I've got a birth qualification for Surrey. It's about the only thing I
could do any good at.'
Psmith's manner became fatherly.
'_You're_ all right,' he said. 'The hot weather has given you that
tired feeling. What you want is a change of air. We will pop down
together hand in hand this week-end to some seaside resort. You shall
build sand castles, while I lie on the beach and read the paper. In the
evening we will listen to the band, or stroll on the esplanade, not so
much because we want to, as to give the natives a treat. Possibly, if
the weather continues warm, we may even paddle. A vastly exhilarating
pastime, I am led to believe, and so strengthening for the ankles. And
on Monday morning we will return, bronzed and bursting with health, to
our toil once more.'
'I'm going to bed,' said Mike, rising.
Psmith watched him lounge from the room, and shook his head sadly. All
was not well with his confidential secretary and adviser.
The next day, which was a Thursday, found Mike no more reconciled to
the prospect of spending from ten till five in the company of Mr
Gregory and the ledgers. He was silent at breakfast, and Psmith, seeing
that things were still wrong, abstained from conversation. Mike propped
the _Sportsman_ up against the hot-water jug, and read the cricket
news. His county, captained by brother Joe, had, as he had learned
already from yesterday's evening paper, beaten Sussex by five wickets
at Brighton. Today they were due to play Middlesex at Lord's. Mike
thought that he would try to get off early, and go and see some of the
first day's play.
As events turned out, he got off a good deal earlier, and saw a good
deal more of the first day's play than he had anticipated.
He had just finished the preliminary stages of the morning's work,
which consisted mostly of washing his hands, changing his coat, and
eating a section of a pen-holder, when William, the messenger,
approached.
'You're wanted on the 'phone, Mr Jackson.'
The New Asiatic Bank, unlike the majority of London banks, was on the
telephone, a fact which Psmith found a great convenience when securing
seats at the theatre. Mike went to the box and took up the receiver.
'Hullo!' he said.
'Who's that?' said an agitated voice. 'Is that you, Mike? I'm Joe.'
'Hullo, Joe,' said Mike. 'What's up? I'm coming to see you this
evening. I'm going to try and get off early.'
'Look here, Mike, are you busy at the bank just now?'
'Not at the moment. There's never anything much going on before
eleven.'
'I mean, are you busy today? Could you possibly manage to get off and
play for us against Middlesex?'
Mike nearly dropped the receiver.
'What?' he cried.
'There's been the dickens of a mix-up. We're one short, and you're our
only hope. We can't possibly get another man in the time. We start in
half an hour. Can you play?'
For the space of, perhaps, one minute, Mike thought.
'Well?' said Joe's voice.
The sudden vision of Lord's ground, all green and cool in the morning
sunlight, was too much for Mike's resolution, sapped as it was by days
of restlessness. The feeling surged over him that whatever happened
afterwards, the joy of the match in perfect weather on a perfect wicket
would make it worth while. What did it matter what happened afterwards?
'All right, Joe,' he said. 'I'll hop into a cab now, and go and get my
things.'
'Good man,' said Joe, hugely relieved.
26. Breaking The News
Dashing away from the call-box, Mike nearly cannoned into Psmith, who
was making his way pensively to the telephone with the object of
ringing up the box office of the Haymarket Theatre.
'Sorry,' said Mike. 'Hullo, Smith.'
'Hullo indeed,' said Psmith, courteously. 'I rejoice, Comrade Jackson,
to find you going about your commercial duties like a young bomb. How
is it, people repeatedly ask me, that Comrade Jackson contrives to
catch his employer's eye and win the friendly smile from the head of
his department? My reply is that where others walk, Comrade Jackson
runs. Where others stroll, Comrade Jackson legs it like a highly-trained
mustang of the prairie. He does not loiter. He gets back to his department
bathed in perspiration, in level time. He--'
'I say, Smith,' said Mike, 'you might do me a favour.'
'A thousand. Say on.'
'Just look in at the Fixed Deposits and tell old Gregory that I shan't
be with him today, will you? I haven't time myself. I must rush!'
Psmith screwed his eyeglass into his eye, and examined Mike carefully.
'What exactly--?' be began.
'Tell the old ass I've popped off.'
'Just so, just so,' murmured Psmith, as one who assents to a thoroughly
reasonable proposition. 'Tell him you have popped off. It shall be
done. But it is within the bounds of possibility that Comrade Gregory
may inquire further. Could you give me some inkling as to why you are
popping?'
'My brother Joe has just rung me up from Lords. The county are playing
Middlesex and they're one short. He wants me to roll up.'
Psmith shook his head sadly.
'I don't wish to interfere in any way,' he said, 'but I suppose you
realize that, by acting thus, you are to some extent knocking the
stuffing out of your chances of becoming manager of this bank? If you
dash off now, I shouldn't count too much on that marrying the
Governor's daughter scheme I sketched out for you last night. I doubt
whether this is going to help you to hold the gorgeous East in fee, and
all that sort of thing.'
'Oh, dash the gorgeous East.'
'By all means,' said Psmith obligingly. 'I just thought I'd mention it.
I'll look in at Lord's this afternoon. I shall send my card up to you,
and trust to your sympathetic cooperation to enable me to effect an
entry into the pavilion on my face. My father is coming up to London
today. I'll bring him along, too.'
'Right ho. Dash it, it's twenty to. So long. See you at Lord's.'
Psmith looked after his retreating form till it had vanished through
the swing-door, and shrugged his shoulders resignedly, as if
disclaiming all responsibility.
'He has gone without his hat,' he murmured. 'It seems to me that this
is practically a case of running amok. And now to break the news to
bereaved Comrade Gregory.'
He abandoned his intention of ringing up the Haymarket Theatre, and
turning away from the call-box, walked meditatively down the aisle till
he came to the Fixed Deposits Department, where the top of Mr Gregory's
head was to be seen over the glass barrier, as he applied himself to
his work.
Psmith, resting his elbows on the top of the barrier and holding his
head between his hands, eyed the absorbed toiler for a moment in
silence, then emitted a hollow groan.
Mr Gregory, who was ruling a line in a ledger--most of the work in the
Fixed Deposits Department consisted of ruling lines in ledgers,
sometimes in black ink, sometimes in red--started as if he had been
stung, and made a complete mess of the ruled line. He lifted a fiery,
bearded face, and met Psmith's eye, which shone with kindly sympathy.
He found words.
'What the dickens are you standing there for, mooing like a blanked
cow?' he inquired.
'I was groaning,' explained Psmith with quiet dignity. 'And why was I
groaning?' he continued. 'Because a shadow has fallen on the Fixed
Deposits Department. Comrade Jackson, the Pride of the Office, has
gone.'
Mr Gregory rose from his seat.
'I don't know who the dickens you are--' he began.
'I am Psmith,' said the old Etonian,
'Oh, you're Smith, are you?'
'With a preliminary P. Which, however, is not sounded.'
'And what's all this dashed nonsense about Jackson?'
'He is gone. Gone like the dew from the petal of a rose.'
'Gone! Where's he gone to?'
'Lord's.'
'What lord's?'
Psmith waved his hand gently.
'You misunderstand me. Comrade Jackson has not gone to mix with any
member of our gay and thoughtless aristocracy. He has gone to Lord's
cricket ground.'
Mr Gregory's beard bristled even more than was its wont.
'What!' he roared. 'Gone to watch a cricket match! Gone--!'
'Not to watch. To play. An urgent summons I need not say. Nothing but
an urgent summons could have wrenched him from your very delightful
society, I am sure.'
Mr Gregory glared.
'I don't want any of your impudence,' he said.
Psmith nodded gravely.
'We all have these curious likes and dislikes,' he said tolerantly.
'You do not like my impudence. Well, well, some people don't. And now,
having broken the sad news, I will return to my own department.'
'Half a minute. You come with me and tell this yarn of yours to Mr
Bickersdyke.'
'You think it would interest, amuse him? Perhaps you are right. Let us
buttonhole Comrade Bickersdyke.'
Mr Bickersdyke was disengaged. The head of the Fixed Deposits
Department stumped into the room. Psmith followed at a more leisurely
pace.
'Allow me,' he said with a winning smile, as Mr Gregory opened his
mouth to speak, 'to take this opportunity of congratulating you on your
success at the election. A narrow but well-deserved victory.'
There was nothing cordial in the manager's manner.
'What do you want?' he said.
'Myself, nothing,' said Psmith. 'But I understand that Mr Gregory has
some communication to make.'
'Tell Mr Bickersdyke that story of yours,' said Mr Gregory.
'Surely,' said Psmith reprovingly, 'this is no time for anecdotes. Mr
Bickersdyke is busy. He--'
'Tell him what you told me about Jackson.'
Mr Bickersdyke looked up inquiringly.
'Jackson,' said Psmith, 'has been obliged to absent himself from work
today owing to an urgent summons from his brother, who, I understand,
has suffered a bereavement.'
'It's a lie,' roared Mr Gregory. 'You told me yourself he'd gone to
play in a cricket match.'
'True. As I said, he received an urgent summons from his brother.'
'What about the bereavement, then?'
'The team was one short. His brother was very distressed about it. What
could Comrade Jackson do? Could he refuse to help his brother when it
was in his power? His generous nature is a byword. He did the only
possible thing. He consented to play.'
Mr Bickersdyke spoke.
'Am I to understand,' he asked, with sinister calm, 'that Mr Jackson
has left his work and gone off to play in a cricket match?'
'Something of that sort has, I believe, happened,' said Psmith. 'He
knew, of course,' he added, bowing gracefully in Mr Gregory's
direction, 'that he was leaving his work in thoroughly competent
hands.'
'Thank you,' said Mr Bickersdyke. 'That will do. You will help Mr
Gregory in his department for the time being, Mr Smith. I will arrange
for somebody to take your place in your own department.'
'It will be a pleasure,' murmured Psmith.
'Show Mr Smith what he has to do, Mr Gregory,' said the manager.
They left the room.
'How curious, Comrade Gregory,' mused Psmith, as they went, 'are the
workings of Fate! A moment back, and your life was a blank. Comrade
Jackson, that prince of Fixed Depositors, had gone. How, you said to
yourself despairingly, can his place be filled? Then the cloud broke,
and the sun shone out again. _I_ came to help you. What you lose
on the swings, you make up on the roundabouts. Now show me what I have
to do, and then let us make this department sizzle. You have drawn a
good ticket, Comrade Gregory.'
27. At Lord's
Mike got to Lord's just as the umpires moved out into the field. He
raced round to the pavilion. Joe met him on the stairs.
'It's all right,' he said. 'No hurry. We've won the toss. I've put you
in fourth wicket.'
'Right ho,' said Mike. 'Glad we haven't to field just yet.'
'We oughtn't to have to field today if we don't chuck our wickets
away.'
'Good wicket?'
'Like a billiard-table. I'm glad you were able to come. Have any
difficulty in getting away?'
Joe Jackson's knowledge of the workings of a bank was of the slightest.
He himself had never, since he left Oxford, been in a position where
there were obstacles to getting off to play in first-class cricket. By
profession he was agent to a sporting baronet whose hobby was the
cricket of the county, and so, far from finding any difficulty in
playing for the county, he was given to understand by his employer that
that was his chief duty. It never occurred to him that Mike might find
his bank less amenable in the matter of giving leave. His only fear,
when he rang Mike up that morning, had been that this might be a
particularly busy day at the New Asiatic Bank. If there was no special
rush of work, he took it for granted that Mike would simply go to the
manager, ask for leave to play in the match, and be given it with a
beaming smile.
Mike did not answer the question, but asked one on his own account.
'How did you happen to be short?' he said.
'It was rotten luck. It was like this. We were altering our team after
the Sussex match, to bring in Ballard, Keene, and Willis. They couldn't
get down to Brighton, as the 'Varsity had a match, but there was
nothing on for them in the last half of the week, so they'd promised to
roll up.'
Ballard, Keene, and Willis were members of the Cambridge team, all very
capable performers and much in demand by the county, when they could
get away to play for it.
'Well?' said Mike.
'Well, we all came up by train from Brighton last night. But these
three asses had arranged to motor down from Cambridge early today, and
get here in time for the start. What happens? Why, Willis, who fancies
himself as a chauffeur, undertakes to do the driving; and naturally,
being an absolute rotter, goes and smashes up the whole concern just
outside St Albans. The first thing I knew of it was when I got to
Lord's at half past ten, and found a wire waiting for me to say that
they were all three of them crocked, and couldn't possibly play. I tell
you, it was a bit of a jar to get half an hour before the match
started. Willis has sprained his ankle, apparently; Keene's damaged his
wrist; and Ballard has smashed his collar-bone. I don't suppose they'll
be able to play in the 'Varsity match. Rotten luck for Cambridge. Well,
fortunately we'd had two reserve pros, with us at Brighton, who had
come up to London with the team in case they might be wanted, so, with
them, we were only one short. Then I thought of you. That's how it
was.'
'I see,' said Mike. 'Who are the pros?'
'Davis and Brockley. Both bowlers. It weakens our batting a lot.
Ballard or Willis might have got a stack of runs on this wicket. Still,
we've got a certain amount of batting as it is. We oughtn't to do
badly, if we're careful. You've been getting some practice, I suppose,
this season?'
'In a sort of a way. Nets and so on. No matches of any importance.'
'Dash it, I wish you'd had a game or two in decent class cricket.
Still, nets are better than nothing, I hope you'll be in form. We may
want a pretty long knock from you, if things go wrong. These men seem
to be settling down all right, thank goodness,' he added, looking out
of the window at the county's first pair, Warrington and Mills, two
professionals, who, as the result of ten minutes' play, had put up
twenty.
'I'd better go and change,' said Mike, picking up his bag. 'You're in
first wicket, I suppose?'
'Yes. And Reggie, second wicket.'
Reggie was another of Mike's brothers, not nearly so fine a player as
Joe, but a sound bat, who generally made runs if allowed to stay in.
Mike changed, and went out into the little balcony at the top of the
pavilion. He had it to himself. There were not many spectators in the
pavilion at this early stage of the game.
There are few more restful places, if one wishes to think, than the
upper balconies of Lord's pavilion. Mike, watching the game making its
leisurely progress on the turf below, set himself seriously to review
the situation in all its aspects. The exhilaration of bursting the
bonds had begun to fade, and he found himself able to look into the
matter of his desertion and weigh up the consequences. There was no
doubt that he had cut the painter once and for all. Even a
friendly-disposed management could hardly overlook what he had done.
And the management of the New Asiatic Bank was the very reverse of
friendly. Mr Bickersdyke, he knew, would jump at this chance of getting
rid of him. He realized that he must look on his career in the bank as
a closed book. It was definitely over, and he must now think about the
future.
It was not a time for half-measures. He could not go home. He must
carry the thing through, now that he had begun, and find something
definite to do, to support himself.
There seemed only one opening for him. What could he do, he asked
himself. Just one thing. He could play cricket. It was by his cricket
that he must live. He would have to become a professional. Could he get
taken on? That was the question. It was impossible that he should play
for his own county on his residential qualification. He could not
appear as a professional in the same team in which his brothers were
playing as amateurs. He must stake all on his birth qualification for
Surrey.
On the other hand, had he the credentials which Surrey would want? He
had a school reputation. But was that enough? He could not help feeling
that it might not be.
Thinking it over more tensely than he had ever thought over anything in
his whole life, he saw clearly that everything depended on what sort of
show he made in this match which was now in progress. It was his big
chance. If he succeeded, all would be well. He did not care to think
what his position would be if he did not succeed.
A distant appeal and a sound of clapping from the crowd broke in on his
thoughts. Mills was out, caught at the wicket. The telegraph-board gave
the total as forty-eight. Not sensational. The success of the team
depended largely on what sort of a start the two professionals made.
The clapping broke out again as Joe made his way down the steps. Joe,
as an All England player, was a favourite with the crowd.
Mike watched him play an over in his strong, graceful style: then it
suddenly occurred to him that he would like to know how matters had
gone at the bank in his absence.
He went down to the telephone, rang up the bank, and asked for Psmith.
Presently the familiar voice made itself heard.
'Hullo, Smith.'
'Hullo. Is that Comrade Jackson? How are things progressing?'
'Fairly well. We're in first. We've lost one wicket, and the fifty's
just up. I say, what's happened at the bank?'
'I broke the news to Comrade Gregory. A charming personality. I feel
that we shall be friends.'
'Was he sick?'
'In a measure, yes. Indeed, I may say he practically foamed at the
mouth. I explained the situation, but he was not to be appeased. He
jerked me into the presence of Comrade Bickersdyke, with whom I had a
brief but entertaining chat. He had not a great deal to say, but he
listened attentively to my narrative, and eventually told me off to
take your place in the Fixed Deposits. That melancholy task I am now
performing to the best of my ability. I find the work a little trying.
There is too much ledger-lugging to be done for my simple tastes. I
have been hauling ledgers from the safe all the morning. The cry is
beginning to go round, "Psmith is willing, but can his physique stand
the strain?" In the excitement of the moment just now I dropped a
somewhat massive tome on to Comrade Gregory's foot, unfortunately, I
understand, the foot in which he has of late been suffering twinges of
gout. I passed the thing off with ready tact, but I cannot deny that
there was a certain temporary coolness, which, indeed, is not yet past.
These things, Comrade Jackson, are the whirlpools in the quiet stream
of commercial life.'
'Have I got the sack?'
'No official pronouncement has been made to me as yet on the subject,
but I think I should advise you, if you are offered another job in the
course of the day, to accept it. I cannot say that you are precisely
the pet of the management just at present. However, I have ideas for
your future, which I will divulge when we meet. I propose to slide
coyly from the office at about four o'clock. I am meeting my father at
that hour. We shall come straight on to Lord's.'
'Right ho,' said Mike. 'I'll be looking out for you.'
'Is there any little message I can give Comrade Gregory from you?'
'You can give him my love, if you like.'
'It shall be done. Good-bye.'
'Good-bye.'
Mike replaced the receiver, and went up to his balcony again.
As soon as his eye fell on the telegraph-board he saw with a start that
things had been moving rapidly in his brief absence. The numbers of the
batsmen on the board were three and five.
'Great Scott!' he cried. 'Why, I'm in next. What on earth's been
happening?'
He put on his pads hurriedly, expecting every moment that a wicket
would fall and find him unprepared. But the batsmen were still together
when he rose, ready for the fray, and went downstairs to get news.
He found his brother Reggie in the dressing-room.
'What's happened?' he said. 'How were you out?'
'L.b.w.,' said Reggie. 'Goodness knows how it happened. My eyesight
must be going. I mistimed the thing altogether.'
'How was Warrington out?'
'Caught in the slips.'
'By Jove!' said Mike. 'This is pretty rocky. Three for sixty-one. We
shall get mopped.'
'Unless you and Joe do something. There's no earthly need to get out.
The wicket's as good as you want, and the bowling's nothing special.
Well played, Joe!'
A beautiful glide to leg by the greatest of the Jacksons had rolled up
against the pavilion rails. The fieldsmen changed across for the next
over.
'If only Peters stops a bit--' began Mike, and broke off. Peters' off
stump was lying at an angle of forty-five degrees.
'Well, he hasn't,' said Reggie grimly. 'Silly ass, why did he hit at
that one? All he'd got to do was to stay in with Joe. Now it's up to
you. Do try and do something, or we'll be out under the hundred.'
Mike waited till the outcoming batsman had turned in at the
professionals' gate. Then he walked down the steps and out into the
open, feeling more nervous than he had felt since that far-off day when
he had first gone in to bat for Wrykyn against the M.C.C. He found his
thoughts flying back to that occasion. Today, as then, everything
seemed very distant and unreal. The spectators were miles away. He had
often been to Lord's as a spectator, but the place seemed entirely
unfamiliar now. He felt as if he were in a strange land.
He was conscious of Joe leaving the crease to meet him on his way. He
smiled feebly. 'Buck up,' said Joe in that robust way of his which was
so heartening. 'Nothing in the bowling, and the wicket like a shirt-front.
Play just as if you were at the nets. And for goodness' sake don't try to
score all your runs in the first over. Stick in, and we've got them.'
Mike smiled again more feebly than before, and made a weird gurgling
noise in his throat.
It had been the Middlesex fast bowler who had destroyed Peters. Mike
was not sorry. He did not object to fast bowling. He took guard, and
looked round him, taking careful note of the positions of the slips.
As usual, once he was at the wicket the paralysed feeling left him. He
became conscious again of his power. Dash it all, what was there to be
afraid of? He was a jolly good bat, and he would jolly well show them
that he was, too.
The fast bowler, with a preliminary bound, began his run. Mike settled
himself into position, his whole soul concentrated on the ball.
Everything else was wiped from his mind.
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.'