holiday during the last fortnight in
August, and when he went away he would tell Herbert Carter that he had no
intention of returning. But though Philip could force himself to go to the
office every day he could not even pretend to show any interest in the
work. His mind was occupied with the future. After the middle of July
there was nothing much to do and he escaped a good deal by pretending he
had to go to lectures for his first examination. The time he got in this
way he spent in the National Gallery. He read books about Paris and books
about painting. He was steeped in Ruskin. He read many of Vasari's lives
of the painters. He liked that story of Correggio, and he fancied himself
standing before some great masterpiece and crying: Anch' io son'
pittore. His hesitation had left him now, and he was convinced that he
had in him the makings of a great painter.

"After all, I can only try," he said to himself. "The great thing in life
is to take risks."

At last came the middle of August. Mr. Carter was spending the month in
Scotland, and the managing clerk was in charge of the office. Mr.
Goodworthy had seemed pleasantly disposed to Philip since their trip to
Paris, and now that Philip knew he was so soon to be free, he could look
upon the funny little man with tolerance.

"You're going for your holiday tomorrow, Carey?" he said to him in the
evening.

All day Philip had been telling himself that this was the last time he
would ever sit in that hateful office.

"Yes, this is the end of my year."

"I'm afraid you've not done very well. Mr. Carter's very dissatisfied with
you."

"Not nearly so dissatisfied as I am with Mr. Carter," returned Philip
cheerfully.

"I don't think you should speak like that, Carey."

"I'm not coming back. I made the arrangement that if I didn't like
accountancy Mr. Carter would return me half the money I paid for my
articles and I could chuck it at the end of a year."

"You shouldn't come to such a decision hastily."

"For ten months I've loathed it all, I've loathed the work, I've loathed
the office, I loathe Loudon. I'd rather sweep a crossing than spend my
days here."

"Well, I must say, I don't think you're very fitted for accountancy."

"Good-bye," said Philip, holding out his hand. "I want to thank you for
your kindness to me. I'm sorry if I've been troublesome. I knew almost
from the beginning I was no good."

"Well, if you really do make up your mind it is good-bye. I