“You long-legged young devil!” he shouted, but he wasn’t angry, only surprised. There was rather a row then, because a good many chaps laughed out loud and Mr. Westonshaugh came to his door.
“Not so much noise, gentlemen, please,” he said, and then went in again.
Half an hour afterwards the purple-chinned young man, whose name was Dicky Travers, came up to my desk.
“It’s all right,” he began. “It was a fair score; but how the devil did you know that I threw it? I’ll swear you didn’t see me.”
“I didn’t,” I admitted; “but when I came in from lunch you were sucking it with your head in your desk, so I guessed.”
That man turned out one of my very best and dearest friends in the Apollo Fire Office! He proved to be an athlete of world-wide fame and a member of the London Athletic Club. He had won countless trophies and cups and clocks and cellarettes and salad bowls, and was simply tired of seeing his name in print. He was a champion walker and had on several occasions walked seven miles inside an hour; and two miles in fifteen minutes was mere fun to him!
So ended my first day of work. At four o’clock a good number of the clerks prepared to leave and Mr. Blades told me that I could go. Of course I thanked him very much for all his kindness during the day.
“That’s all right,” he said; “and to-morrow bring an office coat with you and keep that swagger one for out of doors. Let it be a dark colour—in fact, black for choice. It’s better form. And to-morrow I will show you how you can keep your cuffs clean by putting paper over them. Now you put your work into your desk and lock it up and go home. You have made a very decent start.”
I thanked him again and cleared out.
I walked back and spent a very interesting hour looking into the shops and so on. There was a place in High Holborn full of models of steam engines, and I rather longed for one. But it cost three pounds. Besides, I was now, of course, past childish things and thought no more of it. I stopped, too, to see some Blue Coat boys playing “footer” in a playground that was railed off from the street by lofty railings. It was somewhere near the General Post Office, I believe. Some of the chaps, despite their long coats, which they strapped round their waists, played jolly well. I felt it would have been fine to have gone in and had a kick about. But, of course, the days for that were past. It was rather sad in a way. But, there it was—I’d grown up. I had to keep reminding myself of this, and now and then my beastly top-hat fell off and reminded me again. Only it takes a bit of time to realise such a thing. In fact, I’ve heard grey-haired men say that they don’t feel a bit old, though they may be simply fossils really, to the critical eye; so, no doubt, it was natural even for me not to feel that I had grown up, and had now got to face things and run my own show, as well as I could, for evermore. To rub it in, as it were, I had my first shave on the way home. Mr. Blades had advised this course.