“Yes, sir, I will do my best.”
He looked at me and smiled.
“A great promise,” he said. “To do your best, Mr. Corkey, is to be one
man picked out of a thousand.”
I had no idea, then, that it was such a rare thing to do your best; but
he knew. And I found afterwards that it is not only rare but frightfully
difficult, and no doubt that is why so few people do it.
Mr. Westonshaugh, for that was the name of this good man, called a
subordinate, and a fair, pale clerk in the prime of life, with a large
amber mustache and a high forehead, responded to the summons.
“This is Mr. Corkey,” said the Chief. “He goes into your division, Mr.
Blades. I need not ask you to look after him and indicate the duties. He
passed a good examination and is quite ready to set to work.”
I followed Mr. Blades and walked down the great room. There were two
desks apart in one corner at which old, bald, spectacled men sat, and at
the other desks, already mentioned, the full strength of the Department
was already busily occupied.
I found an empty desk waiting for me beside Mr. Blades, and I could see
by his manner, which was kindly but penetrating, that he was considering
what sort of clerk I should make. Others also looked at me. One man said
“Legs!” referring to mine, which were very long. There was a strange and
helpless feeling about it all. I dimly remembered feeling just the same
when I first went to Merivale. Mr. Blades called a messenger and bade
him bring pens, fill the ink-bottles and fetch blotting-paper and
paper-cutter, a ruler, an ink eraser, and other clerkly instruments.
“Your first duty,” he said, “is to copy policies into the books. Here is
a pile of policies and they are numbered in order. There are no
abbreviations on the actual policy; but abbreviations are allowed in
copying them into the books. This saves many hours of time. For
instance, the word ‘communicating’ occurs over and over again. So, in
copying it, we reduce it to three letters, namely ‘com.’ I will now copy
a policy and you can see how I do it.”
Mr. Blades was kindness itself and, indeed, from that day forward I
blessed his name. He was a brick. He was fierce certainly, and if
angered, as sometimes happened, would utter dreadful imprecations, such
as I thought were only to be heard among pirates and other story-book
people; but he had a big heart and a very heroic mind. He feared nothing
and, though a small man, exhibited great courage on many occasions in
his private life, of which he told me when I knew him better. He was
married and lived at Bickleigh and had offspring.
I settled to the work and nothing much happened, though I had very often
to refer to Mr. Blades. He never minded and was always ready with his
wide knowledge, which, of course, extended far beyond the copying that I
had to do. In fact, the Department teemed with men of the greatest
ability, and not only did every one of them exhibit perfect mastery of
the complicated art of drawing-out of insurance policies against fire,
but many of them, as I found gradually—in fact, almost every one—had
some remarkable talent which was not wanted in their official tasks.
Some could draw and some could play various musical instruments; some
were very keen sportsmen and understood cricket and football and other
branches; and some were great readers and knew all about literature.
Some, again, were gardeners and cultivated most beautiful exotics, which
they brought to the office to raffle from time to time. Others, again,
arranged sweepstakes on horse-races and brightened up the dull routine
of official life in this way. Others were volunteers and very keen about
soldiering. I hoped that I might find somebody interested in the stage,
but curiously enough, though many went to the theatre, none ever wanted
to become professional actors.
When the luncheon interval arrived I was allowed to go out for
refreshments, and I went and walked about in the City of London. But I
did not go farther than the huge figures that beat time over a
watchmaker’s shop in Cheapside. It must have been wonderful mechanism,
and I should like to have had it explained, but there was no time to go
into the shop. And, in any case, I shouldn’t have had the cheek to ask.
By a funny chance, near the Royal Exchange I found the identical Murch’s
shop, where Mr. Benyon Pepys used to go and have turtle-soup after the
labours of signing policies; so I thought that if it suited him so well,
it might suit me also. With great presence of mind, however, I first
asked the price of a plate, and on hearing it, made some hurried excuse
and went back into the street. Turtle-soup is out of the question for
beginners in the City of London. I had a Bath bun and a glass of milk
instead and then went back to work.
It was after returning that the first thing that I really understood and
enjoyed happened at the Apollo. Up till then I felt rather small and
helpless and strange. Here was I, like an ant in a nest, but I felt a
fool of an ant—good for nothing but to make mistakes and worry Mr.
Blades. The huge whirl and rush of business dazed me. I almost heard the
thunder of machinery; but I knew really that all the machinery was going
on inside the heads of those thirty-five able and industrious men. I
expected that they were working for their wives and children and their
old, infirm mothers and so on. It was real grim life. It is true there
were a few boys there besides me; but they also were able and
industrious, if not brilliant, and they were all doing their part in the
great machine. Even the messengers were. They were nearly all old,
brave, wounded soldiers. I felt the solemnity. I seemed like a mere
insect in a solemn cathedral where a mighty service was going on and
everybody was doing their appointed part but me. I had spoiled several
large sheets of paper and felt a sort of sick feeling that I was not
earning my fifty pounds a year, and should soon be told so. I made a
calculation on my blotting-paper to see how much money I ought to earn
each day. The amount discouraged me and, besides that, I had another
sort of animal feeling that I wasn’t getting enough air to breathe.
Then, in this dark and despairing moment, there happened a thing that
bucked me up and put new life into me. Suddenly I got a terrific smack
on the side of the face, and an orange, about half sucked, fell from my
cheek upon the page spread before me. It was like a pleasant breath of
Merivale. I understood it; I knew how to handle it. For a moment I no
longer felt like an insect in some vast cathedral. I was deeply
interested and hoped that the man who could do a thing of this sort in a
solemn scene like the Country Department of the Apollo Fire Office,
might be a real friend to me. It happened that, as I came back from
lunching, I had seen a young man with the lid of his desk raised. His
head was inside and he was sucking this identical orange that had now
hit me in the face. I felt at the time that the man who could suck an
orange in the midst of this booming hive of industry must be out of the
common. And so he proved to be. He was dark and clean-shaved, with broad
shoulders and a purple chin. I knew, therefore, when the orange arrived,
who had chucked it, and could not help feeling the purple-chinned young
man was a jolly good shot, whatever else he might be. I laughed when the
orange hit me, and looked over to him; but he was writing very busily
and not a muscle moved. I didn’t dare chuck the half-sucked orange back,
for fear of making a boss shot, the consequences of which might have
been very serious, because at least three men of considerable age, and
one grey, sat between us. So I picked up the orange and got off my
stool.
“Sit down! don’t take any notice,” said Mr. Blades, who was trying not
to laugh and failing; but I felt that perhaps he didn’t quite understand
a thing like this, having passed the stage for it and being married and
so on; whereas no doubt the purple-chinned young man, if he could chuck
an orange, could also get it back without taking it in the wrong spirit.
A good many chaps watched me and some thought I was going to take the
orange into Mr. Westonshaugh; but I just went casually up the room, and
when I got to the purple-chinned young man, who was writing away like
mad, I stopped and turned suddenly.
“A ripping shot,” I said. “I funked flinging it back for fear of hitting
the wrong man.”
Then I squashed down the orange hard on the purple-chinned young man’s
head and hooked back to my desk.
“You long-legged young devil!” he shouted, but he wasn’t angry, only
surprised. There was rather a row then, because a good many chaps
laughed out loud and Mr. Westonshaugh came to his door.
“Not so much noise, gentlemen, please,” he said, and then went in again.
Half an hour afterwards the purple-chinned young man, whose name was
Dicky Travers, came up to my desk.
“It’s all right,” he began. “It was a fair score; but how the devil did
you know that I threw it? I’ll swear you didn’t see me.”
“I didn’t,” I admitted; “but when I came in from lunch you were sucking
it with your head in your desk, so I guessed.”
That man turned out one of my very best and dearest friends in the
Apollo Fire Office! He proved to be an athlete of world-wide fame and a
member of the London Athletic Club. He had won countless trophies and
cups and clocks and cellarettes and salad bowls, and was simply tired of
seeing his name in print. He was a champion walker and had on several
occasions walked seven miles inside an hour; and two miles in fifteen
minutes was mere fun to him!
So ended my first day of work. At four o’clock a good number of the
clerks prepared to leave and Mr. Blades told me that I could go. Of
course I thanked him very much for all his kindness during the day.
“That’s all right,” he said; “and to-morrow bring an office coat with
you and keep that swagger one for out of doors. Let it be a dark
colour—in fact, black for choice. It’s better form. And to-morrow I will
show you how you can keep your cuffs clean by putting paper over them.
Now you put your work into your desk and lock it up and go home. You
have made a very decent start.”