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Page 71
28. Psmith Arranges his Future
It was exactly four o'clock when Psmith, sliding unostentatiously from
his stool, flicked divers pieces of dust from the leg of his trousers,
and sidled towards the basement, where he was wont to keep his hat
during business hours. He was aware that it would be a matter of some
delicacy to leave the bank at that hour. There was a certain quantity
of work still to be done in the Fixed Deposits Department--work in
which, by rights, as Mike's understudy, he should have lent a
sympathetic and helping hand. 'But what of that?' he mused,
thoughtfully smoothing his hat with his knuckles. 'Comrade Gregory is a
man who takes such an enthusiastic pleasure in his duties that he will
go singing about the office when he discovers that he has got a double
lot of work to do.'
With this comforting thought, he started on his perilous journey to the
open air. As he walked delicately, not courting observation, he
reminded himself of the hero of 'Pilgrim's Progress'. On all sides of
him lay fearsome beasts, lying in wait to pounce upon him. At any
moment Mr Gregory's hoarse roar might shatter the comparative
stillness, or the sinister note of Mr Bickersdyke make itself heard.
'However,' said Psmith philosophically, 'these are Life's Trials, and
must be borne patiently.'
A roundabout route, via the Postage and Inwards Bills Departments, took
him to the swing-doors. It was here that the danger became acute. The
doors were well within view of the Fixed Deposits Department, and Mr
Gregory had an eye compared with which that of an eagle was more or
less bleared.
Psmith sauntered to the door and pushed it open in a gingerly manner.
As he did so a bellow rang through the office, causing a timid customer,
who had come in to arrange about an overdraft, to lose his nerve
completely and postpone his business till the following afternoon.
Psmith looked up. Mr Gregory was leaning over the barrier which divided
his lair from the outer world, and gesticulating violently.
'Where are you going,' roared the head of the Fixed Deposits.
Psmith did not reply. With a benevolent smile and a gesture intended to
signify all would come right in the future, he slid through the
swing-doors, and began to move down the street at a somewhat swifter
pace than was his habit.
Once round the corner he slackened his speed.
'This can't go on,' he said to himself. 'This life of commerce is too
great a strain. One is practically a hunted hare. Either the heads of
my department must refrain from View Halloos when they observe me going
for a stroll, or I abandon Commerce for some less exacting walk in
life.'
He removed his hat, and allowed the cool breeze to play upon his
forehead. The episode had been disturbing.
He was to meet his father at the Mansion House. As he reached that
land-mark he saw with approval that punctuality was a virtue of which
he had not the sole monopoly in the Smith family. His father was
waiting for him at the tryst.
'Certainly, my boy,' said Mr Smith senior, all activity in a moment,
when Psmith had suggested going to Lord's. 'Excellent. We must be
getting on. We must not miss a moment of the match. Bless my soul: I
haven't seen a first-class match this season. Where's a cab? Hi, cabby!
No, that one's got some one in it. There's another. Hi! Here, lunatic!
Are you blind? Good, he's seen us. That's right. Here he comes. Lord's
Cricket Ground, cabby, as quick as you can. Jump in, Rupert, my boy,
jump in.'
Psmith rarely jumped. He entered the cab with something of the
stateliness of an old Roman Emperor boarding his chariot, and settled
himself comfortably in his seat. Mr Smith dived in like a rabbit.
A vendor of newspapers came to the cab thrusting an evening paper into
the interior. Psmith bought it.
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