'VE knocked about a pretty tidy bit in my time—I'm as much as fifteen next birthday—and I don't write this story from the standpoint of a man who is ignorant of the world. I'm wonderfully observant, and I take notice of little incidents sometimes in a way that surprises even myself. Incidents, I mean, that other people overlook. The junior partner called me the other evening a sharp lad, and 'pon my word he wasn't far wrong. I don't wish to brag about it; I only wish to hint that what I don't notice isn't worth noticing. I've picked out a horse sometimes, and I've
But I want to tell you about Mr. Kershaw.
Mr. Kershaw is one of the senior clerks in our office; he's the one with rather rough hair, and a collar turned down low all the way round. Most of the clerks are smart and wear high collars, and they wear neckties too that make me gasp. All nice gentlemanly fellows they were when I first came here, bar Mr. Kershaw. Mr. Kershaw was what I call a terror.
"Billing, why aren't these inkstands seen to?"
"Beg pardon, sir, but"
"I've had to speak to you before about this, Billing."
"I can't do forty thousand things a minute, sir."
"Another word of your confounded insolence, and I shall ask the firm to dispense with your services."
"That ain't insolence, sir, it's simply a fact. If I want to be insolent I know a lot of words"
"Go away, Billing! You're a perfect nuisance in the place. I shall take an early opportunity of asking the firm to look out for a decent lad."
That's the sort of thing that went on day after day, me and Mr. Kershaw going at it hammer and tongs. I should have got really cross about it only that Mr. Kershaw was just the same with all the others, especially with the juniors. The grumpiest man, I venture to say, that ever came up to the City from Dulwich on a morning since the line's been opened.
One July Mr, Kershaw went away for his three weeks' holiday, and when he came back, the first news was that he was married.
"Now," I said to Linkson, who copies the letters, "now you mark my words. Old K. 'll change his manner."
"For better or for worse?" asked Linkson. "There's something wrong with our copying-ink. This letter hasn't come out a bit clear."
"Whether for better or worse," I answered, "I can't tell you. Sometimes getting spliced has one effect; sometimes the other. But I'll bet you as much as three'apence that we shall notice an alteration."
"I've half a mind to take you," said young Linkson, doubtfully, "only I've got a good deal of money out just now. I've backed Swiftsure for twopence, one, two, three."
"Take it or leave it," I said. "It's an offer, and if you're not sportsman enough to have a bet on, don't."
"She's pretty, they say," remarked Linkson. He gave a twist to the copying press and looked narrowly at Mr. Kershaw hanging up his hat and smoothing his rough hair. "One of the young partners said she was as neat a little figure as ever"
"Billing," shouted Mr. Kershaw furiously from his office, "come here at once."
To save argument, I went.
"Will you be good enough to explain," demanded Mr. Kershaw, hotly, "to explain, Billing, the condition of this table? Look here! I can write my name on it."
"So could I, sir," I said. "There's nothing clever in that."
"Why on earth isn't the place dusted properly," he shouted. "Why do I come
back here"
" 'Eaven knows!" muttered.
"And find the place neglected in this manner? Get a duster at once."
"Right, sir."
"But it is not right, Billing," he declared.
"Very good, sir," I said, "it's wrong. I'll fetch the duster in 'alf a tick. But
first of all I 'ope it won't seem out of place if I congratulate you, sir, on what I may term a recent matrimonial event."
"Get a duster at once. Billing," he said, sharply, "and don't let us have quite so much talk. It's not business."
I felt very glad that Linkson hadn't booked that bet of threehalfpence, because I most certainly should have lost. So far from Mr. Kershaw's marriage improving his temper, I'm not at all sure that it wasn't worse. I used to say to Linkson I hoped he didn't carry on like that at home, and Linkson—he knows a lot, Linkson, although he's only a little bit of a chap—Linkson used to answer that men who had their tantrums in the City, were generally men who were not allowed to show them in their own homes. But, somehow, I'd an idea that this was not the case with Mr, Kershaw.
