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In the cab he asked him one or two questions. "He seemed no worse than usual when I left this morning," said Philip. "It gave me an awful shock when I went in just now. And the thought of his dying all alone.... D'you think he knew he was going to die?" Philip remembered what Cronshaw had said. He wondered whether at that last moment he had been seized with the terror of death.
Athelny, with his powerful voice in the diminutive body, with his bombast, with his foreign look, with his emphasis, was an astonishing creature. He reminded Philip a good deal of Cronshaw.
The restaurant, consisting of one small room, was of the poorest class, and Cronshaw seemed to be its only customer. He was sitting in the corner, well away from draughts, wearing the same shabby great-coat which Philip had never seen him without, with his old bowler on his head. "I eat here because I can be alone," he said.
Philip's eyes wandered to her, and Cronshaw, having finished the recitation of his verses, smiled upon him indulgently. "You were not listening," he said. "Oh yes, I was." "I do not blame you, for you have given an apt illustration of the statement I just made. What is art beside love?
He got himself something to eat and went round to the address from which Cronshaw had first written to him. He had some difficulty in finding Hyde Street.
Philip did not answer, but gave an almost imperceptible shrug of the shoulders. Cronshaw, watching him, gave a little chuckle. "Don't look so angry, my dear. I know very well you want to do everything you can for me. Let's see your doctor, perhaps he can do something for me, and at any rate it'll comfort you." He turned his eyes to Upjohn. "You're a damned fool, Leonard.
"They are not doing well; the only people who come are a few trollops and one or two waiters out of a job; they are giving up business, and the food is execrable. But the ruin of their fortunes is my advantage." Cronshaw had before him a glass of absinthe. It was nearly three years since they had met, and Philip was shocked by the change in his appearance.
They prided themselves on being alone in appreciating his genius; and though, with the contempt of youth for the follies of middle-age, they patronised him among themselves, they did not fail to look upon it as a feather in their caps if he had chosen a time when only one was there to be particularly wonderful. Cronshaw never came to Gravier's.
But Flanagan had had enough of intellectual conversation for one evening, and when Lawson made his suggestion, turned to Philip. "Oh gee, let's go where there are girls," he said. "Come to the Gaite Montparnasse, and we'll get ginny." "I'd rather go and see Cronshaw and keep sober," laughed Philip. There was a general disturbance.
He was surprised to see that his mouth was open. He touched his shoulder. Philip gave a cry of dismay. He slipped his hand under Cronshaw's shirt and felt his heart; he did not know what to do; helplessly, because he had heard of this being done, he held a looking-glass in front of his mouth. It startled him to be alone with Cronshaw.
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