14. Mr Waller Appears in a New Light
The department into which Mike was sent was the Cash, or, to be moreexact, that section of it which was known as Paying Cashier. Theimportant task of shooting doubloons across the counter did not belongto Mike himself, but to Mr Waller. Mike's work was less ostentatious,and was performed with pen, ink, and ledgers in the background.Occasionally, when Mr Waller was out at lunch, Mike had to act assubstitute for him, and cash cheques; but Mr Waller always went out ata slack time, when few customers came in, and Mike seldom had any verystartling sum to hand over.
He enjoyed being in the Cash Department. He liked Mr Waller. The workwas easy; and when he did happen to make mistakes, they were correctedpatiently by the grey-bearded one, and not used as levers for boostinghim into the presence of Mr Bickersdyke, as they might have been insome departments. The cashier seemed to have taken a fancy to Mike; andMike, as was usually the way with him when people went out of their wayto be friendly, was at his best. Mike at his ease and unsuspicious ofhostile intentions was a different person from Mike with his pricklesout.
Psmith, meanwhile, was not enjoying himself. It was an unheard-ofthing, he said, depriving a man of his confidential secretary withoutso much as asking his leave.
'It has caused me the greatest inconvenience,' he told Mike, driftinground in a melancholy way to the Cash Department during a slack spellone afternoon. 'I miss you at every turn. Your keen intelligence andready sympathy were invaluable to me. Now where am I? In the cart. Ievolved a slightly bright thought on life just now. There was nobody totell it to except the new man. I told it him, and the fool gaped. Itell you, Comrade Jackson, I feel like some lion that has been robbedof its cub. I feel as Marshall would feel if they took Snelgrove awayfrom him, or as Peace might if he awoke one morning to find Plentygone. Comrade Rossiter does his best. We still talk brokenly aboutManchester United--they got routed in the first round of the Cupyesterday and Comrade Rossiter is wearing black--but it is not thesame. I try work, but that is no good either. From ledger to ledgerthey 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 newexhibit they've got in your place is about as near to the Extreme Edgeas anything I've ever seen. One of Nature's blighters. Well, well, Imust away. Comrade Rossiter awaits me.'
Mike's successor, a youth of the name of Bristow, was causing Psmith agreat deal of pensive melancholy. His worst defect--which he could nothelp--was that he was not Mike. His others--which he could--werenumerous. His clothes were cut in a way that harrowed Psmith's sensitivesoul every time he looked at them. The fact that he wore detachablecuffs, which he took off on beginning work and stacked in a glisteningpile on the desk in front of him, was no proof of innate viciousness ofdisposition, but it prejudiced the Old Etonian against him. It was partof Psmith's philosophy that a man who wore detachable cuffs had passedbeyond the limit of human toleration. In addition, Bristow wore a smallblack moustache and a ring and that, as Psmith informed Mike, put thelid on it.
Mike would sometimes stroll round to the Postage Department to listento the conversations between the two. Bristow was always friendlinessitself. He habitually addressed Psmith as Smithy, a fact whichentertained Mike greatly but did not seem to amuse Psmith to anyoverwhelming extent. On the other hand, when, as he generally did, hecalled Mike 'Mister Cricketer', the humour of the thing appeared toelude Mike, though the mode of address always drew from Psmith a pale,wan smile, as of a broken heart made cheerful against its owninclination.
The net result of the coming of Bristow was that Psmith spent most ofhis time, when not actually oppressed by a rush of work, in theprecincts of the Cash Department, talking to Mike and Mr Waller. Thelatter did not seem to share the dislike common among the other headsof departments of seeing his subordinates receiving visitors. Unlessthe work was really heavy, in which case a mild remonstrance escapedhim, he offered no objection to Mike being at home to Psmith. It wasthis tolerance which sometimes got him into trouble with MrBickersdyke. The manager did not often perambulate the office, but hedid occasionally, and the interview which ensued upon his findingHutchinson, the underling in the Cash Department at that time, with hisstool tilted comfortably against the wall, reading the sporting newsfrom a pink paper to a friend from the Outward Bills Department who layluxuriously on the floor beside him, did not rank among Mr Waller'spleasantest memories. But Mr Waller was too soft-hearted to interferewith his assistants unless it was absolutely necessary. The truth ofthe matter was that the New Asiatic Bank was over-staffed. There weretoo many men for the work. The London branch of the bank was reallyonly 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 anew and unsuspected side to his character. Psmith had come round in astate of some depression to discuss Bristow, as usual. Bristow, itseemed, had come to the bank that morning in a fancy waistcoat of soemphatic a colour-scheme that Psmith stoutly refused to sit in the samedepartment with it.
'What with Comrades Bristow and Bickersdyke combined,' said Psmithplaintively, 'the work is becoming too hard for me. The whisper isbeginning to circulate, "Psmith's number is up--As a reformer he ismerely 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 Iconcentrate myself on Comrade Bickersdyke for a brief spell, and seemto be doing him a bit of good, what happens? Why, Comrade Bristowsneaks off and buys a sort of woollen sunset. I saw the thingunexpectedly. I tell you I was shaken. It is the suddenness of thatwaistcoat which hits you. It's discouraging, this sort of thing. I tryalways to think well of my fellow man. As an energetic Socialist, I domy best to see the good that is in him, but it's hard. ComradeBristow's the most striking argument against the equality of man I'veever come across.'
Mr Waller intervened at this point.
'I think you must really let Jackson go on with his work, Smith,' hesaid. 'There seems to be too much talking.'
'My besetting sin,' said Psmith sadly. 'Well, well, I will go back anddo my best to face it, but it's a tough job.'
He tottered wearily away in the direction of the Postage Department.
'Oh, Jackson,' said Mr Waller, 'will you kindly take my place for a fewminutes? I must go round and see the Inward Bills about something. Ishall be back very soon.'
Mike was becoming accustomed to deputizing for the cashier for shortspaces of time. It generally happened that he had to do so once ortwice a day. Strictly speaking, perhaps, Mr Waller was wrong to leavesuch an important task as the actual cashing of cheques to aninexperienced person of Mike's standing; but the New Asiatic Bankdiffered from most banks in that there was not a great deal ofcross-counter work. People came in fairly frequently to cash chequesof two or three pounds, but it was rare that any very large dealingstook place.
Having completed his business with the Inward Bills, Mr Waller made hisway back by a circuitous route, taking in the Postage desk.
He found Psmith with a pale, set face, inscribing figures in a ledger.The Old Etonian greeted him with the faint smile of a persecuted saintwho is determined to be cheerful even at the stake.
'Comrade Bristow,' he said.
'Hullo, Smithy?' said the other, turning.
Psmith sadly directed Mr Waller's attention to the waistcoat, which wascertainly definite in its colouring.
'Nothing,' said Psmith. 'I only wanted to look at you.'
'Funny ass,' said Bristow, resuming his work. Psmith glanced at MrWaller, as who should say, 'See what I have to put up with. And yet Ido not give way.'
'Oh--er--Smith,' said Mr Waller, 'when you were talking to Jackson justnow--'
'Say no more,' said Psmith. 'It shall not occur again. Why should Idislocate the work of your department in my efforts to win asympathetic word? I will bear Comrade Bristow like a man here. Afterall, t
here are worse things at the Zoo.'
'No, no,' said Mr Waller hastily, 'I did not mean that. By all meanspay us a visit now and then, if it does not interfere with your ownwork. But I noticed just now that you spoke to Bristow as ComradeBristow.'
'It is too true,' said Psmith. 'I must correct myself of the habit. Hewill be getting above himself.'
'And when you were speaking to Jackson, you spoke of yourself as aSocialist.'
'Socialism is the passion of my life,' said Psmith.
Mr Waller's face grew animated. He stammered in his eagerness.
'I am delighted,' he said. 'Really, I am delighted. I also--'
'A fellow worker in the Cause?' said Psmith.
'Er--exactly.'
Psmith extended his hand gravely. Mr Waller shook it with enthusiasm.
'I have never liked to speak of it to anybody in the office,' said MrWaller, 'but I, too, am heart and soul in the movement.'
'Yours for the Revolution?' said Psmith.
'Just so. Just so. Exactly. I was wondering--the fact is, I am in thehabit of speaking on Sundays in the open air, and--'
'Hyde Park?'
'No. No. Clapham Common. It is--er--handier for me where I live. Now,as you are interested in the movement, I was thinking that perhaps youmight care to come and hear me speak next Sunday. Of course, if youhave nothing better to do.'
'I should like to excessively,' said Psmith.
'Excellent. Bring Jackson with you, and both of you come to supperafterwards, if you will.'
'Thanks very much.'
'Perhaps you would speak yourself?'
'No,' said Psmith. 'No. I think not. My Socialism is rather of thepractical sort. I seldom speak. But it would be a treat to listen toyou. What--er--what type of oratory is yours?'
'Oh, well,' said Mr Waller, pulling nervously at his beard, 'of courseI--. Well, I am perhaps a little bitter--'
'Yes, yes.'
'A little mordant and ironical.'
'You would be,' agreed Psmith. 'I shall look forward to Sunday withevery fibre quivering. And Comrade Jackson shall be at my side.'
'Excellent,' said Mr Waller. 'I will go and tell him now.'