"If I dared to encroach..." hesitated the polite young man. It was, of course, an unworthy sentiment, particularly in a Communistic bosom ... and yet one could not help feeling that to be seen talking to a stranger of this calibre was rather a distinction. All the people he had rubbed shoulders with to-day, what dull faces they had, threadbare suits, dry lips mouthing "Cotton, cotton, cotton!" even to themselves! This young man was wearing the most smartly tailored of grey tweed suits, shoes of metropolitan brilliance, a velours hat whose ample brims shadowed, expensively, quick green eyes, a slightly squat nose, and lips attuned, as one might judge from a slight thickness and their broad curves, to Bacchic riot and to kissing, even, it might well be, to the more recondite pleasures of the flesh. The last thought checked Philip. Yes, there was something full-blooded to the verge of coarseness in that mouth! Wasn't all this talk about taxis and one's own little two-seater, a hell of a scooter, you know, just a little too ostentatious? After all, a gentleman in the complete sense of the word could deduce from one's clothes, for instance...
The stranger interrupted himself suddenly, then stared at Philip with some intentness. Then he lifted his forefinger to his nose and asked "Zog mir, bist a Yid? Tell me, thou art a Jew?"
Not merely the intonation of the voice had changed, so that the cadence of Leicester Square had subtly become the chant of the Yeshiveh, but its very timbre was different, thicker, more ingenuous, infinitely more homely.
"Ich bin!" replied Philip, perhaps a little stiffly.
"So you're one of us then, eh? well, all's well! I want you to help me, kid!"
A note of bonhommie had entered the voice. "You say you can come along this way, can you? Good! Do you mind? I'm going to take you into my confidence, if you'll let me!"
Philip blinked. He felt a momentary difficulty in his breathing, as if he had been running. A little sudden, one might think....
"What do you say to just getting in here for a moment till we see where we are?" They withdrew into the doorway of a block of offices. "The fact is, I've got a job which is going to keep me in and about Doomington for a few months and I don't know a soul in the place. To tell the truth, I've managed to avoid Doomington till now.... Now isn't that a tactful thing to say to a native! I suppose you do belong to the place, don't you? But look here, you don't mind me buttonholing you like this, do you now? Perfect stranger and that sort of thing!"
There was no doubt he was a thoroughly engaging young fellow. And at this moment Allen of the Sixth passed by, a celebrated swell so far as school swells went. Allen looked merely dowdy now, with his somewhat down-at-heel brown brogues and the silver braid round his prefectorial cap coming loose at the peak. Philip was sure that Allen had glanced a little enviously towards himself and with real respect at the stranger. But who could resist the dapper waist cunningly conferred upon the young man by some prince of tailors?
"It's very decent of you indeed!" Philip muttered. "I appreciate it. You know if I can be of any help at all, I'll be only too pleased!"