office next morning prepared for a repetition of the previous day. He
was amazed to find the cashier not merely cheerful, but even
exuberantly cheerful. Edward, it appeared, had rallied in the
afternoon, and, when his father had got home, had been out of danger.
He was now going along excellently, and had stumped Ada, who was
nursing him, with a question about the Thirty Years' War, only a few
minutes before his father had left to catch his train. The cashier was
overflowing with happiness and goodwill towards his species. He greeted
customers with bright remarks on the weather, and snappy views on the
leading events of the day: the former tinged with optimism, the latter
full of a gentle spirit of toleration. His attitude towards the latest
actions of His Majesty's Government was that of one who felt that,
after all, there was probably some good even in the vilest of his
fellow creatures, if one could only find it.
Altogether, the cloud had lifted from the Cash Department. All was joy,
jollity, and song.
'The attitude of Comrade Waller,' said Psmith, on being informed of the
change, 'is reassuring. I may now think of my own troubles. Comrade
Bristow has blown into the office today in patent leather boots with
white kid uppers, as I believe the technical term is. Add to that the
fact that he is still wearing the satin tie, the waistcoat, and the
ring, and you will understand why I have definitely decided this
morning to abandon all hope of his reform. Henceforth my services, for
what they are worth, are at the disposal of Comrade Bickersdyke. My
time from now onward is his. He shall have the full educative value of
my exclusive attention. I give Comrade Bristow up. Made straight for
the corner flag, you understand,' he added, as Mr Rossiter emerged from
his lair, 'and centred, and Sandy Turnbull headed a beautiful goal. I
was just telling Jackson about the match against Blackburn Rovers,' he
said to Mr Rossiter.
'Just so, just so. But get on with your work, Smith. We are a little
behind-hand. I think perhaps it would be as well not to leave it just
yet.'
'I will leap at it at once,' said Psmith cordially.
Mike went back to his department.
The day passed quickly. Mr Waller, in the intervals of work, talked a
good deal, mostly of Edward, his doings, his sayings, and his
prospects. The only thing that seemed to worry Mr Waller was the
problem of how to employ his son's almost superhuman talents to the
best advantage. Most of the goals towards which the average man strives
struck him as too unambitious for the prodigy.
By the end of the day Mike had had enough of Edward. He never wished to
hear the name again.
We do not claim originality for the statement that things never happen
quite as one expects them to. We repeat it now because of its profound
truth. The Edward's pneumonia episode having ended satisfactorily (or,
rather, being apparently certain to end satisfactorily, for the
invalid, though out of danger, was still in bed), Mike looked forward
to a series of days unbroken by any but the minor troubles of life. For
these he was prepared. What he did not expect was any big calamity.
At the beginning of the day there were no signs of it. The sky was blue
and free from all suggestions of approaching thunderbolts. Mr Waller,
still chirpy, had nothing but good news of Edward. Mike went for his
morning stroll round the office feeling that things had settled down
and had made up their mind to run smoothly.
When he got back, barely half an hour later, the storm had burst.
There was no one in the department at the moment of his arrival; but a
few minutes later he saw Mr Waller come out of the manager's room, and
make his way down the aisle.
It was his walk which first gave any hint that something was wrong. It
was the same limp, crushed walk which Mike had seen when Edward's
safety still hung in the balance.
As Mr Waller came nearer, Mike saw that the cashier's face was deadly
pale.
Mr Waller caught sight of him and quickened his pace.
'Jackson,' he said.
Mike came forward.
'Do you--remember--' he spoke slowly, and with an effort, 'do you
remember a cheque coming through the day before yesterday for a hundred
pounds, with Sir John Morrison's signature?'
'Yes. It came in the morning, rather late.'
Mike remembered the cheque perfectly well, owing to the amount. It was
the only three-figure cheque which had come across the counter during
the day. It had been presented just before the cashier had gone out to
lunch. He recollected the man who had presented it, a tallish man with
a beard. He had noticed him particularly because of the contrast
between his manner and that of the cashier. The former had been so very
cheery and breezy, the latter so dazed and silent.
'Why,' he said.
'It was a forgery,' muttered Mr Waller, sitting down heavily.
Mike could not take it in all at once. He was stunned. All he could
understand was that a far worse thing had happened than anything he
could have imagined.
'A forgery?' he said.
'A forgery. And a clumsy one. Oh it's hard. I should have seen it on
any other day but that. I could not have missed it. They showed me the
cheque in there just now. I could not believe that I had passed it. I
don't remember doing it. My mind was far away. I don't remember the
cheque or anything about it. Yet there it is.'
Once more Mike was tongue-tied. For the life of him he could not think
of anything to say. Surely, he thought, he could find _something_
in the shape of words to show his sympathy. But he could find nothing
that would not sound horribly stilted and cold. He sat silent.
'Sir John is in there,' went on the cashier. 'He is furious. Mr
Bickersdyke, too. They are both furious. I shall be dismissed. I shall
lose my place. I shall be dismissed.' He was talking more to himself
than to Mike. It was dreadful to see him sitting there, all limp and
broken.
'I shall lose my place. Mr Bickersdyke has wanted to get rid of me for
a long time. He never liked me. I shall be dismissed. What can I do?
I'm an old man. I can't make another start. I am good for nothing.
Nobody will take an old man like me.'
His voice died away. There was a silence. Mike sat staring miserably in
front of him.
Then, quite suddenly, an idea came to him. The whole pressure of the
atmosphere seemed to lift. He saw a way out. It was a curious crooked
way, but at that moment it stretched clear and broad before him. He
felt lighthearted and excited, as if he were watching the development
of some interesting play at the theatre.
He got up, smiling.
The cashier did not notice the movement. Somebody had come in to cash a
cheque, and he was working mechanically.
Mike walked up the aisle to Mr Bickersdyke's room, and went in.
The manager was in his chair at the big table. Opposite him, facing
slightly sideways, was a small, round, very red-faced man. Mr
Bickersdyke was speaking as Mike entered.
'I can assure you, Sir John--' he was saying.
He looked up as the door opened.
'Well, Mr Jackson?'
Mike almost laughed. The situation was tickling him.
'Mr Waller has told me--' he began.
'I have already seen Mr Waller.'
'I know. He told me about the cheque. I came to explain.'
'Explain?'
'Yes. He didn't cash it at all.'
'I don't understand you, Mr Jackson.'
'I was at the counter when it was brought in,' said Mike. 'I cashed it.'
21. Psmith Makes Inquiries
Psmith, as was his habit of a morning when the fierce rush of his
commercial duties had abated somewhat, was leaning gracefully against
his desk, musing on many things, when he was aware that Bristow was
standing before him.
Focusing his attention with some reluctance upon this blot on the
horizon, he discovered that the exploiter of rainbow waistcoats and
satin ties was addressing him.
'I say, Smithy,' said Bristow. He spoke in rather an awed voice.
'Say on, Comrade Bristow,' said Psmith graciously. 'You have our ear.
You would seem to have something on your chest in addition to that
Neapolitan ice garment which, I regret to see, you still flaunt. If it
is one tithe as painful as that, you have my sympathy. Jerk it out,
Comrade Bristow.'
'Jackson isn't half copping it from old Bick.'
'Isn't--? What exactly did you say?'
'He's getting it hot on the carpet.'
'You wish to indicate,' said Psmith, 'that there is some slight
disturbance, some passing breeze between Comrades Jackson and
Bickersdyke?'
Bristow chuckled.
'Breeze! Blooming hurricane, more like it. I was in Bick's room just
now with a letter to sign, and I tell you, the fur was flying all over
the bally shop. There was old Bick cursing for all he was worth, and a
little red-faced buffer puffing out his cheeks in an armchair.'
'We all have our hobbies,' said Psmith.
'Jackson wasn't saying much. He jolly well hadn't a chance. Old Bick
was shooting it out fourteen to the dozen.'
'I have been privileged,' said Psmith, 'to hear Comrade Bickersdyke
speak both in his sanctum and in public. He has, as you suggest, a
ready flow of speech. What, exactly was the cause of the turmoil?'
'I couldn't wait to hear. I was too jolly glad to get away. Old Bick
looked at me as if he could eat me, snatched the letter out of my hand,
signed it, and waved his hand at the door as a hint to hop it. Which I
jolly well did. He had started jawing Jackson again before I was out of
the room.'
'While applauding his hustle,' said Psmith, 'I fear that I must take
official notice of this. Comrade Jackson is essentially a Sensitive
Plant, highly strung, neurotic. I cannot have his nervous system jolted
and disorganized in this manner, and his value as a confidential
secretary and adviser impaired, even though it be only temporarily. I
must look into this. I will go and see if the orgy is concluded. I will
hear what Comrade Jackson has to say on the matter. I shall not act
rashly, Comrade Bristow. If the man Bickersdyke is proved to have had
good grounds for his outbreak, he shall escape uncensured. I may even
look in on him and throw him a word of praise. But if I find, as I
suspect, that he has wronged Comrade Jackson, I shall be forced to
speak sharply to him.'
* * * * *
Mike had left the scene of battle by the time Psmith reached the Cash
Department, and was sitting at his desk in a somewhat dazed condition,
trying to clear his mind sufficiently to enable him to see exactly how
matters stood as concerned himself. He felt confused and rattled. He
had known, when he went to the manager's room to make his statement,
that there would be trouble. But, then, trouble is such an elastic
word. It embraces a hundred degrees of meaning. Mike had expected
sentence of dismissal, and he had got it. So far he had nothing to
complain of. But he had not expected it to come to him riding high on
the crest of a great, frothing wave of verbal denunciation. Mr
Bickersdyke, through constantly speaking in public, had developed the
habit of fluent denunciation to a remarkable extent. He had thundered
at Mike as if Mike had been his Majesty's Government or the Encroaching
Alien, or something of that sort. And that kind of thing is a little
overwhelming at short range. Mike's head was still spinning.
It continued to spin; but he never lost sight of the fact round which
it revolved, namely, that he had been dismissed from the service of the
bank. And for the first time he began to wonder what they would say
about this at home.
Up till now the matter had seemed entirely a personal one. He had
charged in to rescue the harassed cashier in precisely the same way as
that in which he had dashed in to save him from Bill, the Stone-Flinging
Scourge of Clapham Common. Mike's was one of those direct, honest minds
which are apt to concentrate themselves on the crisis of the moment,
and to leave the consequences out of the question entirely.
What would they say at home? That was the point.
Again, what could he do by way of earning a living? He did not know
much about the City and its ways, but he knew enough to understand that
summary dismissal from a bank is not the best recommendation one can
put forward in applying for another job. And if he did not get another
job in the City, what could he do? If it were only summer, he might get
taken on somewhere as a cricket professional. Cricket was his line. He
could earn his pay at that. But it was very far from being summer.
He had turned the problem over in his mind till his head ached, and had
eaten in the process one-third of a wooden penholder, when Psmith
arrived.
'It has reached me,' said Psmith, 'that you and Comrade Bickersdyke
have been seen doing the Hackenschmidt-Gotch act on the floor. When my
informant left, he tells me, Comrade B. had got a half-Nelson on you,
and was biting pieces out of your ear. Is this so?'
Mike got up. Psmith was the man, he felt, to advise him in this crisis.
Psmith's was the mind to grapple with his Hard Case.
'Look here, Smith,' he said, 'I want to speak to you. I'm in a bit of a
hole, and perhaps you can tell me what to do. Let's go out and have a
cup of coffee, shall we? I can't tell you about it here.'
'An admirable suggestion,' said Psmith. 'Things in the Postage
Department are tolerably quiescent at present. Naturally I shall be
missed, if I go out. But my absence will not spell irretrievable ruin,
as it would at a period of greater commercial activity. Comrades
Rossiter and Bristow have studied my methods. They know how I like
things to be done. They are fully competent to conduct the business of
the department in my absence. Let us, as you say, scud forth. We will
go to a Mecca. Why so-called I do not know, nor, indeed, do I ever hope
to know. There we may obtain, at a price, a passable cup of coffee, and
you shall tell me your painful story.'
The Mecca, except for the curious aroma which pervades all Meccas, was
deserted. Psmith, moving a box of dominoes on to the next table, sat
down.
'Dominoes,' he said, 'is one of the few manly sports which have never
had great attractions for me. A cousin of mine, who secured his chess
blue at Oxford, would, they tell me, have represented his University in
the dominoes match also, had he not unfortunately dislocated the radius
bone of his bazooka while training for it. Except for him, there has
been little dominoes talent in the Psmith family. Let us merely talk.
What of this slight brass-rag-parting to which I alluded just now? Tell
me all.'
He listened gravely while Mike related the incidents which had led up
to his confession and the results of the same. At the conclusion of the
narrative he sipped his coffee in silence for a moment.
'This habit of taking on to your shoulders the harvest of other
people's bloomers,' he said meditatively, 'is growing upon you, Comrade
Jackson. You must check it. It is like dram-drinking. You begin in a
small way by breaking school rules to extract Comrade Jellicoe (perhaps
the supremest of all the blitherers I have ever met) from a hole. If
you had stopped there, all might have been well. But the thing, once
started, fascinated you. Now you have landed yourself with a splash in
the very centre of the Oxo in order to do a good turn to Comrade
Waller. You must drop it, Comrade Jackson. When you were free and
without ties, it did not so much matter. But now that you are
confidential secretary and adviser to a Shropshire Psmith, the thing
must stop. Your secretarial duties must be paramount. Nothing must be
allowed to interfere with them. Yes. The thing must stop before it goes
too far.'
'It seems to me,' said Mike, 'that it has gone too far. I've got the
sack. I don't know how much farther you want it to go.'
Psmith stirred his coffee before replying.
'True,' he said, 'things look perhaps a shade rocky just now, but all
is not yet lost. You must recollect that Comrade Bickersdyke spoke in
the heat of the moment. That generous temperament was stirred to its
depths. He did not pick his words. But calm will succeed storm, and we
may be able to do something yet. I have some little influence with
Comrade Bickersdyke. Wrongly, perhaps,' added Psmith modestly, 'he
thinks somewhat highly of my judgement. If he sees that I am opposed to
this step, he may possibly reconsider it. What Psmith thinks today, is
his motto, I shall think tomorrow. However, we shall see.'
'I bet we shall!' said Mike ruefully.
'There is, moreover,' continued Psmith, 'another aspect to the affair.
When you were being put through it, in Comrade Bickersdyke's inimitably
breezy manner, Sir John What's-his-name was, I am given to understand,
present. Naturally, to pacify the aggrieved bart., Comrade B. had to
lay it on regardless of expense. In America, as possibly you are aware,
there is a regular post of mistake-clerk, whose duty it is to receive
in the neck anything that happens to be coming along when customers
make complaints. He is hauled into the presence of the foaming
customer, cursed, and sacked. The customer goes away appeased. The
mistake-clerk, if the harangue has been unusually energetic, applies
for a rise of salary. Now, possibly, in your case--'
'In my case,' interrupted Mike, 'there was none of that rot.
Bickersdyke wasn't putting it on. He meant every word. Why, dash it
all, you know yourself he'd be only too glad to sack me, just to get
some of his own back with me.'
Psmith's eyes opened in pained surprise.
'Get some of his own back!' he repeated.
'Are you insinuating, Comrade Jackson, that my relations with Comrade
Bickersdyke are not of the most pleasant and agreeable nature possible?
How do these ideas get about? I yield to nobody in my respect for our
manager. I may have had occasion from time to time to correct him in
some trifling matter, but surely he is not the man to let such a thing
rankle? No! I prefer to think that Comrade Bickersdyke regards me as
his friend and well-wisher, and will lend a courteous ear to any
proposal I see fit to make. I hope shortly to be able to prove this to
you. I will discuss this little affair of the cheque with him at our
ease at the club, and I shall be surprised if we do not come to some
arrangement.'
'Look here, Smith,' said Mike earnestly, 'for goodness' sake don't go
playing the goat. There's no earthly need for you to get lugged into
this business. Don't you worry about me. I shall be all right.'
'I think,' said Psmith, 'that you will--when I have chatted with
Comrade Bickersdyke.'
22. And Takes Steps
On returning to the bank, Mike found Mr Waller in the grip of a
peculiarly varied set of mixed feelings. Shortly after Mike's departure
for the Mecca, the cashier had been summoned once more into the
Presence, and had there been informed that, as apparently he had not
been directly responsible for the gross piece of carelessness by which
the bank had suffered so considerable a loss (here Sir John puffed out
his cheeks like a meditative toad), the matter, as far as he was
concerned, was at an end. On the other hand--! Here Mr Waller was
hauled over the coals for Incredible Rashness in allowing a mere junior
subordinate to handle important tasks like the paying out of money, and
so on, till he felt raw all over. However, it was not dismissal. That
was the great thing. And his principal sensation was one of relief.
Mingled with the relief were sympathy for Mike, gratitude to him for
having given himself up so promptly, and a curiously dazed sensation,
as if somebody had been hitting him on the head with a bolster.
All of which emotions, taken simultaneously, had the effect of
rendering him completely dumb when he saw Mike. He felt that he did not
know what to say to him. And as Mike, for his part, simply wanted to be
let alone, and not compelled to talk, conversation was at something of
a standstill in the Cash Department.
After five minutes, it occurred to Mr Waller that perhaps the best plan
would be to interview Psmith. Psmith would know exactly how matters
stood. He could not ask Mike point-blank whether he had been dismissed.
But there was the probability that Psmith had been informed and would
pass on the information.
Psmith received the cashier with a dignified kindliness.
'Oh, er, Smith,' said Mr Waller, 'I wanted just to ask you about
Jackson.'
Psmith bowed his head gravely.
'Exactly,' he said. 'Comrade Jackson. I think I may say that you have
come to the right man. Comrade Jackson has placed himself in my hands,
and I am dealing with his case. A somewhat tricky business, but I shall
see him through.'
'Has he--?' Mr Waller hesitated.
'You were saying?' said Psmith.
'Does Mr Bickersdyke intend to dismiss him?'
'At present,' admitted Psmith, 'there is some idea of that description
floating--nebulously, as it were--in Comrade Bickersdyke's mind.
Indeed, from what I gather from my client, the push was actually
administered, in so many words. But tush! And possibly bah! we know
what happens on these occasions, do we not? You and I are students of
human nature, and we know that a man of Comrade Bickersdyke's
warm-hearted type is apt to say in the heat of the moment a great deal
more than he really means. Men of his impulsive character cannot help
expressing themselves in times of stress with a certain generous
strength which those who do not understand them are inclined to take a
little too seriously. I shall have a chat with Comrade Bickersdyke at
the conclusion of the day's work, and I have no doubt that we shall
both laugh heartily over this little episode.'
Mr Waller pulled at his beard, with an expression on his face that
seemed to suggest that he was not quite so confident on this point. He
was about to put his doubts into words when Mr Rossiter appeared, and
Psmith, murmuring something about duty, turned again to his ledger. The
cashier drifted back to his own department.
It was one of Psmith's theories of Life, which he was accustomed to
propound to Mike in the small hours of the morning with his feet on the
mantelpiece, that the secret of success lay in taking advantage of
one's occasional slices of luck, in seizing, as it were, the happy
moment. When Mike, who had had the passage to write out ten times at
Wrykyn on one occasion as an imposition, reminded him that Shakespeare
had once said something about there being a tide in the affairs of men,
which, taken at the flood, &c., Psmith had acknowledged with an easy
grace that possibly Shakespeare _had_ got on to it first, and that
it was but one more proof of how often great minds thought alike.
Though waiving his claim to the copyright of the maxim, he nevertheless
had a high opinion of it, and frequently acted upon it in the conduct
of his own life.
Thus, when approaching the Senior Conservative Club at five o'clock
with the idea of finding Mr Bickersdyke there, he observed his quarry
entering the Turkish Baths which stand some twenty yards from the
club's front door, he acted on his maxim, and decided, instead of
waiting for the manager to finish his bath before approaching him on
the subject of Mike, to corner him in the Baths themselves.
He gave Mr Bickersdyke five minutes' start. Then, reckoning that by
that time he would probably have settled down, he pushed open the door
and went in himself. And, having paid his money, and left his boots
with the boy at the threshold, he was rewarded by the sight of the
manager emerging from a box at the far end of the room, clad in the
mottled towels which the bather, irrespective of his personal taste in
dress, is obliged to wear in a Turkish bath.
Psmith made for the same box. Mr Bickersdyke's clothes lay at the head
of one of the sofas, but nobody else had staked out a claim. Psmith
took possession of the sofa next to the manager's. Then, humming
lightly, he undressed, and made his way downstairs to the Hot Rooms. He
rather fancied himself in towels. There was something about them which
seemed to suit his figure. They gave him, he though, rather a
_debonnaire_ look. He paused for a moment before the looking-glass
to examine himself, with approval, then pushed open the door of the Hot
Rooms and went in.
23. Mr Bickersdyke Makes a Concession
Mr Bickersdyke was reclining in an easy-chair in the first room,
staring before him in the boiled-fish manner customary in a Turkish
Bath. Psmith dropped into the next seat with a cheery 'Good evening.'
The manager started as if some firm hand had driven a bradawl into him.
He looked at Psmith with what was intended to be a dignified stare. But
dignity is hard to achieve in a couple of parti-coloured towels. The
stare did not differ to any great extent from the conventional
boiled-fish look, alluded to above.
Psmith settled himself comfortably in his chair. 'Fancy finding you
here,' he said pleasantly. 'We seem always to be meeting. To me,' he
added, with a reassuring smile, 'it is a great pleasure. A very great
pleasure indeed. We see too little of each other during office hours.
Not that one must grumble at that. Work before everything. You have
your duties, I mine. It is merely unfortunate that those duties are not
such as to enable us to toil side by side, encouraging each other with
word and gesture. However, it is idle to repine. We must make the most
of these chance meetings when the work of the day is over.'
Mr Bickersdyke heaved himself up from his chair and took another at the
opposite end of the room. Psmith joined him.