“And what do you call a public school?” inquired Mr. Tallboy.
“Eton,” retorted Mr. Smayle, repeating his lesson with fatal facility, “and Harrow, and-er-Rugby, and Winchester and places like those. Places where they send gentlemen’s sons to.”
“Oh, do they?” said Mr. Tallboy. “I suppose you are sending your family to Eton, then.”
At this, Mr. Smayle’s narrow face became as white as a sheet of paper.
“You cad!” he said, choking. “You unspeakable swine. Get out of here or I’ll kill you.”
“What the devil’s the matter with you, Smayle?” cried Mr. Tallboy, in considerable surprise.
“Get out!” said Mr. Smayle.
“Now, I’d just like a word wi’ ye, Tallboy,” interposed Mr. McAllister. He laid a large, hairy hand on Mr. Tallboy’s arm and propelled him gently from the room.
“What on airth possessed ye to say such a thing to him?” he asked, when they were safely in the passage. “Did ye not know that Smayle has but the one boy and him feeble-minded, the poor child?”
Mr. Tallboy was really aghast. He was stricken with shame, and, like many shame-stricken people, took refuge in an outburst of rage against the nearest person handy.
“No, I didn’t know. How should I be expected to know anything about Smayle’s family? Good God! I’m damned sorry and all that, but why must the fellow be such an ass? He’s got a mania about public schools. Eton, indeed! I don’t wonder the boy’s feeble-minded if he takes after his father.”
Mr. McAllister was deeply shocked. His Scottish sense of decency was outraged.
“Ye ought to be damn well ashamed o’ yersel’,” he said, severely, and releasing Tallboy’s arm, stepped back into the room he shared with Mr. Smayle and slammed the door.
Now, it is not very clear at the first glance what this disagreement between Mr. Tallboy and Mr. Smayle about a cricket match had to do with the original disagreement between the former and Mr. Copley. True, one may trace a remote connection at the beginning of things, since the Tallboy-Smayle row may be said to have started with Mr. Smayle’s indiscreet jest about Mr. Tallboy’s fifty pounds. But this fact has no very great importance. What is really important is that as soon as Mr. McAllister made known all the circumstances of the Tallboy-Smayle affair (which he did as soon as he could find a listener), public opinion, which, in the Tallboy-Copley dispute had been largely on Mr. Tallboy’s side, veered round. It was felt that since Mr. Tallboy could behave with so much unkindness to Mr. Smayle, he was probably not guiltless towards Mr. Copley. The office staff was divided like the Red Sea and rose up in walls on either hand. Only Mr. Armstrong, Mr. Ingleby, and Mr. Bredon, sardonic Gallios, held themselves apart, caring little, but fomenting the trouble for their own amusement. Even Miss Meteyard, who abominated Mr. Copley, experienced an unwonted uprush of feminine pity for him, and pronounced Mr. Tallboy’s behaviour intolerable. Old Copley, she said, might be an interfering old nuisance, but he wasn’t a cad. Mr. Ingleby said he really didn’t think Tallboy could have meant what he said to Smayle. Miss Meteyard said: “Tell that to the marines,” and, having said so, noted that the phrase would make a good headline for something-or-other. But Mr. Ingelby said, “No, that had been done.”
Miss Parton, of course, was an anti-Copleyite whom nothing could move, and therefore smiled on Mr. Tallboy when he happened into the typists’ room to borrow a stamp. But Miss Rossiter, though superficially more peppery, prided herself on possessing a well-balanced mind. After all, she insisted, Mr. Copley had probably meant well over the matter of the fifty pounds and, when you came to think of it, he had got Tallboy and all the rest of the Nutrax contingent out of a very tiresome sort of mess. She thought that Mr. Tallboy thought rather a lot of himself, and he had certainly had no business to speak as he had done to poor Mr. Smayle.
“And,” said Miss Rossiter, “I don’t like his lady friends.”
“Lady friends?” said Miss Parton.
“Well, I’m not one to talk, as you know,” replied Miss Rossiter, “but when you see a married man coming out of a restaurant at past midnight with somebody who is obviously not his wife-”
“No!” exclaimed Miss Parton.
“My dear! and got up regardless… one of those little hats with an eye-veil… three-inch diamante heels… such bad taste with a semi-toilette… fish-net stockings and all…”
“Perhaps it was his sister.”
“My dear!… And his wife’s having a baby, too… He didn’t see me… Of course, I wouldn’t say a word, but I do think…”
Thus the typewriters clacked.
Mr. Hankin, though officially impartial, was a Tallboyite. Himself a precise and efficient man, he was nevertheless perennially irritated by the precision and efficiency of Mr. Copley. He suspected, what was quite true, that Mr. Copley criticized the conduct of the department and would have liked to be given a measure of authority. Mr. Copley had a way of coming to him with suggestions: “Would it not be better, Mr. Hankin, if…”
“If you will excuse my making a suggestion, Mr. Hankin, could not a stricter control be kept…?”
“Of course, I know I am in an entirely subordinate position here, Mr. Hankin, but I have had over thirty years’ experience of advertising, and in my humble opinion…”-excellent suggestions, always, and having only the one drawback that they threatened either to annoy Mr. Armstrong, or to involve a quantity of tedious and time-wasting supervision, or to embroil the whole temperamental Copy Department and put it off its stroke. Mr. Hankin grew weary of saying: “Quite so, Mr. Copley, but Mr. Armstrong and I find it works better, on the whole, to have as few restrictions as possible.” Mr. Copley had a way of saying that he quite understood, which always left Mr. Hankin with the impression that Mr. Copley thought him weak and ineffectual, and this impression had been confirmed by the Nutrax incident. When a point had arisen about which Mr. Hankin might, and ought to, have been consulted, Mr. Copley had passed him over-conclusive proof to Mr. Hankin that all Mr. Copley’s valuable suggestions about departmental management were so much window-dressing, put forward to show how brilliant Mr. Copley was, and not in the least with the desire of aiding Mr. Hankin or the department. In this, Mr. Hankin’s shrewdness saw much more clearly into Mr. Copley’s motives than did Mr. Copley himself. He was quite right. Consequently, he was not inclined to bother himself about Mr. Copley, and was determined to give any necessary support to Mr. Tallboy. The Smayle incident was, naturally, not reported to him; he therefore made no comment upon the Cricket Eleven except to ask, mildly, why Mr. Smayle and Mr. McAllister were excluded. Mr. Tallboy replied briefly that they were unable to play, and that was the end of the matter.
Mr. Tallboy had a further ally in Mr. Barrow, who disliked the whole Copy Department on principle, because, as he complained, they were a conceited lot who were always trying to interfere with his artists and dictate to him about his displays. He admitted that, as a general proposition, the sketch was supposed to illustrate the copy, but he maintained (and with truth) that the displays suggested by the copy-writers were often quite impracticable and that the copy-writers took unnecessary offence over the very necessary modifications which he had to make in their “roughs.” Further, he had been deeply insulted by Mr. Armstrong's remarks about himself, too faithfully reported by Mr. Ingleby, whom he detested. In fact, he was within an ace of refusing altogether to play in the same match as Mr. Ingleby.