t leaped.

"This is the real thing," he said to himself.

He was all eyes as the train sped through the country; he adored the sand
dunes, their colour seemed to him more lovely than anything he had ever
seen; and he was enchanted with the canals and the long lines of poplars.
When they got out of the Gare du Nord, and trundled along the cobbled
streets in a ramshackle, noisy cab, it seemed to him that he was breathing
a new air so intoxicating that he could hardly restrain himself from
shouting aloud. They were met at the door of the hotel by the manager, a
stout, pleasant man, who spoke tolerable English; Mr. Goodworthy was an
old friend and he greeted them effusively; they dined in his private room
with his wife, and to Philip it seemed that he had never eaten anything so
delicious as the beefsteak aux pommes, nor drunk such nectar as the vin
ordinaire, which were set before them.

To Mr. Goodworthy, a respectable householder with excellent principles,
the capital of France was a paradise of the joyously obscene. He asked the
manager next morning what there was to be seen that was 'thick.' He
thoroughly enjoyed these visits of his to Paris; he said they kept you
from growing rusty. In the evenings, after their work was over and they
had dined, he took Philip to the Moulin Rouge and the Folies Bergeres. His
little eyes twinkled and his face wore a sly, sensual smile as he sought
out the pornographic. He went into all the haunts which were specially
arranged for the foreigner, and afterwards said that a nation could come
to no good which permitted that sort of thing. He nudged Philip when at
some revue a woman appeared with practically nothing on, and pointed out
to him the most strapping of the courtesans who walked about the hall. It
was a vulgar Paris that he showed Philip, but Philip saw it with eyes
blinded with illusion. In the early morning he would rush out of the hotel
and go to the Champs Elysees, and stand at the Place de la Concorde. It
was June, and Paris was silvery with the delicacy of the air. Philip felt
his heart go out to the people. Here he thought at last was romance.

They spent the inside of a week there, leaving on Sunday, and when Philip
late at night reached his dingy rooms in Barnes his mind was made up; he
would surrender his articles, and go to Paris to study art; but so that no
one should think him unreasonable he determined to stay at the office till
his year was up. He was to have his