19. The Illness of Edward
Life in a bank is at its pleasantest in the winter. When all the worldoutside is dark and damp and cold, the light and warmth of the placeare comforting. There is a pleasant air of solidity about the interiorof a bank. The green shaded lamps look cosy. And, the outside worldoffering so few attractions, the worker, perched on his stool, feelsthat he is not so badly off after all. It is when the days are long andthe sun beats hot on the pavement, and everything shouts to him howsplendid it is out in the country, that he begins to grow restless.
Mike, except for a fortnight at the beginning of his career in the NewAsiatic Bank, had not had to stand the test of sunshine. At present,the weather being cold and dismal, he was almost entirely contented.Now that he had got into the swing of his work, the days passed veryquickly; and with his life after office-hours he had no fault to findat all.
His life was very regular. He would arrive in the morning just in timeto sign his name in the attendance-book before it was removed to theaccountant's room. That was at ten o'clock. From ten to eleven he wouldpotter. There was nothing going on at that time in his department, andMr Waller seemed to take it for granted that he should stroll off tothe Postage Department and talk to Psmith, who had generally some freshgrievance against the ring-wearing Bristow to air. From eleven to halfpast twelve he would put in a little gentle work. Lunch, unless therewas a rush of business or Mr Waller happened to suffer from a spasm ofconscientiousness, could be spun out from half past twelve to two. Morework from two till half past three. From half past three till half pastfour tea in the tearoom, with a novel. And from half past four tillfive either a little more work or more pottering, according to whetherthere was any work to do or not. It was by no means an unpleasant modeof spending a late January day.
Then there was no doubt that it was an interesting little community,that of the New Asiatic Bank. The curiously amateurish nature of theinstitution lent a certain air of light-heartedness to the place. Itwas not like one of those banks whose London office is their mainoffice, where stern business is everything and a man becomes a meremachine for getting through a certain amount of routine work. Theemployees of the New Asiatic Bank, having plenty of time on theirhands, were able to retain their individuality. They had leisure tothink of other things besides their work. Indeed, they had so muchleisure that it is a wonder they thought of their work at all.
The place was full of quaint characters. There was West, who had beenrequested to leave Haileybury owing to his habit of borrowing horsesand attending meets in the neighbourhood, the same being always out ofbounds and necessitating a complete disregard of the rules respectingevening chapel and lock-up. He was a small, dried-up youth, with blackhair plastered down on his head. He went about his duties in a costumewhich suggested the sportsman of the comic papers.
There was also Hignett, who added to the meagre salary allowed him bythe bank by singing comic songs at the minor music halls. He confidedto Mike his intention of leaving the bank as soon as he had made aname, and taking seriously to the business. He told him that he hadknocked them at the Bedford the week before, and in support of thestatement showed him a cutting from the Era, in which the writer saidthat 'Other acceptable turns were the Bounding Zouaves, Steingruber'sDogs, and Arthur Hignett.' Mike wished him luck.
And there was Raymond who dabbled in journalism and was the author of'Straight Talks to Housewives' in _Trifles_, under the pseudonymof 'Lady Gussie'; Wragge, who believed that the earth was flat, andaddressed meetings on the subject in Hyde Park on Sundays; and manyothers, all interesting to talk to of a morning when work was slack andtime had to be filled in.
Mike found himself, by degrees, growing quite attached to the NewAsiatic Bank.
One morning, early in February, he noticed a curious change in MrWaller. The head of the Cash Department was, as a rule, mildly cheerfulon arrival, and apt (excessively, Mike thought, though he alwayslistened with polite interest) to relate the most recent sayings anddoings of his snub-nosed son, Edward. No action of this young prodigywas withheld from Mike. He had heard, on different occasions, how hehad won a prize at his school for General Information (which Mike couldwell believe); how he had trapped young Mr Richards, now happilyreconciled to Ada, with an ingenious verbal catch; and how he had madea sequence of diverting puns on the name of the new curate, during thecourse of that cleric's first Sunday afternoon visit.
On this particular day, however, the cashier was silent andabsent-minded. He answered Mike's good-morning mechanically, andsitting down at his desk, stared blankly across the building. Therewas a curiously grey, tired look on his face.
Mike could not make it out. He did not like to ask if there wasanything the matter. Mr Waller's face had the unreasonable effect onhim of making him feel shy and awkward. Anything in the nature ofsorrow always dried Mike up and robbed him of the power of speech.Being naturally sympathetic, he had raged inwardly in many a crisis atthis devil of dumb awkwardness which possessed him and prevented himfrom putting his sympathy into words. He had always envied the cooingreadiness of the hero on the stage when anyone was in trouble. Hewondered whether he would ever acquire that knack of pouring out alimpid stream of soothing words on such occasions. At present he couldget no farther than a scowl and an almost offensive gruffness.
The happy thought struck him of consulting Psmith. It was his hour forpottering, so he pottered round to the Postage Department, where hefound the old Etonian eyeing with disfavour a new satin tie whichBristow was wearing that morning for the first time.
'I say, Smith,' he said, 'I want to speak to you for a second.'
Psmith rose. Mike led the way to a quiet corner of the TelegramsDepartment.
'I tell you, Comrade Jackson,' said Psmith, 'I am hard pressed. Thefight is beginning to be too much for me. After a grim struggle, afterdays of unremitting toil, I succeeded yesterday in inducing the manBristow to abandon that rainbow waistcoat of his. Today I enter thebuilding, blythe and buoyant, worn, of course, from the long struggle,but seeing with aching eyes the dawn of another, better era, and thereis Comrade Bristow in a satin tie. It's hard, Comrade Jackson, it'shard, I tell you.'
'Look here, Smith,' said Mike, 'I wish you'd go round to the Cash andfind out what's up with old Waller. He's got the hump about something.He's sitting there looking absolutely fed up with things. I hopethere's nothing up. He's not a bad sort. It would be rot if anythingrotten's happened.'
Psmith began to display a gentle interest.
'So other people have troubles as well as myself,' he murmuredmusingly. 'I had almost forgotten that. Comrade Waller's misfortunescannot but be trivial compared with mine, but possibly it will be aswell to ascertain their nature. I will reel round and make inquiries.'
'Good man,' said Mike. 'I'll wait here.'
Psmith departed, and returned, ten minutes later, looking more seriousthan when he had left.
'His kid's ill, poor chap,' he said briefly. 'Pretty badly too, fromwhat I can gather. Pneumonia. Waller was up all night. He oughtn't tobe here at all today. He doesn't know what he's doing half the time.He's absolutely fagged out. Look here, you'd better nip back and do asmuch of the work as you can. I shouldn't talk to him much if I wereyou. Buck along.'
Mike went. Mr Waller was still sitting staring out across the aisle.There was something more than a little gruesome in the sight of him. Hewore a crushed, beaten look, as if all the life and fight had gone outof him. A customer came to the desk to cash a cheque. The cashiershovelled the money to him under the bars with the air of one whosemind is elsewhere. Mike could guess what he was feeling, and what hewas thinking about. The fact that the snub-nosed Edward was, withoutexception, the most repulsive small boy he had ever met in this world,where repulsive small boys crowd and jostle one another, did notinterfere with his appreciation of the cashier's state of mind. Mike'swas essentially a sympathetic character. He had the gift of intuitiveunderstanding, where people of whom he was fond were concerned. It wasthis which drew to h
im those who had intelligence enough to see beyondhis sometimes rather forbidding manner, and to realize that his bluntspeech was largely due to shyness. In spite of his prejudice againstEdward, he could put himself into Mr Waller's place, and see the thingfrom his point of view.
Psmith's injunction to him not to talk much was unnecessary. Mike, asalways, was rendered utterly dumb by the sight of suffering. He sat athis desk, occupying himself as best he could with the driblets of workwhich came to him.
Mr Waller's silence and absentness continued unchanged. The habit ofyears had made his work mechanical. Probably few of the customers whocame to cash cheques suspected that there was anything the matter withthe man who paid them their money. After all, most people look on thecashier of a bank as a sort of human slot-machine. You put in yourcheque, and out comes money. It is no affair of yours whether life istreating the machine well or ill that day.
The hours dragged slowly by till five o'clock struck, and the cashier,putting on his coat and hat, passed silently out through the swingdoors. He walked listlessly. He was evidently tired out.
Mike shut his ledger with a vicious bang, and went across to findPsmith. He was glad the day was over.
Psmith in the City Page 19
