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my walking or anything like that.’
The buyer looked at it for a moment doubtfully, and Phil-
ip surmised that he was wondering why the manager had
engaged him. Philip knew that he had not noticed there was
anything the matter with him.
‘I don’t expect you to get them all correct the first day. If
you’re in any doubt all you’ve got to do is to ask one of the
young ladies.’
Mr. Sampson turned away; and Philip, trying to re-
member where this or the other department was, watched
anxiously for the customer in search of information. At one
o’clock he went up to dinner. The dining-room, on the top
floor of the vast building, was large, long, and well lit; but
all the windows were shut to keep out the dust, and there
was a horrid smell of cooking. There were long tables cov-
ered with cloths, with big glass bottles of water at intervals,
and down the centre salt cellars and bottles of vinegar. The
assistants crowded in noisily, and sat down on forms still
warm from those who had dined at twelve-thirty.
‘No pickles,’ remarked the man next to Philip.
He was a tall thin young man, with a hooked nose and a
pasty face; he had a long head, unevenly shaped as though
the skull had been pushed in here and there oddly, and on
his forehead and neck were large acne spots red and in-
flamed. His name was Harris. Philip discovered that on
some days there were large soup-plates down the table full
of mixed pickles. They were very popular. There were no
knives and forks, but in a minute a large fat boy in a white
coat came in with a couple of handfuls of them and threw

Of Human Bondage