4. First Steps in a Business Career
The City received Mike with the same aloofness with which the morewestern portion of London had welcomed him on the previous day. Nobodyseemed to look at him. He was permitted to alight at St Paul's and makehis way up Queen Victoria Street without any demonstration. He followedthe human stream till he reached the Mansion House, and eventuallyfound himself at the massive building of the New Asiatic Bank, Limited.
The difficulty now was to know how to make an effective entrance. Therewas the bank, and here was he. How had he better set about breaking itto the authorities that he had positively arrived and was ready tostart earning his four pound ten _per mensem_? Inside, the bankseemed to be in a state of some confusion. Men were moving about in anapparently irresolute manner. Nobody seemed actually to be working. Asa matter of fact, the business of a bank does not start very early inthe morning. Mike had arrived before things had really begun to move.As he stood near the doorway, one or two panting figures rushed up thesteps, and flung themselves at a large book which stood on the counternear the door. Mike was to come to know this book well. In it, if youwere an _employe_ of the New Asiatic Bank, you had to inscribeyour name every morning. It was removed at ten sharp to theaccountant's room, and if you reached the bank a certain number oftimes in the year too late to sign, bang went your bonus.
After a while things began to settle down. The stir and confusiongradually ceased. All down the length of the bank, figures could beseen, seated on stools and writing hieroglyphics in large letters. Abenevolent-looking man, with spectacles and a straggling grey beard,crossed the gangway close to where Mike was standing. Mike put thething to him, as man to man.
'Could you tell me,' he said, 'what I'm supposed to do? I've justjoined the bank.' The benevolent man stopped, and looked at him with apair of mild blue eyes. 'I think, perhaps, that your best plan would beto see the manager,' he said. 'Yes, I should certainly do that. He willtell you what work you have to do. If you will permit me, I will showyou the way.'
'It's awfully good of you,' said Mike. He felt very grateful. After hisexperience of London, it was a pleasant change to find someone whoreally seemed to care what happened to him. His heart warmed to thebenevolent man.
'It feels strange to you, perhaps, at first, Mr--'
'Jackson.'
'Mr Jackson. My name is Waller. I have been in the City some time, butI can still recall my first day. But one shakes down. One shakes downquite quickly. Here is the manager's room. If you go in, he will tellyou what to do.'
'Thanks awfully,' said Mike.
'Not at all.' He ambled off on the quest which Mike had interrupted,turning, as he went, to bestow a mild smile of encouragement on the newarrival. There was something about Mr Waller which reminded Mikepleasantly of the White Knight in 'Alice through the Looking-glass.'
Mike knocked at the managerial door, and went in.
Two men were sitting at the table. The one facing the door was writingwhen Mike went in. He continued to write all the time he was in theroom. Conversation between other people in his presence had apparentlyno interest for him, nor was it able to disturb him in any way.
The other man was talking into a telephone. Mike waited till he hadfinished. Then he coughed. The man turned round. Mike had thought, ashe looked at his back and heard his voice, that something about hisappearance or his way of speaking was familiar. He was right. The manin the chair was Mr Bickersdyke, the cross-screen pedestrian.
These reunions are very awkward. Mike was frankly unequal to thesituation. Psmith, in his place, would have opened the conversation,and relaxed the tension with some remark on the weather or the state ofthe crops. Mike merely stood wrapped in silence, as in a garment.
That the recognition was mutual was evident from Mr Bickersdyke's look.But apart from this, he gave no sign of having already had the pleasureof making Mike's acquaintance. He merely stared at him as if he were ablot on the arrangement of the furniture, and said, 'Well?'
The most difficult parts to play in real life as well as on the stageare those in which no 'business' is arranged for the performer. It wasall very well for Mr Bickersdyke. He had been 'discovered sitting'. ButMike had had to enter, and he wished now that there was something hecould do instead of merely standing and speaking.
'I've come,' was the best speech he could think of. It was not a goodspeech. It was too sinister. He felt that even as he said it. It wasthe sort of thing Mephistopheles would have said to Faust by way ofopening conversation. And he was not sure, either, whether he ought notto have added, 'Sir.'
Apparently such subtleties of address were not necessary, for MrBickersdyke did not start up and shout, 'This language to me!' oranything of that kind. He merely said, 'Oh! And who are you?'
'Jackson,' said Mike. It was irritating, this assumption on MrBickersdyke's part that they had never met before.
'Jackson? Ah, yes. You have joined the staff?'
Mike rather liked this way of putting it. It lent a certain dignity tothe proceedings, making him feel like some important person for whoseservices there had been strenuous competition. He seemed to see thebank's directors being reassured by the chairman. ('I am happy to say,gentlemen, that our profits for the past year are 3,000,006-2-2 1/2pounds--(cheers)--and'--impressively--'that we have finally succeededin inducing Mr Mike Jackson--(sensation)--to--er--in fact, to join thestaff!' (Frantic cheers, in which the chairman joined.)
'Yes,' he said.
Mr Bickersdyke pressed a bell on the table beside him, and picking up apen, began to write. Of Mike he took no further notice, leaving thattoy of Fate standing stranded in the middle of the room.
After a few moments one of the men in fancy dress, whom Mike had seenhanging about the gangway, and whom he afterwards found to bemessengers, appeared. Mr Bickersdyke looked up.
'Ask Mr Bannister to step this way,' he said.
The messenger disappeared, and presently the door opened again to admita shock-headed youth with paper cuff-protectors round his wrists.
'This is Mr Jackson, a new member of the staff. He will take your placein the postage department. You will go into the cash department, underMr Waller. Kindly show him what he has to do.'
Mike followed Mr Bannister out. On the other side of the door theshock-headed one became communicative.
'Whew!' he said, mopping his brow. 'That's the sort of thing whichgives me the pip. When William came and said old Bick wanted to see me,I said to him, "William, my boy, my number is up. This is the sack." Imade certain that Rossiter had run me in for something. He's beenwaiting for a chance to do it for weeks, only I've been as good as goldand haven't given it him. I pity you going into the postage. There'sone thing, though. If you can stick it for about a month, you'll getthrough all right. Men are always leaving for the East, and then youget shunted on into another department, and the next new man goes intothe postage. That's the best of this place. It's not like one of thosebanks where you stay in London all your life. You only have three yearshere, and then you get your orders, and go to one of the branches inthe East, where you're the dickens of a big pot straight away, with abig screw and a dozen native Johnnies under you. Bit of all right,that. I shan't get my orders for another two and a half years and more,worse luck. Still, it's something to look forward to.'
'Who's Rossiter?' asked Mike.
'The head of the postage department. Fussy little brute. Won't leaveyou alone. Always trying to catch you on the hop. There's one thing,though. The work in the postage is pretty simple. You can't make manymistakes, if you're careful. It's mostly entering letters and stampingthem.'
They turned in at the door in the counter, and arrived at a desk whichran parallel to the gangway. There was a high rack running along it, onwhich were several ledgers. Tall, green-shaded electric lamps gave itrather a cosy look.
As they reached the desk, a little man with short, black whiskersbuzzed out from behind a glass screen, where there was another desk.
'Where have
you been, Bannister, where have you been? You must notleave your work in this way. There are several letters waiting to beentered. Where have you been?'
'Mr Bickersdyke sent for me,' said Bannister, with the calm triumph ofone who trumps an ace.
'Oh! Ah! Oh! Yes, very well. I see. But get to work, get to work. Whois this?'
'This is a new man. He's taking my place. I've been moved on to thecash.'
'Oh! Ah! Is your name Smith?' asked Mr Rossiter, turning to Mike.
Mike corrected the rash guess, and gave his name. It struck him as acurious coincidence that he should be asked if his name were Smith, ofall others. Not that it is an uncommon name.
'Mr Bickersdyke told me to expect a Mr Smith. Well, well, perhaps thereare two new men. Mr Bickersdyke knows we are short-handed in thisdepartment. But, come along, Bannister, come along. Show Jackson whathe has to do. We must get on. There is no time to waste.'
He buzzed back to his lair. Bannister grinned at Mike. He was acheerful youth. His normal expression was a grin.
'That's a sample of Rossiter,' he said. 'You'd think from the fuss he'smade that the business of the place was at a standstill till we got towork. Perfect rot! There's never anything to do here till after lunch,except checking the stamps and petty cash, and I've done that ages ago.There are three letters. You may as well enter them. It all looks likework. But you'll find the best way is to wait till you get a couple ofdozen or so, and then work them off in a batch. But if you see Rossiterabout, then start stamping something or writing something, or he'll runyou in for neglecting your job. He's a nut. I'm jolly glad I'm underold Waller now. He's the pick of the bunch. The other heads ofdepartments are all nuts, and Bickersdyke's the nuttiest of the lot.Now, look here. This is all you've got to do. I'll just show you, andthen you can manage for yourself. I shall have to be shunting off to myown work in a minute.'
Psmith in the City Page 4