BEHIND THE SCENES IN CINEMA-LAND.
"This is where he swims the rapids. How shall we send him—up or down?"
COX AND BOX.
My dear Charles,—Let us talk Haute Finance. In other words, let us indulge in that good old Anglo-Saxon pastime of blackguarding Cox and Co. It will remind us of the piping days of war. There is too much peace about, and the gentle and ever-forgiving Cox and Co. expect their customers to be men of force and character, showing temper from time to time. Everybody else may be demobilised; I remain a soldier, and as such I have my special bank. Ah, me! the battles in Charing Cross are not the easy things they used to be. No longer, as of old, I come fresh to the attack against a mere underling, worn down by the assaults of wave after wave of brother-officers attacking, before me. I enter the Territorial Department alone and am taken on by a master-hand, supported and flanked by a number of unoccupied subordinates. About the Spring of 1925, when I expect to be the only "T" left, I anticipate the decisive moment when I shall cross swords or swop bombs with Sir Cox himself. Having bravely encountered "and Co." these many years, I shall not be daunted by that gilded knight.
The war having once put me in possession of my Cox and Co., I had very frequent recourse to them when in need of such solace as only money can bring. The time arrived when I applied in vain; the money had disappeared. Though I had no reason to suspect Cox and Co. of being dishonest I noticed a tone of assuredness and self-complacency in their letters strangely similar to that in my own, and I knew that I was being dishonest, so I demanded to see my pass-book. It was a horrid sight, and it gave me seriously to think. How came it that the side of the book which showed my takings was so clear and easily to be understood, but the side which showed their takings wrapt in mystery and hieroglyphics such as not even the world's leading financiers and mathematicians could hope to unravel? My subaltern, being consulted, agreed with me; I would have had him carpeted by the C.O. at once if he hadn't.
I stepped round to Cox and Co. and had it out with them verbally. After a discussion lasting half-an-hour, it was shown that I had been credited with a week's pay to which I wasn't entitled and that a month's income-tax, to which a grasping Government was entitled, had not been deducted. I left the building ninety-three shillings worse off than I entered it.
I gave Cox and Co. six months to go wrong in, and then called for that pass-book again. My eye fell upon a paying and deducting and refunding and readjusting of an item itself so shameful that it dared only appear under its initials. Why this oscillation? I asked myself. So we engaged upon another correspondence, and another interview took place, at which I was supported by my subaltern (who could multiply and add), and the bank-man was supported by a young lady (who could divide and subtract). At the end of a passionate discussion, which lasted fifty-seven minutes (forty-five of them being after closing time) the conclusion was arrived at that the total was correct to a halfpenny. Even Cox and Co. themselves were a bit surprised at that.
Years passed, and there was no doubt about it; the money continued to disappear. Trusting that Cox and Co. were now lulled into a feeling of false security I tried a surprise reconnaissance. I dropped in on them without warning and asked to see that pass-book then and there. They searched high and low, but they couldn't find it. I, on the other hand, found it quite easily, when I searched amongst my papers at home. To me this proved that I was the better searcher. My subaltern, however, would have it that the circumstances gave me no right of action against Cox and Co. His sympathies were clearly with them, so I requested him kindly to get on with his own work and not to interfere further in my private affairs. He went away in a huff, got demobilised and, I have little doubt, married the young lady who divided and subtracted and, with her, set up a bank of his own. I devoted my young life to the search for some person, firm or corporation, expert in pass-books, haughty of demeanour, capable of getting blood out of a stone and not likely to give even the devil his due; I wanted such an ally for the next assault.
I have always remained a civilian, and as such have retained my other banker. A man of unlimited possessions, I may state accurately that I have to-day no fewer than two banks of my own. Let us call this other one Box and Co. That is not the real name, but it is as far as I dare go to refer to them, even under an assumed name. Years of stern handling by them have taken all the spirit out of me. It is as much as I can do to screw up my courage so far as to ask the loan of a pound or two of my own money off them. And there have been times, in the pre-1914 past, when I have felt it would be better to go without money than to have the stuff thrown at me, shovelled at me in that contemptuous offhand manner. I now repaired in person to the premises of Box and Co., with their handsome marble façade and their costly mahogany fittings, and had a word with Mr. Box himself. A little artful flattery, a few simple lies and just a touch of ginger in the matter of professional competition, and Box and Co. were brought into the war. I handed them Cox and Co.'s pass-book and told them that now was their time to go in and win.