Mr. Sampson, the buyer, took a fancy to Philip. Mr. Sampson was very
dashing, and the girls in his department said they would not be
surprised if he married one of the rich customers. He lived out of town
and often impressed the assistants by putting on his evening clothes in
the office. Sometimes he would be seen by those on sweeping duty coming
in next morning still dressed, and they would wink gravely to one
another while he went into his office and changed into a frock coat. On
these occasions, having slipped out for a hurried breakfast, he also
would wink at Philip as he walked up the stairs on his way back and rub
his hands.
“What a night! What a night!” he said. “My word!”
He told Philip that he was the only gentleman there, and he and Philip
were the only fellows who knew what life was. Having said this, he
changed his manner suddenly, called Philip Mr. Carey instead of old
boy, assumed the importance due to his position as buyer, and put
Philip back into his place of shop-walker.
Lynn and Sedley received fashion papers from Paris once a week and
adapted the costumes illustrated in them to the needs of their
customers. Their clientele was peculiar. The most substantial part
consisted of women from the smaller manufacturing towns, who were too
elegant to have their frocks made locally and not sufficiently
acquainted with London to discover good dressmakers within their means.
Beside these, incongruously, was a large number of music-hall artistes.
This was a connection that Mr. Sampson had worked up for himself and
took great pride in. They had begun by getting their stage-costumes at
Lynn’s, and he had induced many of them to get their other clothes
there as well.
“As good as Paquin and half the price,” he said.
He had a persuasive, hail-fellow well-met air with him which appealed
to customers of this sort, and they said to one another:
“What’s the good of throwing money away when you can get a coat and
skirt at Lynn’s that nobody knows don’t come from Paris?”
Mr. Sampson was very proud of his friendship with the popular
favourites whose frocks he made, and when he went out to dinner at two
o’clock on Sunday with Miss Victoria Virgo—“she was wearing that powder
blue we made her and I lay she didn’t let on it come from us, I ’ad to
tell her meself that if I ’adn’t designed it with my own ’ands I’d have
said it must come from Paquin”—at her beautiful house in Tulse Hill, he
regaled the department next day with abundant details. Philip had never
paid much attention to women’s clothes, but in course of time he began,
a little amused at himself, to take a technical interest in them. He
had an eye for colour which was more highly trained than that of anyone
in the department, and he had kept from his student days in Paris some
knowledge of line. Mr. Sampson, an ignorant man conscious of his
incompetence, but with a shrewdness that enabled him to combine other
people’s suggestions, constantly asked the opinion of the assistants in
his department in making up new designs; and he had the quickness to
see that Philip’s criticisms were valuable. But he was very jealous,
and would never allow that he took anyone’s advice. When he had altered
some drawing in accordance with Philip’s suggestion, he always finished
up by saying:
“Well, it comes round to my own idea in the end.”
One day, when Philip had been at the shop for five months, Miss Alice
Antonia, the well-known serio-comic, came in and asked to see Mr.
Sampson. She was a large woman, with flaxen hair, and a boldly painted
face, a metallic voice, and the breezy manner of a comedienne
accustomed to be on friendly terms with the gallery boys of provincial
music-halls. She had a new song and wished Mr. Sampson to design a
costume for her.
“I want something striking,” she said. “I don’t want any old thing you
know. I want something different from what anybody else has.”
Mr. Sampson, bland and familiar, said he was quite certain they could
get her the very thing she required. He showed her sketches.
“I know there’s nothing here that would do, but I just want to show you
the kind of thing I would suggest.”
“Oh no, that’s not the sort of thing at all,” she said, as she glanced
at them impatiently. “What I want is something that’ll just hit ’em in
the jaw and make their front teeth rattle.”
“Yes, I quite understand, Miss Antonia,” said the buyer, with a bland
smile, but his eyes grew blank and stupid.
“I expect I shall ’ave to pop over to Paris for it in the end.”
“Oh, I think we can give you satisfaction, Miss Antonia. What you can
get in Paris you can get here.”
When she had swept out of the department Mr. Sampson, a little worried,
discussed the matter with Mrs. Hodges.
“She’s a caution and no mistake,” said Mrs. Hodges.
“Alice, where art thou?” remarked the buyer, irritably, and thought he
had scored a point against her.
His ideas of music-hall costumes had never gone beyond short skirts, a
swirl of lace, and glittering sequins; but Miss Antonia had expressed
herself on that subject in no uncertain terms.
“Oh, my aunt!” she said.
And the invocation was uttered in such a tone as to indicate a rooted
antipathy to anything so commonplace, even if she had not added that
sequins gave her the sick. Mr. Sampson ‘got out’ one or two ideas, but
Mrs. Hodges told him frankly she did not think they would do. It was
she who gave Philip the suggestion:
“Can you draw, Phil? Why don’t you try your ‘and and see what you can
do?”
Philip bought a cheap box of water colours, and in the evening while
Bell, the noisy lad of sixteen, whistling three notes, busied himself
with his stamps, he made one or two sketches. He remembered some of the
costumes he had seen in Paris, and he adapted one of them, getting his
effect from a combination of violent, unusual colours. The result
amused him and next morning he showed it to Mrs. Hodges. She was
somewhat astonished, but took it at once to the buyer.
“It’s unusual,” he said, “there’s no denying that.”
It puzzled him, and at the same time his trained eye saw that it would
make up admirably. To save his face he began making suggestions for
altering it, but Mrs. Hodges, with more sense, advised him to show it
to Miss Antonia as it was.
“It’s neck or nothing with her, and she may take a fancy to it.”
“It’s a good deal more nothing than neck,” said Mr. Sampson, looking at
the decolletage. “He can draw, can’t he? Fancy ’im keeping it dark all
this time.”
When Miss Antonia was announced, the buyer placed the design on the
table in such a position that it must catch her eye the moment she was
shown into his office. She pounced on it at once.
“What’s that?” she said. “Why can’t I ’ave that?”
“That’s just an idea we got out for you,” said Mr. Sampson casually.
“D’you like it?”
“Do I like it!” she said. “Give me ’alf a pint with a little drop of
gin in it.”
“Ah, you see, you don’t have to go to Paris. You’ve only got to say
what you want and there you are.”
The work was put in hand at once, and Philip felt quite a thrill of
satisfaction when he saw the costume completed. The buyer and Mrs.
Hodges took all the credit of it; but he did not care, and when he went
with them to the Tivoli to see Miss Antonia wear it for the first time
he was filled with elation. In answer to her questions he at last told
Mrs. Hodges how he had learnt to draw—fearing that the people he lived
with would think he wanted to put on airs, he had always taken the
greatest care to say nothing about his past occupations—and she
repeated the information to Mr. Sampson. The buyer said nothing to him
on the subject, but began to treat him a little more deferentially and
presently gave him designs to do for two of the country customers. They
met with satisfaction. Then he began to speak to his clients of a
“clever young feller, Paris art-student, you know,” who worked for him;
and soon Philip, ensconced behind a screen, in his shirt sleeves, was
drawing from morning till night. Sometimes he was so busy that he had
to dine at three with the ‘stragglers.’ He liked it, because there were
few of them and they were all too tired to talk; the food also was
better, for it consisted of what was left over from the buyers’ table.
Philip’s rise from shop-walker to designer of costumes had a great
effect on the department. He realised that he was an object of envy.
Harris, the assistant with the queer-shaped head, who was the first
person he had known at the shop and had attached himself to Philip,
could not conceal his bitterness.
“Some people ’ave all the luck,” he said. “You’ll be a buyer yourself
one of these days, and we shall all be calling you sir.”
He told Philip that he should demand higher wages, for notwithstanding
the difficult work he was now engaged 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 suggest 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 dissatisfied 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 himself 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 persuaded himself to take the venturesome step
when one morning, passing up from breakfast in the basement through the
passage that led to the manager’s office, he saw a queue of men waiting
in answer to an advertisement. There were about a hundred of them, and
whichever was engaged would be offered his keep and the same six
shillings a week that Philip had. He saw some of them cast envious
glances at him because he had employment. It made him shudder. He dared
not risk it.