MY DEAR CHARLES,--Let us talk _Haute Finance_. In other words, let us
indulge in that good old Anglo-Saxon pastime of blackguarding COX AND CO.
It will remind us of the piping days of war. There is too much peace about,
and the gentle and ever-forgiving COX AND CO. expect their customers to be
men of force and character, showing temper from time to time. Everybody
else may be demobilised; I remain a soldier, and as such I have my special
bank. Ah, me! the battles in Charing Cross are not the easy things they
used to be. No longer, as of old, I come fresh to the attack against a mere
underling, worn down by the assaults of wave after wave of brother-officers
attacking, before me. I enter the Territorial Department alone and am taken
on by a master-hand, supported and flanked by a number of unoccupied
subordinates. About the Spring of 1925, when I expect to be the only "T"
left, I anticipate the decisive moment when I shall cross swords or swop
bombs with Sir COX himself. Having bravely encountered "AND CO." these many
years, I shall not be daunted by that gilded knight.
The war having once put me in possession of my COX AND CO., I had very
frequent recourse to them when in need of such solace as only money can
bring. The time arrived when I applied in vain; the money had disappeared.
Though I had no reason to suspect COX AND CO. of being dishonest I noticed
a tone of assuredness and self-complacency in their letters strangely
similar to that in my own, and I _knew_ that I was being dishonest, so I
demanded to see my pass-book. It was a horrid sight, and it gave me
seriously to think. How came it that the side of the book which showed my
takings was so clear and easily to be understood, but the side which showed
their takings wrapt in mystery and hieroglyphics such as not even the
world's leading financiers and mathematicians could hope to unravel? My
subaltern, being consulted, agreed with me; I would have had him carpeted
by the C.O. at once if he hadn't.
I stepped round to COX AND CO. and had it out with them verbally. After a
discussion lasting half-an-hour, it was shown that I had been credited with
a week's pay to which I wasn't entitled and that a month's income-tax, to
which a grasping Government _was_ entitled, had not been deducted. I left
the building ninety-three shillings worse off than I entered it.
I gave COX AND CO. six months to go wrong in, and then called for that
pass-book again. My eye fell upon a paying and deducting and refunding and
readjusting of an item itself so shameful that it dared only appear under
its initials. Why this oscillation? I asked myself. So we engaged upon
another correspondence, and another interview took place, at which I was
supported by my subaltern (who could multiply and add), and the bank-man
was supported by a young lady (who could divide and subtract). At the end
of a passionate discussion, which lasted fifty-seven minutes (forty-five of
them being after closing time) the conclusion was arrived at that the total
was correct to a halfpenny. Even COX AND CO. themselves were a bit
surprised at that.
Years passed, and there was no doubt about it; the money continued to
disappear. Trusting that COX AND CO. were now lulled into a feeling of
false security I tried a surprise reconnaissance. I dropped in on them
without warning and asked to see that pass-book then and there. They
searched high and low, but they couldn't find it. I, on the other hand,
found it quite easily, when I searched amongst my papers at home. To me
this proved that I was the better searcher. My subaltern, however, would
have it that the circumstances gave me no right of action against COX AND
CO. His sympathies were clearly with them, so I requested him kindly to get
on with his own work and not to interfere further in my private affairs. He
went away in a huff, got demobilised and, I have little doubt, married the
young lady who divided and subtracted and, with her, set up a bank of his
own. I devoted my young life to the search for some person, firm or
corporation, expert in pass-books, haughty of demeanour, capable of getting
blood out of a stone and not likely to give even the devil his due; I
wanted such an ally for the next assault.
I have always remained a civilian, and as such have retained my other
banker. A man of unlimited possessions, I may state accurately that I have
to-day no fewer than two banks of my own. Let us call this other one Box
and Co. That is not the real name, but it is as far as I dare go to refer
to them, even under an assumed name. Years of stern handling by them have
taken all the spirit out of me. It is as much as I can do to screw up my
courage so far as to ask the loan of a pound or two of my own money off
them. And there have been times, in the pre-1914 past, when I have felt it
would be better to go without money than to have the stuff thrown at me,
shovelled at me in that contemptuous offhand manner. I now repaired in
person to the premises of Box and Co., with their handsome marble façade
and their costly mahogany fittings, and had a word with Mr. Box himself. A
little artful flattery, a few simple lies and just a touch of ginger in the
matter of professional competition, and Box and Co. were brought into the
war. I handed them COX AND CO.'s pass-book and told them that now was their
time to go in and win.
I used to look in every other day to see how the struggle went. At first
Box and Co. were confident, remarking on my wisdom in placing myself (and
my pass-book) in such competent hands as theirs. But as the correspondence
went on their enthusiasm wore off; Mr. Box gave vent to observations
reflecting ill on the Army system of pay, on the Army itself, even on that
part of it which was me. Had it not been that the pride of Box and Co. was
involved, I believe they would have gone to London in a body, there to form
a lifelong friendship with COX AND CO., out of pure fellow-feeling. But I
have hinted that Box and Co. were a cold inhuman institution, whose
business in life it was to do people down, or go down itself. And so COX
AND CO. had to be for it. Eventually, in the late winter of 1919, Box and
Co. extracted from COX AND CO. the admission that a five had been mistaken
for a three, and I had been done out of twopence, an affair all the more
gross in that it had happened as long ago as the early spring of 1915, and
never a word of remorse meanwhile! A conclusion by which neither Box nor
COX was really satisfied, but which, for me, was enough. We English may
only win one battle in a war, but that battle is the last.
Possibly, my dear Charles, you have a soft spot in your heart for this COX
AND CO., never failing in courtesy and attention and ever heaped with
abuse? So, to be frank, have I. Let us turn round and blackguard the other
fellow. The sequel is incredible.
I next handed my Box and Co. pass-book to COX AND CO., giving them a brief
and touching _résumé_ of my sad story of wrong and oppression, and bidding
them do their damnedest in their turn. They wrote to Box and Co.: "Our
customer, your customer, we may say THE customer, Second-Lieutenant,
Brevet-Lieutenant, Temporary Captain, Acting Major, Local Colonel, Aspiring
General (entered in your books as plain Mister) Henry Neplusultra, informs
us that, though he has banked with you since the first sovereign he earned
at his baptism, he has been so frowned at and scorned as to have been
rendered morally unable to handle his current balance. He instructs us...."
But why relate the story in all its grim horror? Enough to say that so
successfully did COX AND CO. pursue their instructions that they discovered
a credit balance in my favour of 14s. 3d.; so politely and firmly did they
conduct the correspondence that eventually Box and Co. burst into tears,
admitted the claim and, upon my calling the other day personally to receive
satisfaction, handed me the 14s. 3d. with a deferential bow. If you doubt
the truth of this statement you have only to come round to my place, where
you can see for yourself the threepence, which is still in my possession.
Yours ever,