(He
feels vaguely that he has heard this argument before.)
PHILIP (smiling): To tell the truth, I don't feel I mind much
anyway. Anything you like--except a commissionaire. I absolutely
refuse to wear uniform again.
JAMES. How would you like to come into the business?
PHILIP. The jam business? Well, I don't know. You wouldn't want
me to salute you in the mornings?
JAMES. My dear boy, no!
PHILIP. All right, I'll try it if you like. I don't know if I shall
be any good--what do you do?
JAMES. It's your experience in managing and--er--handling men which
I hope will be of value.
PHILIP. Oh, I can do that all right. (Stretching himself
luxuriously) Uncle James, do you realize that I'm never going to
salute again, or wear a uniform, or get wet--really wet, I mean--or
examine men's feet, or stand to attention when I'm spoken to, or--
oh, lots more things. And best of all, I'm never going to be
frightened again. Have you ever known what it is to be afraid--
really afraid?
JAMES (embarrassed). I--er--well--(He coughs.)
PHILIP. No, you couldn't--not really afraid of death, I mean. Well,
that's over now. Good lord! I could spend the rest of my life in
the British Museum and be happy. ...
JAMES (getting up). All right, we'll try you in the office. I
expect you want a holiday first, though.
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