212520_The_Adve ... _Way_Through_The_World.pdf - OUDL Home

ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD 217
this odious invader. She has seen patients in hospital raging in
fever : she is not frightened by a tipsy man. "La! is it you, Mr.
Philip ? Who ever will take this horrid man ? He ain't fit to go
upstairs among the gentlemen ; indeed he ain't."
" You said Firmin was here—and it isn't the father. It's the
cub! I want the Doctor. Where's the Doctor?" hiccups the
chaplain, lurching against the wall; and then he looks at Philip
with bloodshot eyes, that twinkle hate. "Who wantsh you, I
shlike to know ? Had enough of you already to-day. Conceited
brute. Don't look at me in that sortaway! I ain't afraid of you—
ain't afraid anybody. Time was when I was a young man fight you
as soon as look at you. I say, Philip !"
" Go home, now. Do go home, there's a good man," says the
landlady.
" I say ! Look here—hie—hi! Philip ! On your word as a
gentleman, your father's not here ? He's a sly old boots, Brummeli
Firmin is—Trinity man—I'm not a Trinity man—Corpus man. I
say, Philip, give us your hand. Bear no malice. Look here—
something very particular. After dinner—went into Air Street—
you know—rouge gagne, et couleur—cleaned out. Cleaned out, on
the honour of a gentleman and master of arts of the University of
Cambridge. So was your father—no, he went out in medicine. I
say, Philip, hand us out five sovereigns, and let's try the luck
again ! What, you won't ! It's mean, I say. Don't be mean."
" Oh, here's five shillings ! Go and have a cab. Fetch a cab
for him, Virgilio, do !" cries the mistress of the house.
" That's not enough, my dear !" cries the chaplain, advancing
towards Mrs. Brandon, with such a leer and air, that Philip, half
choked with passion, runs forward, grips Hunt by the collar, and
crying out, " You filthy scoundrel ! as this is not my house, I may
kick you out of it !"—in another instant has run Hunt through the
passage, hurled him down the steps, and sent him sprawling into
the kennel.
"Row down below," says Rosebury placidly, looking from
above. "Personal conflict. Intoxicated individual — in gutter.
Our impetuous friend has floored him."
Hunt, after a moment, sits up and glares at Philip. He is
not hurt. Perhaps the shock has sobered him. He thinks, perhaps,
Philip is going to strike again. " Hands off, BASTARD !"
shrieks out the prostrate wretch.
" 0 Philip, Philip ! he's mad, he's tipsy !" cries out the Little
Sister, running into the street. She puts her arms round Philip.
" Don't mind him, dear—he's mad ! Policeman ! The gentleman
has had too much. Come in, Philip ; come in !"