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his talent. It occurred to him to take the drawings home, and
he came back next day with the praises of his family.
‘I wonder you didn’t become a painter,’ he said. ‘Only of
course there’s no money in it.’
It chanced that Mr. Carter two or three days later was
dining with the Watsons, and the sketches were shown him.
The following morning he sent for Philip. Philip saw him sel-
dom and stood in some awe of him.
‘Look here, young fellow, I don’t care what you do out of
office-hours, but I’ve seen those sketches of yours and they’re
on office-paper, and Mr. Goodworthy tells me you’re slack.
You won’t do any good as a chartered accountant unless you
look alive. It’s a fine profession, and we’re getting a very good
class of men in it, but it’s a profession in which you have to...’
he looked for the termination of his phrase, but could not
find exactly what he wanted, so finished rather tamely, ‘in
which you have to look alive.’
Perhaps Philip would have settled down but for the agree-
ment that if he did not like the work he could leave after a
year, and get back half the money paid for his articles. He
felt that he was fit for something better than to add up ac-
counts, and it was humiliating that he did so ill something
which seemed contemptible. The vulgar scenes with Thomp-
son got on his nerves. In March Watson ended his year at the
office and Philip, though he did not care for him, saw him
go with regret. The fact that the other clerks disliked them
equally, because they belonged to a class a little higher than
their own, was a bond of union. When Philip thought that
he must spend over four years more with that dreary set of

Of Human Bondage