|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 35
Psmith, meanwhile, was not enjoying himself. It was an unheard-of
thing, he said, depriving a man of his confidential secretary without
so much as asking his leave.
'It has caused me the greatest inconvenience,' he told Mike, drifting
round in a melancholy way to the Cash Department during a slack spell
one afternoon. 'I miss you at every turn. Your keen intelligence and
ready sympathy were invaluable to me. Now where am I? In the cart. I
evolved a slightly bright thought on life just now. There was nobody to
tell it to except the new man. I told it him, and the fool gaped. I
tell you, Comrade Jackson, I feel like some lion that has been robbed
of its cub. I feel as Marshall would feel if they took Snelgrove away
from him, or as Peace might if he awoke one morning to find Plenty
gone. Comrade Rossiter does his best. We still talk brokenly about
Manchester United--they got routed in the first round of the Cup
yesterday and Comrade Rossiter is wearing black--but it is not the
same. I try work, but that is no good either. From ledger to ledger
they hurry me, to stifle my regret. And when they win a smile from me,
they think that I forget. But I don't. I am a broken man. That new
exhibit they've got in your place is about as near to the Extreme Edge
as anything I've ever seen. One of Nature's blighters. Well, well, I
must away. Comrade Rossiter awaits me.'
Mike's successor, a youth of the name of Bristow, was causing Psmith a
great deal of pensive melancholy. His worst defect--which he could not
help--was that he was not Mike. His others--which he could--were
numerous. His clothes were cut in a way that harrowed Psmith's sensitive
soul every time he looked at them. The fact that he wore detachable
cuffs, which he took off on beginning work and stacked in a glistening
pile on the desk in front of him, was no proof of innate viciousness of
disposition, but it prejudiced the Old Etonian against him. It was part
of Psmith's philosophy that a man who wore detachable cuffs had passed
beyond the limit of human toleration. In addition, Bristow wore a small
black moustache and a ring and that, as Psmith informed Mike, put the
lid on it.
Mike would sometimes stroll round to the Postage Department to listen
to the conversations between the two. Bristow was always friendliness
itself. He habitually addressed Psmith as Smithy, a fact which
entertained Mike greatly but did not seem to amuse Psmith to any
overwhelming extent. On the other hand, when, as he generally did, he
called Mike 'Mister Cricketer', the humour of the thing appeared to
elude Mike, though the mode of address always drew from Psmith a pale,
wan smile, as of a broken heart made cheerful against its own
inclination.
The net result of the coming of Bristow was that Psmith spent most of
his time, when not actually oppressed by a rush of work, in the
precincts of the Cash Department, talking to Mike and Mr Waller. The
latter did not seem to share the dislike common among the other heads
of departments of seeing his subordinates receiving visitors. Unless
the work was really heavy, in which case a mild remonstrance escaped
him, he offered no objection to Mike being at home to Psmith. It was
this tolerance which sometimes got him into trouble with Mr
Bickersdyke. The manager did not often perambulate the office, but he
did occasionally, and the interview which ensued upon his finding
Hutchinson, the underling in the Cash Department at that time, with his
stool tilted comfortably against the wall, reading the sporting news
from a pink paper to a friend from the Outward Bills Department who lay
luxuriously on the floor beside him, did not rank among Mr Waller's
pleasantest memories. But Mr Waller was too soft-hearted to interfere
with his assistants unless it was absolutely necessary. The truth of
the matter was that the New Asiatic Bank was over-staffed. There were
too many men for the work. The London branch of the bank was really
only a nursery. New men were constantly wanted in the Eastern branches,
so they had to be put into the London branch to learn the business,
whether there was any work for them to do or not.
It was after one of these visits of Psmith's that Mr Waller displayed a
new and unsuspected side to his character. Psmith had come round in a
state of some depression to discuss Bristow, as usual. Bristow, it
seemed, had come to the bank that morning in a fancy waistcoat of so
emphatic a colour-scheme that Psmith stoutly refused to sit in the same
department with it.
'What with Comrades Bristow and Bickersdyke combined,' said Psmith
plaintively, 'the work is becoming too hard for me. The whisper is
beginning to circulate, "Psmith's number is up--As a reformer he is
merely among those present. He is losing his dash." But what can I do?
I cannot keep an eye on both of them at the same time. The moment I
concentrate myself on Comrade Bickersdyke for a brief spell, and seem
to be doing him a bit of good, what happens? Why, Comrade Bristow
sneaks off and buys a sort of woollen sunset. I saw the thing
unexpectedly. I tell you I was shaken. It is the suddenness of that
waistcoat which hits you. It's discouraging, this sort of thing. I try
always to think well of my fellow man. As an energetic Socialist, I do
my best to see the good that is in him, but it's hard. Comrade
Bristow's the most striking argument against the equality of man I've
ever come across.'
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|