Books: Psmith in the City
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P. G. Wodehouse >> Psmith in the City
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Mike was not busy. He had worked off the last batch of letters, and
there was nothing to do but to wait for the next, or--happy thought--to
take the present batch down to the post, and so get out into the
sunshine and fresh air for a short time. 'I rather think I'll nip down
to the post-office,' said he, 'You couldn't come too, I suppose?'
'On the contrary,' said Psmith, 'I could, and will. A stroll will just
restore those tissues which the gruelling work of the last half-hour
has wasted away. It is a fearful strain, this commercial toil. Let us
trickle towards the post office. I will leave my hat and gloves as a
guarantee of good faith. The cry will go round, "Psmith has gone! Some
rival institution has kidnapped him!" Then they will see my hat,'--he
built up a foundation of ledgers, planted a long ruler in the middle,
and hung his hat on it--'my gloves,'--he stuck two pens into the desk
and hung a lavender glove on each--'and they will sink back swooning
with relief. The awful suspense will be over. They will say, "No, he
has not gone permanently. Psmith will return. When the fields are white
with daisies he'll return." And now, Comrade Jackson, lead me to this
picturesque little post-office of yours of which I have heard so much.'
Mike picked up the long basket into which he had thrown the letters
after entering the addresses in his ledger, and they moved off down the
aisle. No movement came from Mr Rossiter's lair. Its energetic occupant
was hard at work. They could just see part of his hunched-up back.
'I wish Comrade Downing could see us now,' said Psmith. 'He always set
us down as mere idlers. Triflers. Butterflies. It would be a wholesome
corrective for him to watch us perspiring like this in the cause of
Commerce.'
'You haven't told me yet what on earth you're doing here,' said Mike.
'I thought you were going to the 'Varsity. Why the dickens are you in a
bank? Your pater hasn't lost his money, has he?'
'No. There is still a tolerable supply of doubloons in the old oak
chest. Mine is a painful story.'
'It always is,' said Mike.
'You are very right, Comrade Jackson. I am the victim of Fate. Ah, so
you put the little chaps in there, do you?' he said, as Mike, reaching
the post-office, began to bundle the letters into the box. 'You seem to
have grasped your duties with admirable promptitude. It is the same
with me. I fancy we are both born men of Commerce. In a few years we
shall be pinching Comrade Bickersdyke's job. And talking of Comrade B.
brings me back to my painful story. But I shall never have time to tell
it to you during our walk back. Let us drift aside into this tea-shop.
We can order a buckwheat cake or a butter-nut, or something equally
succulent, and carefully refraining from consuming these dainties, I
will tell you all.'
'Right O!' said Mike.
'When last I saw you,' resumed Psmith, hanging Mike's basket on the
hat-stand and ordering two portions of porridge, 'you may remember that
a serious crisis in my affairs had arrived. My father inflamed with the
idea of Commerce had invited Comrade Bickersdyke--'
'When did you know he was a manager here?' asked Mike.
'At an early date. I have my spies everywhere. However, my pater
invited Comrade Bickersdyke to our house for the weekend. Things turned
out rather unfortunately. Comrade B. resented my purely altruistic
efforts to improve him mentally and morally. Indeed, on one occasion he
went so far as to call me an impudent young cub, and to add that he
wished he had me under him in his bank, where, he asserted, he would
knock some of the nonsense out of me. All very painful. I tell you,
Comrade Jackson, for the moment it reduced my delicately vibrating
ganglions to a mere frazzle. Recovering myself, I made a few blithe
remarks, and we then parted. I cannot say that we parted friends, but
at any rate I bore him no ill-will. I was still determined to make him
a credit to me. My feelings towards him were those of some kindly
father to his prodigal son. But he, if I may say so, was fairly on the
hop. And when my pater, after dinner the same night, played into his
hands by mentioning that he thought I ought to plunge into a career of
commerce, Comrade B. was, I gather, all over him. Offered to make a
vacancy for me in the bank, and to take me on at once. My pater,
feeling that this was the real hustle which he admired so much, had me
in, stated his case, and said, in effect, "How do we go?" I intimated
that Comrade Bickersdyke was my greatest chum on earth. So the thing
was fixed up and here I am. But you are not getting on with your
porridge, Comrade Jackson. Perhaps you don't care for porridge? Would
you like a finnan haddock, instead? Or a piece of shortbread? You have
only to say the word.'
'It seems to me,' said Mike gloomily, 'that we are in for a pretty
rotten time of it in this bally bank. If Bickersdyke's got his knife
into us, he can make it jolly warm for us. He's got his knife into me
all right about that walking-across-the-screen business.'
'True,' said Psmith, 'to a certain extent. It is an undoubted fact that
Comrade Bickersdyke will have a jolly good try at making life a
nuisance to us; but, on the other hand, I propose, so far as in me
lies, to make things moderately unrestful for him, here and there.'
'But you can't,' objected Mike. 'What I mean to say is, it isn't like a
school. If you wanted to score off a master at school, you could always
rag and so on. But here you can't. How can you rag a man who's sitting
all day in a room of his own while you're sweating away at a desk at
the other end of the building?'
'You put the case with admirable clearness, Comrade Jackson,' said
Psmith approvingly. 'At the hard-headed, common-sense business you
sneak the biscuit every time with ridiculous case. But you do not know
all. I do not propose to do a thing in the bank except work. I shall be
a model as far as work goes. I shall be flawless. I shall bound to do
Comrade Rossiter's bidding like a highly trained performing dog. It is
outside the bank, when I have staggered away dazed with toil, that I
shall resume my attention to the education of Comrade Bickersdyke.'
'But, dash it all, how can you? You won't see him. He'll go off home,
or to his club, or--'
Psmith tapped him earnestly on the chest.
'There, Comrade Jackson,' he said, 'you have hit the bull's-eye, rung
the bell, and gathered in the cigar or cocoanut according to choice. He
_will_ go off to his club. And I shall do precisely the same.'
'How do you mean?'
'It is this way. My father, as you may have noticed during your stay at
our stately home of England, is a man of a warm, impulsive character.
He does not always do things as other people would do them. He has his
own methods. Thus, he has sent me into the City to do the hard-working,
bank-clerk act, but at the same time he is allowing me just as large an
allowance as he would have given me if I had gone to the 'Varsity.
Moreover, while I was still at Eton he put my name up for his clubs,
the Senior Conservative among others. My pater belongs to four
clubs altogether, and in course of time, when my name comes up for
election, I shall do the same. Meanwhile, I belong to one, the Senior
Conservative. It is a bigger club than the others, and your name comes
up for election sooner. About the middle of last month a great yell of
joy made the West End of London shake like a jelly. The three thousand
members of the Senior Conservative had just learned that I had been
elected.'
Psmith paused, and ate some porridge.
'I wonder why they call this porridge,' he observed with mild interest.
'It would be far more manly and straightforward of them to give it its
real name. To resume. I have gleaned, from casual chit-chat with my
father, that Comrade Bickersdyke also infests the Senior Conservative.
You might think that that would make me, seeing how particular I am
about whom I mix with, avoid the club. Error. I shall go there every
day. If Comrade Bickersdyke wishes to emend any little traits in my
character of which he may disapprove, he shall never say that I did not
give him the opportunity. I shall mix freely with Comrade Bickersdyke
at the Senior Conservative Club. I shall be his constant companion. I
shall, in short, haunt the man. By these strenuous means I shall, as it
were, get a bit of my own back. And now,' said Psmith, rising, 'it
might be as well, perhaps, to return to the bank and resume our
commercial duties. I don't know how long you are supposed to be allowed
for your little trips to and from the post-office, but, seeing that the
distance is about thirty yards, I should say at a venture not more than
half an hour. Which is exactly the space of time which has flitted by
since we started out on this important expedition. Your devotion to
porridge, Comrade Jackson, has led to our spending about twenty-five
minutes in this hostelry.'
'Great Scott,' said Mike, 'there'll be a row.'
'Some slight temporary breeze, perhaps,' said Psmith. 'Annoying to men
of culture and refinement, but not lasting. My only fear is lest we may
have worried Comrade Rossiter at all. I regard Comrade Rossiter as an
elder brother, and would not cause him a moment's heart-burning for
worlds. However, we shall soon know,' he added, as they passed into the
bank and walked up the aisle, 'for there is Comrade Rossiter waiting to
receive us in person.'
The little head of the Postage Department was moving restlessly about
in the neighbourhood of Psmith's and Mike's desk.
'Am I mistaken,' said Psmith to Mike, 'or is there the merest suspicion
of a worried look on our chief's face? It seems to me that there is the
slightest soupcon of shadow about that broad, calm brow.'
7. Going into Winter Quarters
There was.
Mr Rossiter had discovered Psmith's and Mike's absence about five
minutes after they had left the building. Ever since then, he had been
popping out of his lair at intervals of three minutes, to see whether
they had returned. Constant disappointment in this respect had rendered
him decidedly jumpy. When Psmith and Mike reached the desk, he was a
kind of human soda-water bottle. He fizzed over with questions,
reproofs, and warnings.
'What does it mean? What does it mean?' he cried. 'Where have you been?
Where have you been?'
'Poetry,' said Psmith approvingly.
'You have been absent from your places for over half an hour. Why? Why?
Why? Where have you been? Where have you been? I cannot have this. It
is preposterous. Where have you been? Suppose Mr Bickersdyke had
happened to come round here. I should not have known what to say to
him.'
'Never an easy man to chat with, Comrade Bickersdyke,' agreed Psmith.
'You must thoroughly understand that you are expected to remain in your
places during business hours.'
'Of course,' said Psmith, 'that makes it a little hard for Comrade
Jackson to post letters, does it not?'
'Have you been posting letters?'
'We have,' said Psmith. 'You have wronged us. Seeing our absent places
you jumped rashly to the conclusion that we were merely gadding about
in pursuit of pleasure. Error. All the while we were furthering the
bank's best interests by posting letters.'
'You had no business to leave your place. Jackson is on the posting
desk.'
'You are very right,' said Psmith, 'and it shall not occur again. It
was only because it was the first day, Comrade Jackson is not used to
the stir and bustle of the City. His nerve failed him. He shrank from
going to the post-office alone. So I volunteered to accompany him.
And,' concluded Psmith, impressively, 'we won safely through. Every
letter has been posted.'
'That need not have taken you half an hour.'
'True. And the actual work did not. It was carried through swiftly and
surely. But the nerve-strain had left us shaken. Before resuming our
more ordinary duties we had to refresh. A brief breathing-space, a
little coffee and porridge, and here we are, fit for work once more.'
'If it occurs again, I shall report the matter to Mr Bickersdyke.'
'And rightly so,' said Psmith, earnestly. 'Quite rightly so.
Discipline, discipline. That is the cry. There must be no shirking of
painful duties. Sentiment must play no part in business. Rossiter, the
man, may sympathise, but Rossiter, the Departmental head, must be
adamant.'
Mr Rossiter pondered over this for a moment, then went off on a
side-issue.
'What is the meaning of this foolery?' he asked, pointing to Psmith's
gloves and hat. 'Suppose Mr Bickersdyke had come round and seen them,
what should I have said?'
'You would have given him a message of cheer. You would have said, "All
is well. Psmith has not left us. He will come back. And Comrade
Bickersdyke, relieved, would have--"'
'You do not seem very busy, Mr Smith.'
Both Psmith and Mr Rossiter were startled.
Mr Rossiter jumped as if somebody had run a gimlet into him, and even
Psmith started slightly. They had not heard Mr Bickersdyke approaching.
Mike, who had been stolidly entering addresses in his ledger during the
latter part of the conversation, was also taken by surprise.
Psmith was the first to recover. Mr Rossiter was still too confused for
speech, but Psmith took the situation in hand.
'Apparently no,' he said, swiftly removing his hat from the ruler. 'In
reality, yes. Mr Rossiter and I were just scheming out a line of work
for me as you came up. If you had arrived a moment later, you would
have found me toiling.'
'H'm. I hope I should. We do not encourage idling in this bank.'
'Assuredly not,' said Psmith warmly. 'Most assuredly not. I would not
have it otherwise. I am a worker. A bee, not a drone. A
_Lusitania,_ not a limpet. Perhaps I have not yet that grip on my
duties which I shall soon acquire; but it is coming. It is coming. I
see daylight.'
'H'm. I have only your word for it.' He turned to Mr Rossiter, who had
now recovered himself, and was as nearly calm as it was in his nature
to be. 'Do you find Mr Smith's work satisfactory, Mr Rossiter?'
Psmith waited resignedly for an outburst of complaint respecting the
small matter that had been under discussion between the head of the
department and himself; but to his surprise it did not come.
'Oh--ah--quite, quite, Mr Bickersdyke. I think he will very soon pick
things up.'
Mr Bickersdyke turned away. He was a conscientious bank manager, and
one can only suppose that Mr Rossiter's tribute to the earnestness of
one of his _employes_ was gratifying to him. But for that, one would have
said that he was disappointed.
'Oh, Mr Bickersdyke,' said Psmith.
The manager stopped.
'Father sent his kind regards to you,' said Psmith benevolently.
Mr Bickersdyke walked off without comment.
'An uncommonly cheery, companionable feller,' murmured Psmith, as he
turned to his work.
The first day anywhere, if one spends it in a sedentary fashion, always
seemed unending; and Mike felt as if he had been sitting at his desk
for weeks when the hour for departure came. A bank's day ends
gradually, reluctantly, as it were. At about five there is a sort of
stir, not unlike the stir in a theatre when the curtain is on the point
of falling. Ledgers are closed with a bang. Men stand about and talk
for a moment or two before going to the basement for their hats and
coats. Then, at irregular intervals, forms pass down the central aisle
and out through the swing doors. There is an air of relaxation over the
place, though some departments are still working as hard as ever under
a blaze of electric light. Somebody begins to sing, and an instant
chorus of protests and maledictions rises from all sides. Gradually,
however, the electric lights go out. The procession down the centre
aisle becomes more regular; and eventually the place is left to
darkness and the night watchman.
The postage department was one of the last to be freed from duty. This
was due to the inconsiderateness of the other departments, which
omitted to disgorge their letters till the last moment. Mike as he grew
familiar with the work, and began to understand it, used to prowl round
the other departments during the afternoon and wrest letters from them,
usually receiving with them much abuse for being a nuisance and not
leaving honest workers alone. Today, however, he had to sit on till
nearly six, waiting for the final batch of correspondence.
Psmith, who had waited patiently with him, though his own work was
finished, accompanied him down to the post office and back again to the
bank to return the letter basket; and they left the office together.
'By the way,' said Psmith, 'what with the strenuous labours of the bank
and the disturbing interviews with the powers that be, I have omitted
to ask you where you are digging. Wherever it is, of course you must
clear out. It is imperative, in this crisis, that we should be
together. I have acquired a quite snug little flat in Clement's Inn.
There is a spare bedroom. It shall be yours.'
'My dear chap,' said Mike, 'it's all rot. I can't sponge on you.'
'You pain me, Comrade Jackson. I was not suggesting such a thing. We
are business men, hard-headed young bankers. I make you a business
proposition. I offer you the post of confidential secretary and adviser
to me in exchange for a comfortable home. The duties will be light. You
will be required to refuse invitations to dinner from crowned heads,
and to listen attentively to my views on Life. Apart from this, there
is little to do. So that's settled.'
'It isn't,' said Mike. 'I--'
'You will enter upon your duties tonight. Where are you suspended at
present?'
'Dulwich. But, look here--'
'A little more, and you'll get the sack. I tell you the thing is
settled. Now, let us hail yon taximeter cab, and desire the stern-faced
aristocrat on the box to drive us to Dulwich. We will then collect a
few of your things in a bag, have the rest off by train, come back in
the taxi, and go and bite a chop at the Carlton. This is a momentous
day in our careers, Comrade Jackson. We must buoy ourselves up.'
Mike made no further objections. The thought of that bed-sitting room
in Acacia Road and the pantomime dame rose up and killed them. After
all, Psmith was not like any ordinary person. There would be no
question of charity. Psmith had invited him to the flat in exactly the
same spirit as he had invited him to his house for the cricket week.
'You know,' said Psmith, after a silence, as they flitted through the
streets in the taximeter, 'one lives and learns. Were you so wrapped up
in your work this afternoon that you did not hear my very entertaining
little chat with Comrade Bickersdyke, or did it happen to come under
your notice? It did? Then I wonder if you were struck by the singular
conduct of Comrade Rossiter?'
'I thought it rather decent of him not to give you away to that
blighter Bickersdyke.'
'Admirably put. It was precisely that that struck me. He had his
opening, all ready made for him, but he refrained from depositing me in
the soup. I tell you, Comrade Jackson, my rugged old heart was touched.
I said to myself, "There must be good in Comrade Rossiter, after all. I
must cultivate him." I shall make it my business to be kind to our
Departmental head. He deserves the utmost consideration. His action
shone like a good deed in a wicked world. Which it was, of course. From
today onwards I take Comrade Rossiter under my wing. We seem to be
getting into a tolerably benighted quarter. Are we anywhere near?
"Through Darkest Dulwich in a Taximeter."'
The cab arrived at Dulwich station, and Mike stood up to direct the
driver. They whirred down Acacia Road. Mike stopped the cab and got
out. A brief and somewhat embarrassing interview with the pantomime
dame, during which Mike was separated from a week's rent in lieu of
notice, and he was in the cab again, bound for Clement's Inn.
His feelings that night differed considerably from the frame of mind in
which he had gone to bed the night before. It was partly a very
excellent dinner and partly the fact that Psmith's flat, though at
present in some disorder, was obviously going to be extremely
comfortable, that worked the change. But principally it was due to his
having found an ally. The gnawing loneliness had gone. He did not look
forward to a career of Commerce with any greater pleasure than before;
but there was no doubt that with Psmith, it would be easier to get
through the time after office hours. If all went well in the bank he
might find that he had not drawn such a bad ticket after all.
8. The Friendly Native
'The first principle of warfare,' said Psmith at breakfast next
morning, doling out bacon and eggs with the air of a medieval monarch
distributing largesse, 'is to collect a gang, to rope in allies, to
secure the cooperation of some friendly native. You may remember that
at Sedleigh it was partly the sympathetic cooperation of that record
blitherer, Comrade Jellicoe, which enabled us to nip the pro-Spiller
movement in the bud. It is the same in the present crisis. What Comrade
Jellicoe was to us at Sedleigh, Comrade Rossiter must be in the City.
We must make an ally of that man. Once I know that he and I are as
brothers, and that he will look with a lenient and benevolent eye on
any little shortcomings in my work, I shall be able to devote my
attention whole-heartedly to the moral reformation of Comrade
Bickersdyke, that man of blood. I look on Comrade Bickersdyke as a
bargee of the most pronounced type; and anything I can do towards
making him a decent member of Society shall be done freely and
ungrudgingly. A trifle more tea, Comrade Jackson?'
'No, thanks,' said Mike. 'I've done. By Jove, Smith, this flat of yours
is all right.'
'Not bad,' assented Psmith, 'not bad. Free from squalor to a great
extent. I have a number of little objects of _vertu_ coming down
shortly from the old homestead. Pictures, and so on. It will be by no
means un-snug when they are up. Meanwhile, I can rough it. We are old
campaigners, we Psmiths. Give us a roof, a few comfortable chairs, a
sofa or two, half a dozen cushions, and decent meals, and we do not
repine. Reverting once more to Comrade Rossiter--'
'Yes, what about him?' said Mike. 'You'll have a pretty tough job
turning him into a friendly native, I should think. How do you mean to
start?'
Psmith regarded him with a benevolent eye.
'There is but one way,' he said. 'Do you remember the case of Comrade
Outwood, at Sedleigh? How did we corral him, and become to him
practically as long-lost sons?'
'We got round him by joining the Archaeological Society.'
'Precisely,' said Psmith. 'Every man has his hobby. The thing is to
find it out. In the case of comrade Rossiter, I should say that it
would be either postage stamps, dried seaweed, or Hall Caine. I shall
endeavour to find out today. A few casual questions, and the thing is
done. Shall we be putting in an appearance at the busy hive now? If we
are to continue in the running for the bonus stakes, it would be well
to start soon.'
Mike's first duty at the bank that morning was to check the stamps and
petty cash. While he was engaged on this task, he heard Psmith
conversing affably with Mr Rossiter.
'Good morning,' said Psmith.
'Morning,' replied his chief, doing sleight-of-hand tricks with a
bundle of letters which lay on his desk. 'Get on with your work,
Psmith. We have a lot before us.'
'Undoubtedly. I am all impatience. I should say that in an institution
like this, dealing as it does with distant portions of the globe, a
philatelist would have excellent opportunities of increasing his
collection. With me, stamp-collecting has always been a positive craze.
I--'
'I have no time for nonsense of that sort myself,' said Mr Rossiter. 'I
should advise you, if you mean to get on, to devote more time to your
work and less to stamps.'
'I will start at once. Dried seaweed, again--'
'Get on with your work, Smith.'
Psmith retired to his desk.
'This,' he said to Mike, 'is undoubtedly something in the nature of a
set-back. I have drawn blank. The papers bring out posters, "Psmith
Baffled." I must try again. Meanwhile, to work. Work, the hobby of the
philosopher and the poor man's friend.'
The morning dragged slowly on without incident. At twelve o'clock Mike
had to go out and buy stamps, which he subsequently punched in the
punching-machine in the basement, a not very exhilarating job in which
he was assisted by one of the bank messengers, who discoursed learnedly
on roses during the _seance_. Roses were his hobby. Mike began to
see that Psmith had reason in his assumption that the way to every
man's heart was through his hobby. Mike made a firm friend of William,
the messenger, by displaying an interest and a certain knowledge of
roses. At the same time the conversation had the bad effect of leading
to an acute relapse in the matter of homesickness. The rose-garden at
home had been one of Mike's favourite haunts on a summer afternoon. The
contrast between it and the basement of the new Asiatic Bank, the
atmosphere of which was far from being roselike, was too much for his
feelings. He emerged from the depths, with his punched stamps, filled
with bitterness against Fate.
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