25. At the Telephone
If one looks closely into those actions which are apparently due tosudden impulse, one generally finds that the sudden impulse was merelythe last of a long series of events which led up to the action. Alone,it would not have been powerful enough to effect anything. But, comingafter the way has been paved for it, it is irresistible. The hooliganwho bonnets a policeman is apparently the victim of a sudden impulse.In reality, however, the bonneting is due to weeks of daily encounterswith the constable, at each of which meetings the dislike for hishelmet and the idea of smashing it in grow a little larger, tillfinally they blossom into the deed itself.
This was what happened in Mike's case. Day by day, through the summer,as the City grew hotter and stuffier, his hatred of the bank becamemore and more the thought that occupied his mind. It only needed amoderately strong temptation to make him break out and take theconsequences.
Psmith noticed his restlessness and endeavoured to soothe it.
'All is not well,' he said, 'with Comrade Jackson, the Sunshine of theHome. I note a certain wanness of the cheek. The peach-bloom of yourcomplexion is no longer up to sample. Your eye is wild; your merrylaugh no longer rings through the bank, causing nervous customers toleap into the air with startled exclamations. You have the manner ofone whose only friend on earth is a yellow dog, and who has lost thedog. Why is this, Comrade Jackson?'
They were talking in the flat at Clement's Inn. The night was hot.Through the open windows the roar of the Strand sounded faintly. Mikewalked to the window and looked out.
'I'm sick of all this rot,' he said shortly.
Psmith shot an inquiring glance at him, but said nothing. Thisrestlessness of Mike's was causing him a good deal of inconvenience,which he bore in patient silence, hoping for better times. With Mikeobviously discontented and out of tune with all the world, there wasbut little amusement to be extracted from the evenings now. Mike didhis best to be cheerful, but he could not shake off the caged feelingwhich made him restless.
'What rot it all is!' went on Mike, sitting down again. 'What's thegood of it all? You go and sweat all day at a desk, day after day, forabout twopence a year. And when you're about eighty-five, you retire.It isn't living at all. It's simply being a bally vegetable.'
'You aren't hankering, by any chance, to be a pirate of the Spanishmain, or anything like that, are you?' inquired Psmith.
'And all this rot about going out East,' continued Mike. 'What's thegood of going out East?'
'I gather from casual chit-chat in the office that one becomessomething of a blood when one goes out East,' said Psmith. 'Havea dozen native clerks under you, all looking up to you as the LastWord in magnificence, and end by marrying the Governor's daughter.'
'End by getting some foul sort of fever, more likely, and being bootedout as no further use to the bank.'
'You look on the gloomy side, Comrade Jackson. I seem to see yousitting in an armchair, fanned by devoted coolies, telling some Easternpotentate that you can give him five minutes. I understand that beingin a bank in the Far East is one of the world's softest jobs. Millionsof natives hang on your lightest word. Enthusiastic rajahs draw youaside and press jewels into your hand as a token of respect and esteem.When on an elephant's back you pass, somebody beats on a booming brassgong! The Banker of Bhong! Isn't your generous young heart stirred toany extent by the prospect? I am given to understand--'
'I've a jolly good mind to chuck up the whole thing and become a pro.I've got a birth qualification for Surrey. It's about the only thing Icould do any good at.'
Psmith's manner became fatherly.
'_You're_ all right,' he said. 'The hot weather has given you thattired feeling. What you want is a change of air. We will pop downtogether hand in hand this week-end to some seaside resort. You shallbuild sand castles, while I lie on the beach and read the paper. In theevening we will listen to the band, or stroll on the esplanade, not somuch because we want to, as to give the natives a treat. Possibly, ifthe weather continues warm, we may even paddle. A vastly exhilaratingpastime, I am led to believe, and so strengthening for the ankles. Andon Monday morning we will return, bronzed and bursting with health, toour toil once more.'
'I'm going to bed,' said Mike, rising.
Psmith watched him lounge from the room, and shook his head sadly. Allwas not well with his confidential secretary and adviser.
The next day, which was a Thursday, found Mike no more reconciled tothe prospect of spending from ten till five in the company of MrGregory and the ledgers. He was silent at breakfast, and Psmith, seeingthat things were still wrong, abstained from conversation. Mike proppedthe _Sportsman_ up against the hot-water jug, and read the cricketnews. His county, captained by brother Joe, had, as he had learnedalready from yesterday's evening paper, beaten Sussex by five wicketsat Brighton. Today they were due to play Middlesex at Lord's. Mikethought that he would try to get off early, and go and see some of thefirst day's play.
As events turned out, he got off a good deal earlier, and saw a gooddeal 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, andeating 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 thetelephone, a fact which Psmith found a great convenience when securingseats 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 thisevening. 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 beforeeleven.'
'I mean, are you busy today? Could you possibly manage to get off andplay 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 ouronly hope. We can't possibly get another man in the time. We start inhalf 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 morningsunlight, was too much for Mike's resolution, sapped as it was by daysof restlessness. The feeling surged over him that whatever happenedafterwards, the joy of the match in perfect weather on a perfect wicketwould 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 mythings.'
'Good man,' said Joe, hugely relieved.
Psmith in the City Page 25
