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Page 11
As they reached the desk, a little man with short, black whiskers
buzzed out from behind a glass screen, where there was another desk.
'Where have you been, Bannister, where have you been? You must not
leave your work in this way. There are several letters waiting to be
entered. Where have you been?'
'Mr Bickersdyke sent for me,' said Bannister, with the calm triumph of
one who trumps an ace.
'Oh! Ah! Oh! Yes, very well. I see. But get to work, get to work. Who
is this?'
'This is a new man. He's taking my place. I've been moved on to the
cash.'
'Oh! Ah! Is your name Smith?' asked Mr Rossiter, turning to Mike.
Mike corrected the rash guess, and gave his name. It struck him as a
curious coincidence that he should be asked if his name were Smith, of
all others. Not that it is an uncommon name.
'Mr Bickersdyke told me to expect a Mr Smith. Well, well, perhaps there
are two new men. Mr Bickersdyke knows we are short-handed in this
department. But, come along, Bannister, come along. Show Jackson what
he has to do. We must get on. There is no time to waste.'
He buzzed back to his lair. Bannister grinned at Mike. He was a
cheerful youth. His normal expression was a grin.
'That's a sample of Rossiter,' he said. 'You'd think from the fuss he's
made that the business of the place was at a standstill till we got to
work. Perfect rot! There's never anything to do here till after lunch,
except checking the stamps and petty cash, and I've done that ages ago.
There are three letters. You may as well enter them. It all looks like
work. But you'll find the best way is to wait till you get a couple of
dozen or so, and then work them off in a batch. But if you see Rossiter
about, then start stamping something or writing something, or he'll run
you in for neglecting your job. He's a nut. I'm jolly glad I'm under
old Waller now. He's the pick of the bunch. The other heads of
departments are all nuts, and Bickersdyke's the nuttiest of the lot.
Now, look here. This is all you've got to do. I'll just show you, and
then you can manage for yourself. I shall have to be shunting off to my
own work in a minute.'
5. The Other Man
As Bannister had said, the work in the postage department was not
intricate. There was nothing much to do except enter and stamp letters,
and, at intervals, take them down to the post office at the end of the
street. The nature of the work gave Mike plenty of time for reflection.
His thoughts became gloomy again. All this was very far removed from
the life to which he had looked forward. There are some people who take
naturally to a life of commerce. Mike was not of these. To him the
restraint of the business was irksome. He had been used to an open-air
life, and a life, in its way, of excitement. He gathered that he would
not be free till five o'clock, and that on the following day he would
come at ten and go at five, and the same every day, except Saturdays
and Sundays, all the year round, with a ten days' holiday. The monotony
of the prospect appalled him. He was not old enough to know what a
narcotic is Habit, and that one can become attached to and interested
in the most unpromising jobs. He worked away dismally at his letters
till he had finished them. Then there was nothing to do except sit and
wait for more.
He looked through the letters he had stamped, and re-read the
addresses. Some of them were directed to people living in the country,
one to a house which he knew quite well, near to his own home in
Shropshire. It made him home-sick, conjuring up visions of shady
gardens and country sounds and smells, and the silver Severn gleaming
in the distance through the trees. About now, if he were not in this
dismal place, he would be lying in the shade in the garden with a book,
or wandering down to the river to boat or bathe. That envelope
addressed to the man in Shropshire gave him the worst moment he had
experienced that day.
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