，但菲利普就是想不起当时那个即将同诺拉结婚的男人的名字来。他为自己得以结识诺拉而感到高兴：她可是个心肠好、意志刚毅的妙人儿。一天晚上，临近十一点半的光景，他蓦地看到劳森正沿着皮卡迪利大街迎面走来。劳森身穿晚礼服，说不定刚从戏院散场出来，准备回住所去。菲利普在一时感情冲动的驱使下，迅即闪进一条小巷。他同劳森已经两年没见面了，觉得现在再也无法恢复那中断了的友情了。再说，他同劳森没什么话好谈。菲利普不再对艺术感兴趣，在他看来，眼下他要比自己小时候更能欣赏美的事物，但艺术在他眼里却显得一文不值。他一门心思要从纷繁复杂、杂乱无章的生活中撷取材料来设计出一种人生的格局，而他用来设计人生格局的那些材料，似乎使自己先前对颜料和词藻的考虑显得微不足道。劳森此人正好适合菲利普的需要。同劳森的友情正是他处心积虑设计的人生格局的主题。忽视这位画家再也引不起自己的兴趣这一事实，纯粹是出于情感上的缘故。
有时候，菲利普也思念米尔德丽德。他故意不走有可能撞见她的那几条街道，不过偶尔出于好奇心，或许出于一种他不愿承认的更深的情感，在他认为米尔德丽德很可能会出现在皮卡迪利大街和里根特大街一带的时候，他就在那里踯躅徘徊。这种时候，他到底是渴望见到她，还是害怕见到她，连他自己也说不清楚。一次，他看到一个很像米尔德丽德的背影，有好一会儿，他把那个女人当成了米尔德丽德。顿时，他心中浮泛起一种奇特的感情：一阵莫名其妙的揪心似的疼痛，其中夹杂着惧怕和令人作呕的惊慌。他三步并作两步赶上前去，结果一看发觉自己看错了人。此时，他感到的究竟是失望，还是如释重负，这连他自己也不甚了了。
八月初，菲利普通过了最后一门功课--一外科学--的考试，领得了毕业文凭。他在圣路加医院度过了七个春秋，年纪快近三十岁了。他手里拿着证明他的医生资格的文凭卷儿，步下皇家外科学院的阶梯，此时，他的心儿满意地蹦跳着。
"这下我才真正开始步入人生，"他默默地想。
第二天，他上秘书办公室登记姓名，等候分配医院职位。那位秘书是个生性欢快的小个子，蓄着黑黑的胡子，菲利普发现他总是那么和蔼可亲。秘书对菲利普的成功表示了一番祝贺之后，接着说：
"我想你不会愿意去南部海滨当一个月的代理医师吧？一周薪水三个畿尼，还提供食宿之便。"
"我不反对，"菲利普回答说。
"在多塞特郡的法恩利。那里有个索思大夫。你马上就得去。索思大夫的助手怄一肚子气走了。我想那里准是块好地方。"
那秘书说话的态度使得菲利普心生狐疑。他觉得事情有些蹊跷。
"那么究竟是谁难缠呀？"菲利普问。
那位秘书迟疑了一下，接着带着调和的声调哈哈笑了笑。
"嗯，事实是这样的，我了解他是一个脾气相当执拗的、有趣的老头儿。负责机构都不愿给他派助手去了。他说话直率，心里想什么就往外捅什么，可是人们都不喜欢这样子。"
"可是，你想他对一个刚刚取得医生资格的人会满意吗？再说，我是初出茅庐的新手呀。"
"能有你当助手，他应该感到高兴才是，"那秘书耍起了外交辞令来了。
菲利普思索了一会儿。他想，最近几周内他无事可干，能有机会赚几个钱，又何乐而不为呢？他可以把这些钱积攒起来，用作去西班牙度假的旅费。去西班牙度假一事，还是早在他被圣路加医院接受为学员时就给自己许下的心愿。倘若那里什么也不给他，他满可以上别的医院去嘛。
"好吧，我去。"
"要去你今天下午就得去。你说合适吗？要合适，我马上就去发电报。"
菲利普真希望再耽搁几天再走，可转而一想，他前天晚上才去看过阿特尔涅一家（他一通过考试便跑去向他们报告这个一喜讯），因此他没有不马上动身去那儿的理由。他要带的行李不多。当晚钟敲七点后不久，他便走出法恩利火车站，叫了辆马车直奔索思大夫的医院而去。那是幢宽阔的矮矮的灰泥房子，墙上爬满了五叶地锦。他被引进门诊室，那儿有个老头儿正伏案写着东西。女用人把菲利普领进门诊室的当儿，那老头儿抬起头来，但既没有起身也没有吭声，只是双目瞪视着菲利普。菲利普不觉一惊。
"我想您在等我吧，"菲利普首先开口说道。"今天上午，圣路加医院的秘书给您拍了封电报。"
"我将晚饭推迟了半个钟头、你想洗个澡吗？"
"好的，"菲利普接着答道。
对索思大夫的古怪脾气，菲利普觉得挺有趣的。此时，他已经站了起来。菲利普发觉面前的那个老头儿个儿中等，瘦精精的，满头银发，剪得短短的。一张大嘴抿得紧紧的，看上去像是没长嘴唇似的。他蓄着连鬓胡子，除此以外，脸部修得光光洁洁。下巴颏宽宽的，使他的脸成方形，加上那连鬓胡子一衬托，脸就显得更加方正。他身穿一套棕色的苏格兰呢制服，还系了条宽大的白色硬领巾。他的衣服松松地挂在身上，似乎原先是做给另一个身材魁梧的人穿的。他看上去活像十九世纪中叶的一位令人肃然起敬的农夫。此时，他打开了门。
"那儿是餐厅，"他用手指着对面的门说。"楼梯平台处第一扇房门，那就是你的卧室。洗完澡就下楼来吃晚饭。"
在吃晚饭的过程中，菲利普知道索思大夫一直在注视着自己，但他很少说话。菲利普觉得他并不想听到自己的助手说话。
"你什么时候取得医生资格的？"索思大夫突然发问道。
"昨天。"
"上过大学吗？"
"没有。"
"去年，我的助手外出度假时，他们给我派了位大学生来。我告诉他们以后别再干这种事了。大学生一副绅士派头，我可受不了了。"
接着，又是一阵沉默。晚饭虽简单，却很可口。菲利普外表缄默，心潮却在翻腾汹涌。对自己来这儿当名临时代理医师，他感到乐不可支。他顿时觉得自己长大了许多，真想像疯子似的狂笑一番，可又不知要笑什么。他想起了当医生的尊严，越想越觉得要格格笑出声来。
可是索思大夫突然发问，打断了他的思路。
"你今年多大啦？"
"快三十了。"
"那怎么才取得医生资格的呢？"
"我将近二十三岁时才开始学医，而中间我还不得不停了两年。"
"为什么？"
"穷呗。"
索思大夫神情古怪地瞥了他一眼，又沉默不语了。晚饭吃完时，索思大夫从桌子边站了起来。
"你知道在这里行医是怎么回事吗？"
"一无所知，"菲利普答了一句。
"主要是给渔民和他们的家属看病。我负责工会和渔民的医院。过去有段时间，这里就我一名大夫，不过后来因为他们想方设法要把这个地方开辟成海滨游览胜地，所以又来了一位医生，在山崖上开了家医院。于是，手头有几个钱的人都上他那儿去看病了。只有那些请不起那位大夫的人才上我这儿来。"
菲利普看得出来，跟那位医生之间的竞争一事，无疑是这个老头儿的一块心病。
"我毫无经验，这您是知道的，"菲利普说。
"你，你们这种人，啥事都不懂。"
索思大夫说完这句话，便甩下菲利普独自步出了餐厅。女用人走出来收拾餐桌的当儿告诉菲利普，说索思大夫每天晚上六点至七点要看病人。这天晚上的工作结束后，菲利普从卧室里拿了一本书，点燃了烟斗，便埋头看了起来。这是种极愉快的消遣，因为近几个月来，除了看些医学书籍外，他啥书都没看过。十点钟的时候，索思大夫一脚走了进来，两眼一眨不眨地望着菲利普。菲利普平时看书时就怕两脚落地，因此，这时他双脚正搁在一张椅子上。
"看来你这个人倒怪会享福的啊，"索思大夫说话时脸孔板板的，要不是他眼下兴致正浓的话，准会一触即跳的。
"你对此反感吗？"菲利普双眼扑闪着问了一句。
索思大夫瞪了他一眼，但并没有直接回答他的问题。
"你看的是什么书？"
"斯摩莱特写的《柏尔葛伦·辟克尔》。"
"碰巧我还晓得斯摩莱特写了本《柏尔葛伦·辟克尔》的小说呢。"
"对不住。请问，凡是行医的都不怎么喜欢文学，对不？"
菲利普把小说放在桌上，索思大夫顺手把它拿了起来。这是一种属于布莱克斯泰勃教区的版本中间的一卷。书很薄，是光泽暗淡的摩洛哥山羊皮装潢的，书名是铜版刻印的。书页切口一律烫金，但因年代已久，书中散发出一股呛鼻的霉味。索思大夫手里捧着小说的当儿，菲利普下意识地向前倾过身子，两眼不觉流露出一丝笑意。但他的表情并没有逃过索思大夫的眼睛。
"你觉得傻气吗？"他冷冰冰地问道。
"我看你一定是很喜欢看书的，只要见到别人拿书的样儿，就能知道他是什么样的人。"
索思大夫顿时把那部小说放回到桌上。
"八点半吃早饭。"说罢他掉头就走了。
"真是个有趣的老家伙！"菲利普心里嘀咕了一声。
时隔不久，菲利普就摸清了为什么索思大夫的助手们觉得此公难处的原委。首先，他强烈反对医学界近三十年中的一切新发现。某些药物，因据说有奇特的疗效而风行一时，结果不出几年就被弃置不用了，这种情形他可容忍不了。索思大夫曾在圣路加医院当过学生，走出医院大门时随身带了几种普通的混合药剂配方，他就靠这几味药行了一辈子医，而且发现他这几味药同历年来花样繁多的时新药品一样灵验。菲利普惊讶地发现索思大夫竟对无菌法抱有怀疑，只是有碍于人们都赞同这办法才勉强接受了。但是他却对病人采取菲利普早就了解的预防措施，坚持在医院里要把对儿童使用的预防措施用在士兵们身上，其谨小慎微的程度，简直令人发指。
"我曾经亲眼看到抗菌剂的出现并压倒了其他一切药物，可后来呢，又看到无菌法取而代之。真是乱弹琴！"
原来派来的那些年轻人只熟悉大医院的规矩，而且在大医院中的气氛的潜移默化的熏陶下，对一般诊疗医生总是毫不掩饰地流露出一种不屑一顾的神气。他们见过病房里的疑难病症。他们虽懂得肾脏的起因不明的疾病的治疗方法，可是碰到伤风感冒之类的毛病时，就一筹莫展，他们有的只是些书本知识，却自负矜夸，目中无人。索思大夫双唇紧闭，默默地注视着他们，一有机会便恣意出他们的洋相，表明他们是多么的无知，是多么的夜郎自大，并以此取乐。这里主要是给渔民们看病，赚不了几个钱，因此医生自己配制药剂。一次，索思大夫对他的助手说，如果给一个渔民配一种治胃疼的药水，里面和着一半贵重药剂的话，那医院还怎么能够维持下去呢。他还抱怨那些年轻助手没有修养，他们只读些《体坛新闻》和《不列颠医学杂志》，别的啥也不看；他们写的字，既不易辨认又常常拼错。有两三天时间，索思大夫时刻不停地注意着菲利普的一举一动，只要给他抓住一点过错，他便会把菲利普挖苦一番。而菲利普也意识到了这一点，一声不响地工作着，心里却暗自好笑。此时，菲利普对自己职业的改变感到由衷的高兴。他喜欢无拘无束地工作，也喜欢肩上担点斤两。他内心感到无比的喜悦，因为他看来可以通过自己的谈吐使得病人受到鼓舞，建立起信心来。他对能亲眼看到医疗的全过程感到着实愉快；如果在大医院里，他只能站得老远地看着。他常常出诊，这样，便经常出入一所所矮屋顶的小房子，那里面摆着钓鱼用具和风帆，间或也有些远海航行的纪念品，比如日本产的陶罐子啦，马来西亚的长矛和船桨啦，或者从布坦布尔露天集市买来的匕首啦，等等。在那一间间闷气的房间里，飘溢着一种传奇气氛，而大海的咸味却给它们带来一股辛辣的新鲜气息。菲利普喜欢跟水手们在一起拉呱，而水手们看到他这个人倒并不盛气凌人，便滔滔不绝地把他们青年时代的远航经历讲述给他听。
有那么一两次，他犯了误诊的错误。以前他从来没有看过麻疹。一天，有个出疹子的病人来找他看病，他却把它诊断为病因不明的皮肤病。又有那么一两起，他的疗法正好跟索思大夫所设想的相悖。第一次，索思大夫言词尖刻地数说了他一顿，而他却饶有情趣地在一旁听着；菲利普本有敏捷答辩的天赋，这当儿他回了一两句嘴，使得正在数说他的索思大夫一下子愣住了，用惊异的目光打量着他。菲利普脸上一本正经，可那双眼睛却熠熠闪光。那位老先生不由得认为菲利普这是在讥笑自己。以往，助手们讨厌他，惧怕他，他习以为常，但菲利普的这副德行，他倒是平生头一次遇到。他真想痛痛快快地把菲利普臭骂一通，然后请他卷铺盖乘下一班火车滚蛋。从前他就是这样对待他的助手的。可是，他内心惴惴不安，心想要是真的那样的话，菲利普准会当场奚落他一番，想着想着，他蓦地觉得眼前的事儿还怪有趣的。他微微启开了嘴，毫不情愿地笑了笑，随即转身走开了。过了一会儿，他渐渐意识到菲利普是故意拿他开心的。起初他吃了一惊，可不久心里也乐了。
"真他妈的皮厚，"他暗自笑着，"真他妈的皮厚！"
During his last year at St. Luke’s Philip had to work hard. He was contented with life. He found it very comfortable to be heart-free and to have enough money for his needs. He had heard people speak contemptuously of money: he wondered if they had ever tried to do without it. He knew that the lack made a man petty, mean, grasping; it distorted his character and caused him to view the world from a vulgar angle; when you had to consider every penny, money became of grotesque importance: you needed a competency to rate it at its proper value. He lived a solitary life, seeing no one except the Athelnys, but he was not lonely; he busied himself with plans for the future, and sometimes he thought of the past. His recollection dwelt now and then on old friends, but he made no effort to see them. He would have liked to know what was become of Norah Nesbit; she was Norah something else now, but he could not remember the name of the man she was going to marry; he was glad to have known her: she was a good and a brave soul. One evening about half past eleven he saw Lawson, walking along Piccadilly; he was in evening clothes and might be supposed to be coming back from a theatre. Philip gave way to a sudden impulse and quickly turned down a side street. He had not seen him for two years and felt that he could not now take up again the interrupted friendship. He and Lawson had nothing more to say to one another. Philip was no longer interested in art; it seemed to him that he was able to enjoy beauty with greater force than when he was a boy; but art appeared to him unimportant. He was occupied with the forming of a pattern out of the manifold chaos of life, and the materials with which he worked seemed to make preoccupation with pigments and words very trivial. Lawson had served his turn. Philip’s friendship with him had been a motive in the design he was elaborating: it was merely sentimental to ignore the fact that the painter was of no further interest to him.
Sometimes Philip thought of Mildred. He avoided deliberately the streets in which there was a chance of seeing her; but occasionally some feeling, perhaps curiosity, perhaps something deeper which he would not acknowledge, made him wander about Piccadilly and Regent Street during the hours when she might be expected to be there. He did not know then whether he wished to see her or dreaded it. Once he saw a back which reminded him of hers, and for a moment he thought it was she; it gave him a curious sensation: it was a strange sharp pain in his heart, there was fear in it and a sickening dismay; and when he hurried on and found that he was mistaken he did not know whether it was relief that he experienced or disappointment.
At the beginning of August Philip passed his surgery, his last examination, and received his diploma. It was seven years since he had entered St. Luke’s Hospital. He was nearly thirty. He walked down the stairs of the Royal College of Surgeons with the roll in his hand which qualified him to practice, and his heart beat with satisfaction.
‘Now I’m really going to begin life,’ he thought.
Next day he went to the secretary’s office to put his name down for one of the hospital appointments. The secretary was a pleasant little man with a black beard, whom Philip had always found very affable. He congratulated him on his success, and then said:
‘I suppose you wouldn’t like to do a locum for a month on the South coast? Three guineas a week with board and lodging.’
‘I wouldn’t mind,’ said Philip.
‘It’s at Farnley, in Dorsetshire. Doctor South. You’d have to go down at once; his assistant has developed mumps. I believe it’s a very pleasant place.’
There was something in the secretary’s manner that puzzled Philip. It was a little doubtful.
‘What’s the crab in it?’ he asked.
The secretary hesitated a moment and laughed in a conciliating fashion.
‘Well, the fact is, I understand he’s rather a crusty, funny old fellow. The agencies won’t send him anyone any more. He speaks his mind very openly, and men don’t like it.’
‘But d’you think he’ll be satisfied with a man who’s only just qualified? After all I have no experience.’
‘He ought to be glad to get you,’ said the secretary diplomatically.
Philip thought for a moment. He had nothing to do for the next few weeks, and he was glad of the chance to earn a bit of money. He could put it aside for the holiday in Spain which he had promised himself when he had finished his appointment at St. Luke’s or, if they would not give him anything there, at some other hospital.
‘All right. I’ll go.’
‘The only thing is, you must go this afternoon. Will that suit you? If so, I’ll send a wire at once.’
Philip would have liked a few days to himself; but he had seen the Athelnys the night before (he had gone at once to take them his good news) and there was really no reason why he should not start immediately. He had little luggage to pack. Soon after seven that evening he got out of the station at Farnley and took a cab to Doctor South’s. It was a broad low stucco house, with a Virginia creeper growing over it. He was shown into the consulting-room. An old man was writing at a desk. He looked up as the maid ushered Philip in. He did not get up, and he did not speak; he merely stared at Philip. Philip was taken aback.
‘I think you’re expecting me,’ he said. ‘The secretary of St. Luke’s wired to you this morning.’
‘I kept dinner back for half an hour. D’you want to wash?’
‘I do,’ said Philip.
Doctor South amused him by his odd manner. He got up now, and Philip saw that he was a man of middle height, thin, with white hair cut very short and a long mouth closed so tightly that he seemed to have no lips at all; he was clean-shaven but for small white whiskers, and they increased the squareness of face which his firm jaw gave him. He wore a brown tweed suit and a white stock. His clothes hung loosely about him as though they had been made for a much larger man. He looked like a respectable farmer of the middle of the nineteenth century. He opened the door.
‘There is the dining-room,’ he said, pointing to the door opposite. ‘Your bed-room is the first door you come to when you get on the landing. Come downstairs when you’re ready.’
During dinner Philip knew that Doctor South was examining him, but he spoke little, and Philip felt that he did not want to hear his assistant talk.
‘When were you qualified?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Yesterday.’
‘Were you at a university?’
‘No.’
‘Last year when my assistant took a holiday they sent me a ‘Varsity man. I told ‘em not to do it again. Too damned gentlemanly for me.’
There was another pause. The dinner was very simple and very good. Philip preserved a sedate exterior, but in his heart he was bubbling over with excitement. He was immensely elated at being engaged as a locum; it made him feel extremely grown up; he had an insane desire to laugh at nothing in particular; and the more he thought of his professional dignity the more he was inclined to chuckle.
But Doctor South broke suddenly into his thoughts. ‘How old are you?’
‘Getting on for thirty.’
‘How is it you’re only just qualified?’
‘I didn’t go in for the medical till I was nearly twenty-three, and I had to give it up for two years in the middle.’
‘Why?’
‘Poverty.’
Doctor South gave him an odd look and relapsed into silence. At the end of dinner he got up from the table.
‘D’you know what sort of a practice this is?’
‘No,’ answered Philip.
‘Mostly fishermen and their families. I have the Union and the Seamen’s Hospital. I used to be alone here, but since they tried to make this into a fashionable sea-side resort a man has set up on the cliff, and the well-to-do people go to him. I only have those who can’t afford to pay for a doctor at all.’
Philip saw that the rivalry was a sore point with the old man.
‘You know that I have no experience,’ said Philip.
‘You none of you know anything.’
He walked out of the room without another word and left Philip by himself. When the maid came in to clear away she told Philip that Doctor South saw patients from six till seven. Work for that night was over. Philip fetched a book from his room, lit his pipe, and settled himself down to read. It was a great comfort, since he had read nothing but medical books for the last few months. At ten o’clock Doctor South came in and looked at him. Philip hated not to have his feet up, and he had dragged up a chair for them.
‘You seem able to make yourself pretty comfortable,’ said Doctor South, with a grimness which would have disturbed Philip if he had not been in such high spirits.
Philip’s eyes twinkled as he answered.
‘Have you any objection?’
Doctor South gave him a look, but did not reply directly.
‘What’s that you’re reading?’
‘Peregrine Pickle. Smollett.’
‘I happen to know that Smollett wrote Peregrine Pickle.’
‘I beg your pardon. Medical men aren’t much interested in literature, are they?’
Philip had put the book down on the table, and Doctor South took it up. It was a volume of an edition which had belonged to the Vicar of Blackstable. It was a thin book bound in faded morocco, with a copperplate engraving as a frontispiece; the pages were musty with age and stained with mould. Philip, without meaning to, started forward a little as Doctor South took the volume in his hands, and a slight smile came into his eyes. Very little escaped the old doctor.
‘Do I amuse you?’ he asked icily.
‘I see you’re fond of books. You can always tell by the way people handle them.’
Doctor South put down the novel immediately.
‘Breakfast at eight-thirty,’ he said and left the room.
‘What a funny old fellow!’ thought Philip.
He soon discovered why Doctor South’s assistants found it difficult to get on with him. In the first place, he set his face firmly against all the discoveries of the last thirty years: he had no patience with the drugs which became modish, were thought to work marvellous cures, and in a few years were discarded; he had stock mixtures which he had brought from St. Luke’s where he had been a student, and had used all his life; he found them just as efficacious as anything that had come into fashion since. Philip was startled at Doctor South’s suspicion of asepsis; he had accepted it in deference to universal opinion; but he used the precautions which Philip had known insisted upon so scrupulously at the hospital with the disdainful tolerance of a man playing at soldiers with children.
‘I’ve seen antiseptics come along and sweep everything before them, and then I’ve seen asepsis take their place. Bunkum!’
The young men who were sent down to him knew only hospital practice; and they came with the unconcealed scorn for the General Practitioner which they had absorbed in the air at the hospital; but they had seen only the complicated cases which appeared in the wards; they knew how to treat an obscure disease of the suprarenal bodies, but were helpless when consulted for a cold in the head. Their knowledge was theoretical and their self-assurance unbounded. Doctor South watched them with tightened lips; he took a savage pleasure in showing them how great was their ignorance and how unjustified their conceit. It was a poor practice, of fishing folk, and the doctor made up his own prescriptions. Doctor South asked his assistant how he expected to make both ends meet if he gave a fisherman with a stomach-ache a mixture consisting of half a dozen expensive drugs. He complained too that the young medical men were uneducated: their reading consisted of The Sporting Times and The British Medical Journal; they could neither write a legible hand nor spell correctly. For two or three days Doctor South watched Philip closely, ready to fall on him with acid sarcasm if he gave him the opportunity; and Philip, aware of this, went about his work with a quiet sense of amusement. He was pleased with the change of occupation. He liked the feeling of independence and of responsibility. All sorts of people came to the consulting-room. He was gratified because he seemed able to inspire his patients with confidence; and it was entertaining to watch the process of cure which at a hospital necessarily could be watched only at distant intervals. His rounds took him into low-roofed cottages in which were fishing tackle and sails and here and there mementoes of deep-sea travelling, a lacquer box from Japan, spears and oars from Melanesia, or daggers from the bazaars of Stamboul; there was an air of romance in the stuffy little rooms, and the salt of the sea gave them a bitter freshness. Philip liked to talk to the sailor-men, and when they found that he was not supercilious they told him long yarns of the distant journeys of their youth.
Once or twice he made a mistake in diagnosis: (he had never seen a case of measles before, and when he was confronted with the rash took it for an obscure disease of the skin;) and once or twice his ideas of treatment differed from Doctor South’s. The first time this happened Doctor South attacked him with savage irony; but Philip took it with good humour; he had some gift for repartee, and he made one or two answers which caused Doctor South to stop and look at him curiously. Philip’s face was grave, but his eyes were twinkling. The old gentleman could not avoid the impression that Philip was chaffing him. He was used to being disliked and feared by his assistants, and this was a new experience. He had half a mind to fly into a passion and pack Philip off by the next train, he had done that before with his assistants; but he had an uneasy feeling that Philip then would simply laugh at him outright; and suddenly he felt amused. His mouth formed itself into a smile against his will, and he turned away. In a little while he grew conscious that Philip was amusing himself systematically at his expense. He was taken aback at first and then diverted.
‘Damn his impudence,’ he chuckled to himself. ‘Damn his impudence.’