Books: Psmith in the City
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P. G. Wodehouse >> Psmith in the City
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'How,' asked Psmith, 'do you propose to strengthen the Navy by burning
boats?'
The inanity of the question enraged even the pleasure-seekers at the
back.
'Order! Order!' cried the earnest contingent.
'Sit down, fice!' roared the pleasure-seekers.
Psmith sat down with a patient smile.
Mr Bickersdyke resumed his speech. But the fire had gone out of it. He
had lost his audience. A moment before, he had grasped them and played
on their minds (or what passed for minds down Kenningford way) as on a
stringed instrument. Now he had lost his hold.
He spoke on rapidly, but he could not get into his stride. The trivial
interruption had broken the spell. His words lacked grip. The dead
silence in which the first part of his speech had been received, that
silence which is a greater tribute to the speaker than any applause,
had given place to a restless medley of little noises; here a cough;
there a scraping of a boot along the floor, as its wearer moved
uneasily in his seat; in another place a whispered conversation. The
audience was bored.
Mr Bickersdyke left the Navy, and went on to more general topics. But
he was not interesting. He quoted figures, saw a moment later that he
had not quoted them accurately, and instead of carrying on boldly, went
back and corrected himself.
'Gow up top!' said a voice at the back of the hall, and there was a
general laugh.
Mr Bickersdyke galloped unsteadily on. He condemned the Government. He
said they had betrayed their trust.
And then he told an anecdote.
'The Government, gentlemen,' he said, 'achieves nothing worth
achieving, and every individual member of the Government takes all the
credit for what is done to himself. Their methods remind me, gentlemen,
of an amusing experience I had while fishing one summer in the Lake
District.'
In a volume entitled 'Three Men in a Boat' there is a story of how the
author and a friend go into a riverside inn and see a very large trout
in a glass case. They make inquiries about it, have men assure them,
one by one, that the trout was caught by themselves. In the end the
trout turns out to be made of plaster of Paris.
Mr Bickersdyke told that story as an experience of his own while
fishing one summer in the Lake District.
It went well. The meeting was amused. Mr Bickersdyke went on to draw a
trenchant comparison between the lack of genuine merit in the trout and
the lack of genuine merit in the achievements of His Majesty's
Government.
There was applause.
When it had ceased, Psmith rose to his feet again.
'Excuse me,' he said.
11. Misunderstood
Mike had refused to accompany Psmith to the meeting that evening,
saying that he got too many chances in the ordinary way of business of
hearing Mr Bickersdyke speak, without going out of his way to make
more. So Psmith had gone off to Kenningford alone, and Mike, feeling
too lazy to sally out to any place of entertainment, had remained at
the flat with a novel.
He was deep in this, when there was the sound of a key in the latch,
and shortly afterwards Psmith entered the room. On Psmith's brow there
was a look of pensive care, and also a slight discoloration. When he
removed his overcoat, Mike saw that his collar was burst and hanging
loose and that he had no tie. On his erstwhile speckless and gleaming
shirt front were number of finger-impressions, of a boldness and
clearness of outline which would have made a Bertillon expert leap with
joy.
'Hullo!' said Mike dropping his book.
Psmith nodded in silence, went to his bedroom, and returned with a
looking-glass. Propping this up on a table, he proceeded to examine
himself with the utmost care. He shuddered slightly as his eye fell on
the finger-marks; and without a word he went into his bathroom again.
He emerged after an interval of ten minutes in sky-blue pyjamas,
slippers, and an Old Etonian blazer. He lit a cigarette; and, sitting
down, stared pensively into the fire.
'What the dickens have you been playing at?' demanded Mike.
Psmith heaved a sigh.
'That,' he replied, 'I could not say precisely. At one moment it seemed
to be Rugby football, at another a jiu-jitsu _seance_. Later, it
bore a resemblance to a pantomime rally. However, whatever it was, it
was all very bright and interesting. A distinct experience.'
'Have you been scrapping?' asked Mike. 'What happened? Was there a
row?'
'There was,' said Psmith, 'in a measure what might be described as a
row. At least, when you find a perfect stranger attaching himself to
your collar and pulling, you begin to suspect that something of that
kind is on the bill.'
'Did they do that?'
Psmith nodded.
'A merchant in a moth-eaten bowler started warbling to a certain extent
with me. It was all very trying for a man of culture. He was a man who
had, I should say, discovered that alcohol was a food long before the
doctors found it out. A good chap, possibly, but a little boisterous in
his manner. Well, well.'
Psmith shook his head sadly.
'He got you one on the forehead,' said Mike, 'or somebody did. Tell us
what happened. I wish the dickens I'd come with you. I'd no notion
there would be a rag of any sort. What did happen?'
'Comrade Jackson,' said Psmith sorrowfully, 'how sad it is in this life
of ours to be consistently misunderstood. You know, of course, how
wrapped up I am in Comrade Bickersdyke's welfare. You know that all my
efforts are directed towards making a decent man of him; that, in
short, I am his truest friend. Does he show by so much as a word that
he appreciates my labours? Not he. I believe that man is beginning to
dislike me, Comrade Jackson.'
'What happened, anyhow? Never mind about Bickersdyke.'
'Perhaps it was mistaken zeal on my part.... Well, I will tell you all.
Make a long arm for the shovel, Comrade Jackson, and pile on a few more
coals. I thank you. Well, all went quite smoothly for a while. Comrade
B. in quite good form. Got his second wind, and was going strong for the
tape, when a regrettable incident occurred. He informed the meeting,
that while up in the Lake country, fishing, he went to an inn and saw
a remarkably large stuffed trout in a glass case. He made inquiries,
and found that five separate and distinct people had caught--'
'Why, dash it all,' said Mike, 'that's a frightful chestnut.'
Psmith nodded.
'It certainly has appeared in print,' he said. 'In fact I should have
said it was rather a well-known story. I was so interested in Comrade
Bickersdyke's statement that the thing had happened to himself that,
purely out of good-will towards him, I got up and told him that I
thought it was my duty, as a friend, to let him know that a man named
Jerome had pinched his story, put it in a book, and got money by it.
Money, mark you, that should by rights have been Comrade Bickersdyke's.
He didn't appear to care much about sifting the matter thoroughly. In
fact, he seemed anxious to get on with his speech, and slur the matter
over. But, tactlessly perhaps, I continued rather to harp on the thing.
I said that the book in which the story had appeared was published in
1889. I asked him how long ago it was that he had been on his fishing
tour, because it was important to know in order to bring the charge
home against Jerome. Well, after a bit, I was amazed, and pained, too,
to hear Comrade Bickersdyke urging certain bravoes in the audience to
turn me out. If ever there was a case of biting the hand that fed
him.... Well, well.... By this time the meeting had begun to take sides
to some extent. What I might call my party, the Earnest Investigators,
were whistling between their fingers, stamping on the floor, and
shouting, "Chestnuts!" while the opposing party, the bravoes, seemed to
be trying, as I say, to do jiu-jitsu tricks with me. It was a painful
situation. I know the cultivated man of affairs should have passed the
thing off with a short, careless laugh; but, owing to the
above-mentioned alcohol-expert having got both hands under my collar,
short, careless laughs were off. I was compelled, very reluctantly, to
conclude the interview by tapping the bright boy on the jaw. He took
the hint, and sat down on the floor. I thought no more of the matter,
and was making my way thoughtfully to the exit, when a second man of
wrath put the above on my forehead. You can't ignore a thing like that.
I collected some of his waistcoat and one of his legs, and hove him
with some vim into the middle distance. By this time a good many of the
Earnest Investigators were beginning to join in; and it was just there
that the affair began to have certain points of resemblance to a
pantomime rally. Everybody seemed to be shouting a good deal and
hitting everybody else. It was no place for a man of delicate culture,
so I edged towards the door, and drifted out. There was a cab in the
offing. I boarded it. And, having kicked a vigorous politician in the
stomach, as he was endeavouring to climb in too, I drove off home.'
Psmith got up, looked at his forehead once more in the glass, sighed,
and sat down again.
'All very disturbing,' he said.
'Great Scott,' said Mike, 'I wish I'd come. Why on earth didn't you
tell me you were going to rag? I think you might as well have done. I
wouldn't have missed it for worlds.'
Psmith regarded him with raised eyebrows.
'Rag!' he said. 'Comrade Jackson, I do not understand you. You surely
do not think that I had any other object in doing what I did than to
serve Comrade Bickersdyke? It's terrible how one's motives get
distorted in this world of ours.'
'Well,' said Mike, with a grin, 'I know one person who'll jolly well
distort your motives, as you call it, and that's Bickersdyke.'
Psmith looked thoughtful.
'True,' he said, 'true. There is that possibility. I tell you, Comrade
Jackson, once more that my bright young life is being slowly blighted
by the frightful way in which that man misunderstands me. It seems
almost impossible to try to do him a good turn without having the
action misconstrued.'
'What'll you say to him tomorrow?'
'I shall make no allusion to the painful affair. If I happen to meet
him in the ordinary course of business routine, I shall pass some
light, pleasant remark--on the weather, let us say, or the Bank
rate--and continue my duties.'
'How about if he sends for you, and wants to do the light, pleasant
remark business on his own?'
'In that case I shall not thwart him. If he invites me into his private
room, I shall be his guest, and shall discuss, to the best of my
ability, any topic which he may care to introduce. There shall be no
constraint between Comrade Bickersdyke and myself.'
'No, I shouldn't think there would be. I wish I could come and hear
you.'
'I wish you could,' said Psmith courteously.
'Still, it doesn't matter much to you. You don't care if you do get
sacked.'
Psmith rose.
'In that way possibly, as you say, I am agreeably situated. If the New
Asiatic Bank does not require Psmith's services, there are other
spheres where a young man of spirit may carve a place for himself. No,
what is worrying me, Comrade Jackson, is not the thought of the push.
It is the growing fear that Comrade Bickersdyke and I will never
thoroughly understand and appreciate one another. A deep gulf lies
between us. I do what I can do to bridge it over, but he makes no
response. On his side of the gulf building operations appear to be at
an entire standstill. That is what is carving these lines of care on my
forehead, Comrade Jackson. That is what is painting these purple
circles beneath my eyes. Quite inadvertently to be disturbing Comrade
Bickersdyke, annoying him, preventing him from enjoying life. How sad
this is. Life bulges with these tragedies.'
Mike picked up the evening paper.
'Don't let it keep you awake at night,' he said. 'By the way, did you
see that Manchester United were playing this afternoon? They won. You'd
better sit down and sweat up some of the details. You'll want them
tomorrow.'
'You are very right, Comrade Jackson,' said Psmith, reseating himself.
'So the Mancunians pushed the bulb into the meshes beyond the uprights
no fewer than four times, did they? Bless the dear boys, what spirits
they do enjoy, to be sure. Comrade Jackson, do not disturb me. I must
concentrate myself. These are deep waters.'
12. In a Nutshell
Mr Bickersdyke sat in his private room at the New Asiatic Bank with a
pile of newspapers before him. At least, the casual observer would have
said that it was Mr Bickersdyke. In reality, however, it was an active
volcano in the shape and clothes of the bank-manager. It was freely
admitted in the office that morning that the manager had lowered all
records with ease. The staff had known him to be in a bad temper
before--frequently; but his frame of mind on all previous occasions had
been, compared with his present frame of mind, that of a rather
exceptionally good-natured lamb. Within ten minutes of his arrival the
entire office was on the jump. The messengers were collected in a
pallid group in the basement, discussing the affair in whispers and
endeavouring to restore their nerve with about sixpenn'orth of the
beverage known as 'unsweetened'. The heads of departments, to a man,
had bowed before the storm. Within the space of seven minutes and a
quarter Mr Bickersdyke had contrived to find some fault with each of
them. Inward Bills was out at an A.B.C. shop snatching a hasty cup of
coffee, to pull him together again. Outward Bills was sitting at his
desk with the glazed stare of one who has been struck in the thorax by
a thunderbolt. Mr Rossiter had been torn from Psmith in the middle of a
highly technical discussion of the Manchester United match, just as he
was showing--with the aid of a ball of paper--how he had once seen
Meredith centre to Sandy Turnbull in a Cup match, and was now leaping
about like a distracted grasshopper. Mr Waller, head of the Cash
Department, had been summoned to the Presence, and after listening
meekly to a rush of criticism, had retired to his desk with the air of
a beaten spaniel.
Only one man of the many in the building seemed calm and happy--Psmith.
Psmith had resumed the chat about Manchester United, on Mr Rossiter's
return from the lion's den, at the spot where it had been broken off;
but, finding that the head of the Postage Department was in no mood for
discussing football (or any thing else), he had postponed his remarks
and placidly resumed his work.
Mr Bickersdyke picked up a paper, opened it, and began searching the
columns. He had not far to look. It was a slack season for the
newspapers, and his little trouble, which might have received a
paragraph in a busy week, was set forth fully in three-quarters of a
column.
The column was headed, 'Amusing Heckling'.
Mr Bickersdyke read a few lines, and crumpled the paper up with a
snort.
The next he examined was an organ of his own shade of political
opinion. It too, gave him nearly a column, headed 'Disgraceful Scene at
Kenningford'. There was also a leaderette on the subject.
The leaderette said so exactly what Mr Bickersdyke thought himself that
for a moment he was soothed. Then the thought of his grievance
returned, and he pressed the bell.
'Send Mr Smith to me,' he said.
William, the messenger, proceeded to inform Psmith of the summons.
Psmith's face lit up.
'I am always glad to sweeten the monotony of toil with a chat with
Little Clarence,' he said. 'I shall be with him in a moment.'
He cleaned his pen very carefully, placed it beside his ledger, flicked
a little dust off his coatsleeve, and made his way to the manager's
room.
Mr Bickersdyke received him with the ominous restraint of a tiger
crouching for its spring. Psmith stood beside the table with languid
grace, suggestive of some favoured confidential secretary waiting for
instructions.
A ponderous silence brooded over the room for some moments. Psmith
broke it by remarking that the Bank Rate was unchanged. He mentioned
this fact as if it afforded him a personal gratification.
Mr Bickersdyke spoke.
'Well, Mr Smith?' he said.
'You wished to see me about something, sir?' inquired Psmith,
ingratiatingly.
'You know perfectly well what I wished to see you about. I want to hear
your explanation of what occurred last night.'
'May I sit, sir?'
He dropped gracefully into a chair, without waiting for permission,
and, having hitched up the knees of his trousers, beamed winningly at
the manager.
'A deplorable affair,' he said, with a shake of his head. 'Extremely
deplorable. We must not judge these rough, uneducated men too harshly,
however. In a time of excitement the emotions of the lower classes are
easily stirred. Where you or I would--'
Mr Bickersdyke interrupted.
'I do not wish for any more buffoonery, Mr Smith--'
Psmith raised a pained pair of eyebrows.
'Buffoonery, sir!'
'I cannot understand what made you act as you did last night, unless
you are perfectly mad, as I am beginning to think.'
'But, surely, sir, there was nothing remarkable in my behaviour? When a
merchant has attached himself to your collar, can you do less than
smite him on the other cheek? I merely acted in self-defence. You saw
for yourself--'
'You know what I am alluding to. Your behaviour during my speech.'
'An excellent speech,' murmured Psmith courteously.
'Well?' said Mr Bickersdyke.
'It was, perhaps, mistaken zeal on my part, sir, but you must remember
that I acted purely from the best motives. It seemed to me--'
'That is enough, Mr Smith. I confess that I am absolutely at a loss to
understand you--'
'It is too true, sir,' sighed Psmith.
'You seem,' continued Mr Bickersdyke, warming to his subject, and
turning gradually a richer shade of purple, 'you seem to be determined
to endeavour to annoy me.' ('No no,' from Psmith.) 'I can only assume
that you are not in your right senses. You follow me about in my club--'
'Our club, sir,' murmured Psmith.
'Be good enough not to interrupt me, Mr Smith. You dog my footsteps in
my club--'
'Purely accidental, sir. We happen to meet--that is all.'
'You attend meetings at which I am speaking, and behave in a perfectly
imbecile manner.'
Psmith moaned slightly.
'It may seem humorous to you, but I can assure you it is extremely bad
policy on your part. The New Asiatic Bank is no place for humour, and I
think--'
'Excuse me, sir,' said Psmith.
The manager started at the familiar phrase. The plum-colour of his
complexion deepened.
'I entirely agree with you, sir,' said Psmith, 'that this bank is no
place for humour.'
'Very well, then. You--'
'And I am never humorous in it. I arrive punctually in the morning,
and I work steadily and earnestly till my labours are completed. I
think you will find, on inquiry, that Mr Rossiter is satisfied with my
work.'
'That is neither here nor--'
'Surely, sir,' said Psmith, 'you are wrong? Surely your jurisdiction
ceases after office hours? Any little misunderstanding we may have at
the close of the day's work cannot affect you officially. You could
not, for instance, dismiss me from the service of the bank if we were
partners at bridge at the club and I happened to revoke.'
'I can dismiss you, let me tell you, Mr Smith, for studied insolence,
whether in the office or not.'
'I bow to superior knowledge,' said Psmith politely, 'but I confess I
doubt it. And,' he added, 'there is another point. May I continue to
some extent?'
'If you have anything to say, say it.'
Psmith flung one leg over the other, and settled his collar.
'It is perhaps a delicate matter,' he said, 'but it is best to be
frank. We should have no secrets. To put my point quite clearly, I must
go back a little, to the time when you paid us that very welcome
week-end visit at our house in August.'
'If you hope to make capital out of the fact that I have been a guest
of your father--'
'Not at all,' said Psmith deprecatingly. 'Not at all. You do not take
me. My point is this. I do not wish to revive painful memories, but it
cannot be denied that there was, here and there, some slight bickering
between us on that occasion. The fault,' said Psmith magnanimously,
'was possibly mine. I may have been too exacting, too capricious.
Perhaps so. However, the fact remains that you conceived the happy
notion of getting me into this bank, under the impression that, once I
was in, you would be able to--if I may use the expression--give me
beans. You said as much to me, if I remember. I hate to say it, but
don't you think that if you give me the sack, although my work is
satisfactory to the head of my department, you will be by way of
admitting that you bit off rather more than you could chew? I merely
make the suggestion.'
Mr Bickersdyke half rose from his chair.
'You--'
'Just so, just so, but--to return to the main point--don't you? The
whole painful affair reminds me of the story of Agesilaus and the
Petulant Pterodactyl, which as you have never heard, I will now proceed
to relate. Agesilaus--'
Mr Bickersdyke made a curious clucking noise in his throat.
'I am boring you,' said Psmith, with ready tact. 'Suffice it to say
that Comrade Agesilaus interfered with the pterodactyl, which was doing
him no harm; and the intelligent creature, whose motto was "Nemo me
impune lacessit", turned and bit him. Bit him good and hard, so that
Agesilaus ever afterwards had a distaste for pterodactyls. His
reluctance to disturb them became quite a byword. The Society papers of
the period frequently commented upon it. Let us draw the parallel.'
Here Mr Bickersdyke, who had been clucking throughout this speech,
essayed to speak; but Psmith hurried on.
'You are Agesilaus,' he said. 'I am the Petulant Pterodactyl. You, if I
may say so, butted in of your own free will, and took me from a happy
home, simply in order that you might get me into this place under you,
and give me beans. But, curiously enough, the major portion of that
vegetable seems to be coming to you. Of course, you can administer the
push if you like; but, as I say, it will be by way of a confession that
your scheme has sprung a leak. Personally,' said Psmith, as one friend
to another, 'I should advise you to stick it out. You never know what
may happen. At any moment I may fall from my present high standard of
industry and excellence; and then you have me, so to speak, where the
hair is crisp.'
He paused. Mr Bickersdyke's eyes, which even in their normal state
protruded slightly, now looked as if they might fall out at any moment.
His face had passed from the plum-coloured stage to something beyond.
Every now and then he made the clucking noise, but except for that he
was silent. Psmith, having waited for some time for something in the
shape of comment or criticism on his remarks, now rose.
'It has been a great treat to me, this little chat,' he said affably,
'but I fear that I must no longer allow purely social enjoyments to
interfere with my commercial pursuits. With your permission, I will
rejoin my department, where my absence is doubtless already causing
comment and possibly dismay. But we shall be meeting at the club
shortly, I hope. Good-bye, sir, good-bye.'
He left the room, and walked dreamily back to the Postage Department,
leaving the manager still staring glassily at nothing.
13. Mike is Moved On
This episode may be said to have concluded the first act of the
commercial drama in which Mike and Psmith had been cast for leading
parts. And, as usually happens after the end of an act, there was a
lull for a while until things began to work up towards another climax.
Mike, as day succeeded day, began to grow accustomed to the life of the
bank, and to find that it had its pleasant side after all. Whenever a
number of people are working at the same thing, even though that thing
is not perhaps what they would have chosen as an object in life, if
left to themselves, there is bound to exist an atmosphere of
good-fellowship; something akin to, though a hundred times weaker
than, the public school spirit. Such a community lacks the main motive
of the public school spirit, which is pride in the school and its
achievements. Nobody can be proud of the achievements of a bank. When
the business of arranging a new Japanese loan was given to the New
Asiatic Bank, its employees did not stand on stools, and cheer. On the
contrary, they thought of the extra work it would involve; and they
cursed a good deal, though there was no denying that it was a big thing
for the bank--not unlike winning the Ashburton would be to a school.
There is a cold impersonality about a bank. A school is a living thing.
Setting aside this important difference, there was a good deal of the
public school about the New Asiatic Bank. The heads of departments were
not quite so autocratic as masters, and one was treated more on a
grown-up scale, as man to man; but, nevertheless, there remained a
distinct flavour of a school republic. Most of the men in the bank,
with the exception of certain hard-headed Scotch youths drafted in from
other establishments in the City, were old public school men. Mike
found two Old Wrykinians in the first week. Neither was well known to
him. They had left in his second year in the team. But it was pleasant
to have them about, and to feel that they had been educated at the
right place.
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