Do you realise that we are fighting for our very existence?
Do you realise that my own father, who is fifteen years older than
you, is in the firing line? This is a small place, of course, but
there isn't a man left in it of your age, with your physique, who
has had the slightest experience in either service, who isn't doing
something."
"I can't do more than send in applications," he grumbled. "Be
reasonable, my dear Philippa. It isn't the easiest thing in the
world to find a job for a sailor who has been out of it as long as
I have."
"So you say, but when they ask me what you are doing, as they all
did in London this time, and I reply that you can't get a job, there
is generally a polite little silence. No one believes it. I don't
believe it."
"Philippa!"
Sir Henry turned in his chair. His cigar was burning now idly
between his fingers. His heavy eyebrows were drawn together.
"Well, I don't," she reiterated. "You can be angry, if you will
--in fact I think I should prefer you to be angry. You take no
pains at the Admiralty. You just go there and come away again,
once a year or something like that. Why, if I were you, I
wouldn't leave the place until they'd found me something--indoors
or outdoors, what does it matter so long as your hand is on the
wheel and you are doing your little for your country? But you
--what do you care? You went to town to get a job--and you come
back with new mackerel spinners! You are off fishing to-morrow
morning with Jimmy Dumble.
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