FullReads

***

(JAMES opens his eyes with a start and looks round him in a bewildered way. He rubs his heart, takes out his match and looks at it, and then stares round the room again. The door from the dining-room opens, and PHILIP comes in with a piece of toast in his hand.)

PHILIP
(his mouth full). You wanted to see me, Uncle James?

JAMES
(still bewildered). That’s all right, my boy, that’s all right. What have you been doing?

PHILIP
(surprised). Breakfast. (Putting the last piece in his mouth) Rather late, I’m afraid.

JAMES
. That’s all right. (He laughs awkwardly.)

PHILIP
. Anything the matter? You don’t look your usual bright self.

JAMES
. I–er–seem to have dropped asleep in front of the fire. Most unusual thing for me to have done. Most unusual.

PHILIP
. Let that be a lesson to you not to get up so early. Of course, if you’re in the Army you can’t help yourself. Thank Heaven I’m out of it, and my own master again.

JAMES
. Ah, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Sit down, Philip. (He indicates the chair by the fire.)

PHILIP
(taking a chair by the table). You have that, uncle; I shall be all right here.

JAMES
(hastily). No, no; you come here. (He gives PHILIP the armchair and sits by the table himself.) I should be dropping off again. (He laughs awkwardly.)

PHILIP
. Righto. (He puts his hand to his pocket. UNCLE JAMES shivers and looks at him to horror. PHILIP brings out his pipe, and a sickly grin of relief comes into JAMES’S face.)

JAMES
. I suppose you smoked a lot in France?

PHILIP
. Rather! Nothing else to do. It’s allowed in here?

JAMES
(hastily). Yes, yes, of course. (PHILIP lights his pipe.) Well now, Philip, what are you going to do, now you’ve left the Army?

PHILIP
(promptly). Burn my uniform and sell my revolver.

JAMES
(starting at the word “revolver”). Sell your revolver, eh?

PHILIP
(surprised). Well, I don’t want it now, do I?

JAMES
. No…. Oh no…. Oh, most certainly not, I should say. Oh, I can’t see why you should want it at all. (With an uneasy laugh) You’re in England now. No need for revolvers here–eh?

PHILIP
(staring at him). Well, no, I hope not.

JAMES
(hastily). Quite so. Well now, Philip, what next? We must find a profession for you.

PHILIP
(yawning). I suppose so. I haven’t really thought about it much.

JAMES
. You never wanted to be an architect?

PHILIP
(surprised). Architect? (JAMES rubs his head and wonders what made him think of architect.)

JAMES
. Or anything like that.

PHILIP
. It’s a bit late, isn’t it?

JAMES
. Well, if you’re four years behind, so is everybody else. (He feels vaguely that he has heard this argument before.)

PHILIP
(smiling): To tell the truth, I don’t feel I mind much anyway. Anything you like–except a commissionaire. I absolutely refuse to wear uniform again.

JAMES
. How would you like to come into the business?

PHILIP
. The jam business? Well, I don’t know. You wouldn’t want me to salute you in the mornings?

JAMES
. My dear boy, no!

PHILIP
. All right, I’ll try it if you like. I don’t know if I shall be any good–what do you do?

JAMES
. It’s your experience in managing and–er–handling men which I hope will be of value.

PHILIP
. Oh, I can do that all right. (Stretching himself luxuriously) Uncle James, do you realize that I’m never going to salute again, or wear a uniform, or get wet–really wet, I mean–or examine men’s feet, or stand to attention when I’m spoken to, or–oh, lots more things. And best of all, I’m never going to be frightened again. Have you ever known what it is to be afraid–really afraid?

JAMES
(embarrassed). I–er–well–(He coughs.)

PHILIP
. No, you couldn’t–not really afraid of death, I mean. Well, that’s over now. Good lord! I could spend the rest of my life in the British Museum and be happy….

JAMES
(getting up). All right, we’ll try you in the office. I expect you want a holiday first, though.

PHILIP
(getting up). My dear uncle, this is holiday. Being in London is holiday. Buying an evening paper–wearing a waistcoat again–running after a bus–anything–it’s all holiday.

JAMES
. All right, then, come along with me now, and I’ll introduce you to Mr. Bamford.

PHILIP
. Right. Who’s he?

JAMES
. Our manager. A little stiff, but a very good fellow. He’ll be delighted to hear that you are coming into the firm.

PHILIP
(smiling). Perhaps I’d better bring my revolver, in case he isn’t.

JAMES
(laughing with forced heartiness as they go together to the door). Ha, ha! A good joke that! Ha, ha, ha! A good joke–but only a joke, of course. Ha, ha! He, he, he!

[PHILIP goes out. JAMES, following him, turns at the door, and looks round the room in a bewildered way. Was it a dream, or wasn’t it? He will never be quite certain.]