The Elderbrook Brothers by Gerald Bullet Page B

compasses, and a pile of three school-books, Pendlebury, Hall & Knight, and the Shorter Smith. And over all, joining books to inkpot, and inkpot to pen and ruler, so that there shall be no mistake, is a gigantic spider’s web. Now there you have the whole theme, school holidays, summed up in a graphic epigram …’
    A hand. ‘Please, sir. What’s a graphic epigram?’
    Mr Plover groaned. ‘I might have known!’ Having dealt with the question he said—to Felix’s delighted surprise— ‘Here’s your book, Clifford.’ The book came flying through the air. ‘Jolly good effort. You might pass it round for the others to see.’
    Grinning his congratulations at Clifford, Felix was astonished by the change in him. The seasoned Clifford, who feared no Flettons and accepted impots with a light heart, sat sheepish and confused, abashed by praise.
    â€˜Thank you,’ said Clifford. As if to create a diversion he asked: ‘Is Mrs Williams any better today, sir, do you know?’
    The Head’s wife, whom everybody was inclined rather to like than not, had been ill, it was said, during most of the holidays.
    â€˜No, Clifford. No better. She’s … I’m afraid she’s very ill indeed. Now let’s get on with our work, shall we?’
    From Mr Plover’s constrained manner Felix guessed that Mrs Williams was dying, or was already dead. Or perhaps she was not dead. The sky grew dark. A cold wind moaned. He saw a marbled face rigid on the pillow; a wavering candle-flame; a limp hand on the coverlet.
§ 16
    Carrying kid gloves, and wearing a suit of stiff dark serge, a shirt with detachable glazed dicky, a two-inch stick-up collar, and a bowler hat that sat uneasily on his sleekly brushed head, Guy Elderbrook presented himself at the counter of the Mercester County Bank, Byford Branch. He trod with reverence on the luxuriously tiled floor and glanced with apprehension at the large handsome clock. It was precisely one minute past nine. He had been instructed to report for duty at nine o’clock and had in fact been hanging about, outside the premises, for at least a quarter of an hour. During that time three several persons, without apparently noticing his existence, had effected an entry, shutting the street door inhospitably behind them; and not till the hour had finished striking was the threshold laid bare to the feet of the mere public. That ceremony was performed by a gaunt-faced grey-headed personage whose red piping and brass buttons put Guy’s homespun to shame. He set the outer door open, gave Guy one sombre neutral uncommunicative glance, then turned his back and vanished from sight beyond the swing door that constituted the second line of defence. After a moment’s hesitancy Guy summoned up his resolution and followed with a firm step. And here he was, at the counter, mutely demanding attention.
    On the other side of the grille, scrutinizing a document through gold-rimmed pince-nez, was a neatly attired well-preserved gentleman of perhaps twice Guy’s age, or even a little more. His nose was sharp and inquiring, his eyes were alert, his hair (still plentiful) was greying at the temples in a most distinguished manner, his linen was surpassingly glossy and his coat impeccably black. He was soon to be known to Guy as Mr Robbins the Chief Cashier, but a closer acquaintance did not for some while seriously diminish Guy’s sense of his dignity and importance.
    â€˜Yes?’ said Mr Robbins.
    â€˜I’m G. Elderbrook,’ said G. Elderbrook, handingin his letter of appointment. ‘The new clerk,’ he explained.
    â€˜The new apprentice,’ Mr Robbins corrected him. ‘It takes three years to become a clerk, young man, in this establishment. However, good morning to you.’
    Although he felt suitably snubbed, Guy contrived to smile. That smile was a triumph of resolution, and it served a number of diverse