112

ANGEL     PAY K M KNT

Mr. Golspie grunted. "Far as I can sec from this lot,
you can have the pick of England's talent for four or
five quid a week. There isn't a clam' thing these fellows
can't do—except find work. Well, I've got about four
likely ones here. What have you chaps got?"
After a good deal more trouble and talk, they finally
narrowed the possible applications down to ten, and
these ten were asked to appear at the office in the early
afternoon, two days later.  They all came at once, and
so had to wait their turn on the landing outside, while
Stanley, enjoying himself hugely, clashed in and out to
summon them. Mr. Smeeth, going round to the bank,
had to make his way through this little crowd, and at
the first moment, when he stepped outside the office and
the two or three of them nearest the door made way
for him with almost ostentatious smartness, he felt
triumphant, proud, a solid and successful man among a
lot of failures. But the very next moment, this feeling
disappeared. They were all very well brushed, in their
best  clothes,   and   were   already   looking   keen   and
energetic, especially those nearest the door, who looked
the keenest and most energetic,  their  faces  having
already taken on the expression most likely to impress
the mysterious powers within the office. A few of them
were young and had an easy confident look, that of men
merely seeking a change of job.  Others were older, less
confident, tense or wistful  Mr. Smeeth bumped into
one, the last in the group, who was standing at ihc
corner near the top of the stairs.
"I beg your pardon/' the man cried, eagerly,
anxiously. He was indeed an anxious man, about Mr.
Smeeth's age and not unlike him, greyish, lined, brittle;
a man with a wife and family and vanishing possessions;