adventure. Philip turned to Hayward with shining eyes.

"Dear Charles Dickens," he murmured, smiling a little at his own emotion.

"Aren't you rather sorry you chucked painting?" asked Hayward.

"No."

"I suppose you like doctoring?"

"No, I hate it, but there was nothing else to do. The drudgery of the
first two years is awful, and unfortunately I haven't got the scientific
temperament."

"Well, you can't go on changing professions."

"Oh, no. I'm going to stick to this. I think I shall like it better when
I get into the wards. I have an idea that I'm more interested in people
than in anything else in the world. And as far as I can see, it's the only
profession in which you have your freedom. You carry your knowledge in
your head; with a box of instruments and a few drugs you can make your
living anywhere."

"Aren't you going to take a practice then?"

"Not for a good long time at any rate," Philip answered. "As soon as I've
got through my hospital appointments I shall get a ship; I want to go to
the East--the Malay Archipelago, Siam, China, and all that sort of
thing--and then I shall take odd jobs. Something always comes along,
cholera duty in India and things like that. I want to go from place to
place. I want to see the world. The only way a poor man can do that is by
going in for the medical."

They came to Greenwich then. The noble building of Inigo Jones faced the
river grandly.

"I say, look, that must be the place where Poor Jack dived into the mud
for pennies," said Philip.

They wandered in the park. Ragged children were playing in it, and it was
noisy with their cries: here and there old seamen were basking in the sun.
There was an air of a hundred years ago.

"It seems a pity you wasted two years in Paris," said Hayward.

"Waste? Look at the movement of that child, look at the pattern which the
sun makes on the ground, shining through the trees, look at that sky--why,
I should never have seen that sky if I hadn't been to Paris."

Hayward thought that Philip choked a sob, and he looked at him with
astonishment.

"What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry to be so damned emotional, but for six months I've
been starved for beauty."

"You used to be so matter of fact. It's very interesting to hear you say
that."

"Damn it all, I don't want to be interesting," laughed Philip. "Let's go
and have a stodgy tea."

LXV

Hayward's visit did Philip a great deal of good. Each