MR. SMEETH GETS HIS RISE 271

not mind, but turned on it a friendly eye and indulgent
ear. The bank, secure in its marble and mahogany,
would shut out the raw day and the raw sounds, and he
would quietly, comfortably wait his turn, sending an
occasional jet of fragrant T. Benenden towards the orna-
mental grill "Morning, Mr. Smeeth," they would say.
"A bit nippy this morning. How are things with you?"
And then, if there was time for it, one of them might
have a little story to tell, about one of those queer things
that happen in the City. Then back again in the office, at
his desk, and very cosy it was after the streets. The very
sight of the blue ink, the red ink, the pencils and pens,
the rubber, the paper fasteners, the pad and rubber
stamps, all the paraphernalia of his desk, all there in
their places, at his service, gave him a feeling of deep
satisfaction. He felt dimly, too, that this was a satis-
faction that none of the others there, Turgis, the girls,
young Stanley, would ever know, simply because they
never came to work in the right spirit. His own two
children were just the same. They were all alike now.
Earn a bit, grab it, rush out and spend it, that was their
lives.

"And it beats me, Mr. Dersingham," he said to that
gentleman, one morning, "who is going to be responsible
in this lot, when the time comes. And the time must
come, mustn't it? I mean, they can't be young and care-
less all their lives."

"Don't you worry, Smeeth. They'll all settle down,"
replied Mr. Dersingham, who felt that he stood between
these two different generations, and also felt that anyhow
he knew a lot more about everything than Smeeth. "I
can remember the time, and not so long ago, when I felt
just the same," he continued, evidently under die