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in, he received no more than the six shillings a week with
which he started. But it was a ticklish matter to ask for a
rise. The manager had a sardonic way of dealing with such
applicants.
‘Think you’re worth more, do you? How much d’you
think you’re worth, eh?’
The assistant, with his heart in his mouth, would sug-
gest that he thought he ought to have another two shillings
a week.
‘Oh, very well, if you think you’re worth it. You can ‘ave
it.’ Then he paused and sometimes, with a steely eye, added:
‘And you can ‘ave your notice too.’
It was no use then to withdraw your request, you had to
go. The manager’s idea was that assistants who were dis-
satisfied did not work properly, and if they were not worth
a rise it was better to sack them at once. The result was that
they never asked for one unless they were prepared to leave.
Philip hesitated. He was a little suspicious of the men in his
room who told him that the buyer could not do without
him. They were decent fellows, but their sense of humour
was primitive, and it would have 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 him-
self 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 persuad-