Psmith in the City Read online

  10. Mr Bickersdyke Addresses His Constituents

  It was noted by the observant at the bank next morning that MrBickersdyke had something on his mind. William, the messenger, knew it,when he found his respectful salute ignored. Little Briggs, theaccountant, knew it when his obsequious but cheerful 'Good morning' wasacknowledged only by a 'Morn'' which was almost an oath. Mr Bickersdykepassed up the aisle and into his room like an east wind. He sat down athis table and pressed the bell. Harold, William's brother andco-messenger, entered with the air of one ready to duck if any missileshould be thrown at him. The reports of the manager's frame of mind hadbeen circulated in the office, and Harold felt somewhat apprehensive.It was on an occasion very similar to this that George Barstead,formerly in the employ of the New Asiatic Bank in the capacity ofmessenger, had been rash enough to laugh at what he had taken for ajoke of Mr Bickersdyke's, and had been instantly presented with thesack for gross impertinence.

  'Ask Mr Smith--' began the manager. Then he paused. 'No, never mind,'he added.

  Harold remained in the doorway, puzzled.

  'Don't stand there gaping at me, man,' cried Mr Bickersdyke, 'Go away.'

  Harold retired and informed his brother, William, that in his,Harold's, opinion, Mr Bickersdyke was off his chump.

  'Off his onion,' said William, soaring a trifle higher in poeticimagery.

  'Barmy,' was the terse verdict of Samuel Jakes, the third messenger.'Always said so.' And with that the New Asiatic Bank staff ofmessengers dismissed Mr Bickersdyke and proceeded to concentratethemselves on their duties, which consisted principally of hangingabout and discussing the prophecies of that modern seer, Captain Coe.

  What had made Mr Bickersdyke change his mind so abruptly was the suddenrealization of the fact that he had no case against Psmith. In hiscapacity of manager of the bank he could not take official notice ofPsmith's behaviour outside office hours, especially as Psmith had donenothing but stare at him. It would be impossible to make anybodyunderstand the true inwardness of Psmith's stare. Theoretically, MrBickersdyke had the power to dismiss any subordinate of his whom he didnot consider satisfactory, but it was a power that had to be exercisedwith discretion. The manager was accountable for his actions to theBoard of Directors. If he dismissed Psmith, Psmith would certainlybring an action against the bank for wrongful dismissal, and on theevidence he would infallibly win it. Mr Bickersdyke did not welcome theprospect of having to explain to the Directors that he had let theshareholders of the bank in for a fine of whatever a discriminatingjury cared to decide upon, simply because he had been stared at whileplaying bridge. His only hope was to catch Psmith doing his work badly.

  He touched the bell again, and sent for Mr Rossiter.

  The messenger found the head of the Postage Department in conversationwith Psmith. Manchester United had been beaten by one goal to nil onthe previous afternoon, and Psmith was informing Mr Rossiter that thereferee was a robber, who had evidently been financially interested inthe result of the game. The way he himself looked at it, said Psmith,was that the thing had been a moral victory for the United. Mr Rossitersaid yes, he thought so too. And it was at this moment that MrBickersdyke sent for him to ask whether Psmith's work was satisfactory.

  The head of the Postage Department gave his opinion without hesitation.Psmith's work was about the hottest proposition he had ever struck.Psmith's work--well, it stood alone. You couldn't compare it withanything. There are no degrees in perfection. Psmith's work wasperfect, and there was an end to it.

  He put it differently, but that was the gist of what he said.

  Mr Bickersdyke observed he was glad to hear it, and smashed a nib bystabbing the desk with it.

  It was on the evening following this that the bank-manager was due toaddress a meeting at the Kenningford Town Hall.

  He was looking forward to the event with mixed feelings. He had stoodfor Parliament once before, several years back, in the North. He hadbeen defeated by a couple of thousand votes, and he hoped that theepisode had been forgotten. Not merely because his defeat had beenheavy. There was another reason. On that occasion he had stood as aLiberal. He was standing for Kenningford as a Unionist. Of course, aman is at perfect liberty to change his views, if he wishes to do so,but the process is apt to give his opponents a chance of catching him(to use the inspired language of the music-halls) on the bend. MrBickersdyke was rather afraid that the light-hearted electors ofKenningford might avail themselves of this chance.

  Kenningford, S.E., is undoubtedly by way of being a tough sort ofplace. Its inhabitants incline to a robust type of humour, which findsa verbal vent in catch phrases and expends itself physically insmashing shop-windows and kicking policemen. He feared that the meetingat the Town Hall might possibly be a trifle rowdy.

  All political meetings are very much alike. Somebody gets up andintroduces the speaker of the evening, and then the speaker of theevening says at great length what he thinks of the scandalous manner inwhich the Government is behaving or the iniquitous goings-on of theOpposition. From time to time confederates in the audience rise and askcarefully rehearsed questions, and are answered fully andsatisfactorily by the orator. When a genuine heckler interrupts, theorator either ignores him, or says haughtily that he can find himarguments but cannot find him brains. Or, occasionally, when thequestion is an easy one, he answers it. A quietly conducted politicalmeeting is one of England's most delightful indoor games. When themeeting is rowdy, the audience has more fun, but the speaker a gooddeal less.

  Mr Bickersdyke's introducer was an elderly Scotch peer, an excellentman for the purpose in every respect, except that he possessed a verystrong accent.

  The audience welcomed that accent uproariously. The electors ofKenningford who really had any definite opinions on politics werefairly equally divided. There were about as many earnest Liberals asthere were earnest Unionists. But besides these there was a strongcontingent who did not care which side won. These looked on electionsas Heaven-sent opportunities for making a great deal of noise. Theyattended meetings in order to extract amusement from them; and theyvoted, if they voted at all, quite irresponsibly. A funny story at theexpense of one candidate told on the morning of the polling, was quitelikely to send these brave fellows off in dozens filling in theirpapers for the victim's opponent.

  There was a solid block of these gay spirits at the back of the hall.They received the Scotch peer with huge delight. He reminded them ofHarry Lauder and they said so. They addressed him affectionately as'Arry', throughout his speech, which was rather long. They implored himto be a pal and sing 'The Saftest of the Family'. Or, failing that, 'Ilove a lassie'. Finding they could not induce him to do this, they didit themselves. They sang it several times. When the peer, havingfinished his remarks on the subject of Mr Bickersdyke, at length satdown, they cheered for seven minutes, and demanded an encore.

  The meeting was in excellent spirits when Mr Bickersdyke rose toaddress it.

  The effort of doing justice to the last speaker had left the free andindependent electors at the back of the hall slightly limp. Thebank-manager's opening remarks were received without any demonstration.

  Mr Bickersdyke spoke well. He had a penetrating, if harsh, voice, andhe said what he had to say forcibly. Little by little the audience cameunder his spell. When, at the end of a well-turned sentence, he pausedand took a sip of water, there was a round of applause, in which manyof the admirers of Mr Harry Lauder joined.

  He resumed his speech. The audience listened intently. Mr Bickersdyke,having said some nasty things about Free Trade and the Alien Immigrant,turned to the Needs of the Navy and the necessity of increasing thefleet at all costs.

  'This is no time for half-measures,' he said. 'We must do our utmost.We must burn our boats--'

  'Excuse me,' said a gentle voice.

  Mr Bickersdyke broke off. In the centre of the hall a tall figure hadrisen. Mr Bickersdyke found himself looking at a gleaming eye-glasswhich the speaker had just polished and inserted in his eye
.

  The ordinary heckler Mr Bickersdyke would have taken in his stride. Hehad got his audience, and simply by continuing and ignoring theinterruption, he could have won through in safety. But the suddenappearance of Psmith unnerved him. He remained silent.

  'How,' asked Psmith, 'do you propose to strengthen the Navy by burningboats?'

  The inanity of the question enraged even the pleasure-seekers at theback.

  '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. Hehad lost his audience. A moment before, he had grasped them and playedon their minds (or what passed for minds down Kenningford way) as on astringed instrument. Now he had lost his hold.

  He spoke on rapidly, but he could not get into his stride. The trivialinterruption had broken the spell. His words lacked grip. The deadsilence in which the first part of his speech had been received, thatsilence 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 moveduneasily in his seat; in another place a whispered conversation. Theaudience was bored.

  Mr Bickersdyke left the Navy, and went on to more general topics. Buthe was not interesting. He quoted figures, saw a moment later that hehad not quoted them accurately, and instead of carrying on boldly, wentback and corrected himself.

  'Gow up top!' said a voice at the back of the hall, and there was ageneral laugh.

  Mr Bickersdyke galloped unsteadily on. He condemned the Government. Hesaid they had betrayed their trust.

  And then he told an anecdote.

  'The Government, gentlemen,' he said, 'achieves nothing worthachieving, and every individual member of the Government takes all thecredit for what is done to himself. Their methods remind me, gentlemen,of an amusing experience I had while fishing one summer in the LakeDistrict.'

  In a volume entitled 'Three Men in a Boat' there is a story of how theauthor and a friend go into a riverside inn and see a very large troutin 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 thetrout turns out to be made of plaster of Paris.

  Mr Bickersdyke told that story as an experience of his own whilefishing one summer in the Lake District.

  It went well. The meeting was amused. Mr Bickersdyke went on to draw atrenchant comparison between the lack of genuine merit in the trout andthe lack of genuine merit in the achievements of His Majesty'sGovernment.

  There was applause.

  When it had ceased, Psmith rose to his feet again.

  'Excuse me,' he said.