Finally
he looked up, and without moving called across: "You there, whatever
your name is—get yourself a pile of envelopes from that shelf and copy
the addresses from this book." He slung the book across on to my table.
It was a classified trade directory. "Start at A and stop at Z," he
said.
I
knew very well it was a leg-pull, but after all, orders is orders, and
he was my superior. So I started on the envelopes. As the job would
have taken eight hours a day for six months, I had not finished it by
lunch-time, when everybody in the office stirred, got their hats and
coats off the pegs and hurried off, wishing each other "Guten Appetit". I
thought I would go, too, and reached for my hat. But up came Richman,
said: "Is that all you've done?" and swept the lot on to the floor. I
knew that if I did not stand up to him then life would never be
worth living in that office, so I hit him as hard as I could.
Thereafter, though young Richman never got to love me, he always
treated me with respect.
I
was determined to get on, backed by all the political economy and more
practical subjects I had learned at my commercial school. But when
there are two other juniors above you who have barely themselves
quitted the stamp-licking stage, chances of promotion are small. I soon
felt that somehow or other I must attract the attention of my
employers. I did this effectively by showing myself the tidiest person
in the office.
The
perpetual untidiness of the senior partner's desk had already offended
my aesthetic sense. I straightened it up once, twice, three times. He
noticed my handiwork the
