YES MAN

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 237, 6 October 1936, Page 19

YES MAN

' (By ELLEN YANNIN.)

itXTES, Mr. Redbank. Certainly, Mr. X Redbank." For 23 years six Months anil three {lays Arthur Pawson had said these phrases a dozen or more times each working day. He had begun the yes habit as a sliy, spectacled boy of 14, timid and blushing at his first encounter with business methods as an office boy (and sole member of the staff) of Messrs. James Redbank and Company, shipping merchants. In those days the "company" existed only to impress overseas customers, and James Redbank himself was a spare, energetic young merchant eagerly snapping up any venture, however small, likely to lead to a profit. Tlie yes habit had grown with the years. It developed in the humble oneroom "suite" on the top floor of a back street block, and kept pace with the steady growth of the firm. As the years rolled on James Redbank and Company added "Limited" to the firm's title and expanded to the ground floor of a modern building and finally to the dignity of a complete warehouse and offices of their own. For 23 years six months and three days, Arthur Pawson had "yessed" his way through life. He was. that sort of man. James Redbank had grown less spare with the years. His energy became tempered with caution and responsibility, but his business acumen waxed as his fortunes prospered. And Arthur Pawson —now Mr. Pawson, chief clerk, with an office of his own and a status befitting his position —was always within call. whole of his 23 years he had never been late by a minute; never ill. He had no family ties. Neither he nor his wife cared for'children arid did not miss the lack of them. Their life revolved round the, sure and certain axis of James* Redbank and Company. Limited. » • • ♦ Each morning, Mr. Arthur Pawson, umbrella neatly rolled 'and newspaper tucked under his arm, caught the 0.10 train from his suburban homo. Each evening saw him. more or less regularly, travelling home by the 0.30. His slight figure was as well known as that of the station master himself, and for 23 years he had lunched at the same table in the same restaurant, his needs anticipated with, unfailing accuracy by a succession of waiters. Year after * year went by and the routine never altered. At the office, things were even more stable. As the days and weeks and months slid by and the years piled up Pawson was always there, standing slightly behind James Redbank's elbow dealt with letters or signed cheques, always ready with a diffident cough to point out doubtful accounts, suggest a more diplomatic phrase or | venture a mild opinion. Ahvavs it ended in the same way: "Yes, Mr. Redbank. Certainly, Mr. Redbank." Arthur Pawson was, in fact, the perfect Yes-man. But it was going to end. He sat at his desk, the blind halfdrawn to keep out the blazing June sun that flooded the dingy city street with bright warmth, and drew from his pocket a shabby brown book. For the tenth time that day Arthur Pawson studied the figures with care Frugal habits and an increasing salary, bolstered up by steadily rising annual bonuses, had contributed to the satisfactory situation it showed. But the latest entry on the credit side was responsible for his decision to destroy the laboriously built-up character of a lifetime—that of Arthur Pawson. Yes-man. It represented a legacy of £1000 which had come springing—as legacies do—out of the unknown, a- provision made in his will by a relative long forgotten. Arthur Pawson, the Yes-man and the perfect clerk, was dying on this brilliant summer afternoon. In his place was rising a new individuality, owing allegiance to no one and glorying in independence.

Never before in his 23 years six months and three days had Arthur Pawson looked so often at the clock on the wall. Even on the verge of the most important decision of his life his precise habits forbade him to anticipiate, even by a few moments, the long-awaited thrill. Slowly the fingers crept round the dial. Five o'clock. Five-thirty. Five-forty-five . . . almost six o'clock. For Arthur Paweon had decided that precisely at six o'clock he would walk for the last time into James Redbank s room—and say "No" to whatever appeal was made to him. Behind his spectacles his eyes flashed determinedly as he rehearsed his opening for the 50th time. Redbank would not let him go without some sort of appeal. So much was certain. But Arthur Pawson would show him that even after 23 years six months and three days of agreement there was still a "No" in his vocabulary. It was not that he was bullied or illused. James Redbank had always, even in his most irascible moments, realised that Pawson was as valuable to the firm as he was himself. It was a resurgence of spirit; a deter mination to cut free from the monotony of office life, and, though not even ir, his most secret heart would Pawson

(SHORT STORY.)

confess it to himself, it was a* belated sense of mischievous delight at openly frustrating tlia, ordained cycle of tilings and throwing a smoothly-funning organism into momentary chaos. Five minutes to six! Arthur Pawson finished his dreaming and slipped the brown book into his pocket. With deft, effortless action he made rapid entries in a small ledger, carefully blotted the figures and slipped in into the safe beside his desk. His neat signature was swiftly appended to two or three letters, and they were carefully shuffled togethel and placed in their basket. He glanced round tlie office reflectively. Then Arthur Pawson rose to his feet and pushed back his The hands of the clock showed exactly one minute to six, and from, the general office came noises which told him that the staff were in the thick of the last-minute rush before going home. . Slowly and deliberately, he crossed to the door of James Redbank'a room and opened it. The head of the firm did not look up from his letters. His red face was bent over them as he dashed his signature across the waiting sheets. "Come in,. Pawson," he said without looking up, and continued to scribble. Pawson did not take his usual place at his chief's elbow. He stood at the opposite side of the big desk, waiting i calmly. Redbank finished his writing, shoved the papers higgledy-piggledy into a basket, and glanced up. "Ah, there you are. Pawson," he Said, as though he had only just realised hi 3 chief clerk was.in the room. "I wanted to speak to you." ♦ * • » This was* not the opening Pawson had planned, but ho remained silent; the habit of years still strong upon his tongue. "I've been doing a lot of thinking about things lately, Pawson," said James Redbank, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands beliind his head. "D'you know how long it is since we started James Redbank and Company, Limited, in that little office at the top of Taylor's Buildings?" "Yes, Mr. Redbank," came the ready reply. "Twenty-three years six months and three days." The other man stared and then chuckled. "Whit a memory you have!" he said admiringly. "Well, never mind the odd months and days. Its over 23 years. A long time, Pawson." "Yes, Mr. Redbank." "We've seen a lot of changes together, eh?" "Yes, Mr. Redbank." "And we've had some pretty hard fights together, but we've not done so badly after all, Pawson?" "Quito so, Mr. Bedbank." ( . .Tames Recfbank coughed and leaned forward, resting his head on his hands liis elbows on the desk. Hp studied his clerk for a moment and then sighed. "Well. Pawson," he said quietly. "T think the time has come t<s make a change." » * • • For the first time the clerk was startled out- of his calrfi. He half stepped forward as though to protest. Then he recovered himself and stood silently waiting. Redbank mistook the reason for his agitation. "Don't worry, Pawson." ho said soothngly "I've nothing like that in my mind. But the doctors say I must begin to take things more easily. Blood pressure, you know, and that sort of thing. Not so young as we were, eh?" Without pausing for a reply he went on. "So I'm getting out while I can. The business will go on all right without me. I've fixed , up with Jackson's to take it over—at a good price, too. "ilrs. Redbank and I have talked things over and we're going to settle down at Bournemouth. We've got our eye on a nice little estate there." Arthur Pawson - could bear it no loncrer. He interrupted excitedly. , "Yes, Mr. Redbank, but . . ." James Bedbank cut across his speejh without effort. "But I shall need someone to look after my investments and the estate affairs. There is a little house attached to the estate, and I thought it would be a good idea for you to come along and live there. "I'll pay you the same salary as now, and it will be an easy job. About a couple of hours' work a day, and then you can do what yon like. Keep you from getting rusty—and I wouldn't like to leave .you to the mercies of a man like Jackson. He's a. good business man, but he has no humanity. Besides, I wouldn't trust anybody else with my affairs. What do you say?" Arthur Pawson's carefully rehearsed speeches went hurrying and scurrying out of his head. ' The surprise had shaken even the imperturbable composure. He struggled for a moment to find words; any words, but they would not come. And then the habit fif almost a quarter of a century came down on his troubled mind and shackled his seething spirit with an unbreakable hold. "Yes, Mr. Redbank. Certainly, Mr. Redbank," he said.