Ratman's Notebooks Read online

  I said, ‘I can’t keep up otherwise. There’s an awful lot more to do.’

  Jones said, ‘You should be able to keep up. It’s all a matter of efficiency. In future I want the day’s work done in the day. We can’t afford to be paying out tea-money the whole time. It’s not economical.’

  All he really wants is to stop me getting seven and six extra a week. He knows very well that when I’m going to work late I bring in sandwiches and don’t actually spend any money extra in having tea. So now I’ll simply have to go on working late without charging tea-money. Long ago when Jones was no more than one of the men in the warehouse I heard another man say he was a mean bastard. I don’t know if he really is a bastard or not, but he certainly is mean.

  We’ve now got a girl in the Cash Office. She started today. Whoever heard of a girl in the Cash Office before. I’m not sure what Jones is up to. He says she’s there to help all round and lighten the work. But with Jones you never know. Perhaps he’s really come to the conclusion that I’m inefficient or alternatively that a girl would be cheaper. Well I don’t know whether you would call me efficient. I always thought I was pretty quick with a pen and I know I make very few mistakes. At the same time I don’t think I look efficient. I mean I’ve somehow got to look old-fashioned. I don’t know quite why this is because you’d still call me almost a young man. I know this—the work I send out is a lot more reliable than what comes out of other places. If you saw the invoices that come in to us nowadays, half of them extended wrong and as for the statements. . . . As often as not there’s something on them intended for another firm altogether. It’s all these girls. They’re thinking of what they call ‘Dates’ the whole time. Their minds are never on their work. And now we’ve got one. Mind you we always had girls to do the typing, even in Father’s day. But that’s quite a different thing from getting them mixed up with the work of the Cash Office.

  The new girl has now settled into a regular job—she checks all the invoices before they are allowed to go out. In the old days all the invoices were written by the Invoice Clerk and checked by the Despatch Clerk. Then Jones altered the system so that there was only one clerk in the Despatch Office. But of course the new system meant more mistakes. Whether he’s got in the girl to put this right, or with the idea of replacing me, I’m not sure. At any rate for the first fortnight she was here she was what was called ‘Being trained’, which meant that she was shown all the work in the office, particularly my work. I couldn’t refuse to show her my work when I was ordered to do so by the Book-keeper, who had been ordered by Jones. But I didn’t show her more than I could help. I told her I hadn’t time to explain things, and she’d just have to watch. In fact I really didn’t have time, even with working late. She spent a week sitting beside me watching what I did. At the end of it she said I had been very helpful. In fact she seems a very nice girl and I would have got to like her if I hadn’t kept reminding myself the whole time that she was trying to steal my job. As it was we became quite friendly in a superficial fashion. The last day I said to her with a touch of irony, ‘Well, I suppose you could do my job now as well as I can, or perhaps better.’

  ‘Goodness no!’ she exclaimed. ‘I just don’t know how you manage. I’d be here all night, and still not finished.’

  I didn’t tell her that I’m often here till eleven o’clock. She might think then that perhaps I wasn’t so much more efficient than she is after all. As it is I think she must have told Jones and/or the Book-keeper that I am very efficient indeed. The Book-keeper ought to know already that I am at least moderately efficient, but perhaps he himself feels under pressure from Jones. For all he knows he may be the next. One of these days Jones may want to replace him. Anyhow the girl has now got the regular job of checking invoices. So the position seems to be held for the time being.

  The Book-keeper told me today that Jones’s real idea in getting the girl was as a sort of insurance against a breakdown in the office routine. If the Book-keeper gets ill, or I get ill, or the Despatch Clerk gets ill the whole machinery of running the office is put out of order. The girl is intended as a sort of spare cog.

  I don’t know whether to believe this or not. The Book-keeper has obviously swallowed it whole. Jones may even believe it himself in a sort of way. The thing about people who deceive is that their minds work in different compartments. They can have two contradictory theories in their head at once and speak according to one or the other, whichever suits the listener best. I think Jones has the idea that the whole office could be run by girls more cheaply than by men, but he’s not sure yet how it would work out. So he’s got this one girl as a kind of spare—just what he said to the Book-keeper in fact. He reckons one or other of us is bound to get ill some time. The girl will then be shoved in as a stop-gap. If she gets on all right the person whom she’s been stop-gapping for will be due for the sack at the earliest opportunity.

  I thought of mentioning this idea to the Book-keeper and suggesting that we ought all to get together and arrange that if any one of us does get ill the others will make sure that the girl is not able to carry on his work satisfactorily. I didn’t dare to. The Book-keeper would be shocked. He is one of these old-fashioned persons who would cut his own throat if the Boss told him to.

  I am beginning to get the odd impression that the girl likes me. As a rule girls pay very little attention to me. With their quick feminine intuition they recognise at once that I’m a bad bet, not worth wasting time on. Occasionally I’ve felt that a girl was sorry for me, but that was as far as it ever went.

  This girl appears to respect me. She always speaks to me in a respectful way. Of course it may all be part of a deep-laid plot to get my confidence. She is always offering to help me and the way she does it you would think she meant it. She said yesterday, ‘You know you’ve far more to do than anyone else in the office. You really should let me help you. I haven’t enough to keep me occupied.’ This was very tempting, because it’s true. The work keeps mounting and mounting. I worked late four nights last week—Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. And it will be the same again this week. However I refused. I did it as nicely as possible, because I can’t help liking her.

  I never work late on Friday nights. The reason is that on Fridays Jones works late himself. He makes out new price-lists for the travellers. So I look forward to Fridays, and of course the week-ends. I don’t really like work. I only work hard because I’m afraid of losing my livelihood.

  All the same it’s not hard work in itself I object to. What I hate is losing my free time. It’s so cosy at home in the evenings since Mother died. From the moment I get in and open the door of the cellar I have a feeling of complete contentment. Most of the time I spend alone with Socrates. I don’t really bother much about the other rats. I see to their food and comfort of course, but I don’t usually stay down in the cellar more than an hour or so even on the nights when I’m not working late. All the same their education is coming on, though of course they’re not up to Socrates’ standard. Socrates, I do believe, understands every word I say. I think during the day when I’m not there he must teach the other rats. For instance they can all now count up to ten, and I don’t think they could do that from my teaching alone. There is one young rat that seems brighter than the others. Funnily enough he isn’t as definitely a furry-tail as some. I suppose you would call him an intermediate type. I can’t quite make out where he came from. I don’t remember him being there when I moved the rats from the tool-shed into the cellar. Of course he might have been born in the cellar since the move, but I can’t remember him as a baby rat or half-grown, and he never seemed to belong to any particular family. Somehow I feel that he is a son of Socrates, though I have no means of knowing, and I don’t suppose Socrates has either. I am inclined to think he has made his own way in. I have given him the name of Solomon. It’s because he’s so clever, but even if the name hadn’t been taken already I would never
have called him Socrates.

  Solomon I look on as a crafty kind of name, while Socrates is good and wise.

  Most nights now I get in so late and so tired that I have only time to feed the rats and go to bed. I wish I could take Socrates into the office with me. Then I could let him out after all the others have gone to keep me company when I’m just there by myself. But it would mean keeping him shut up in a bag all day and that wouldn’t be fair.

  Not getting tea-money has quite upset my budget. Tea-money was sheer profit to me. I brought in a Thermos flask of tea and a few slices of bread and margarine, which was just what I would have been having at home anyhow. I suppose you might say I have enough to live on. I would have if I sold the house and took a room somewhere, which is all that a solitary bachelor is supposed to need. Now I’ve got my bill for rates staring me in the face. It can be paid in two instalments, but even one instalment is going to take all the money I have left in the bank, plus nearly all my month’s pay. I’m going to pay it, though I’ll have to wait till the end of the month. I’m out of coal too, but fortunately I’ve enough wheat to do for some time. I won’t be the first person who’s had to live on bread and water for a stretch. And the weather’s hardly ever really cold before Christmas.

  I’ve had another of my ideas. Not that it’s going to make me any money. It’s about bringing Socrates into the office. Next to the Ladies’ cloakroom there’s what we call, ‘The Old Bookroom.’ We used to put the old ledgers and day-books into it when they got full up, because no one liked to throw them away in case they might be needed for something. Even before Father died all the shelves were full up and there were some books on the floor. Now it’s never used and no one ever even opens the door. Why not put Socrates in there? He could run about in perfect freedom all day without anyone being a penny the wiser, and then at night I could bring him into the Cash Office with me. I’ll have a look tomorrow before I do anything.

  Well I had my look and everything was even better than I imagined. The door was locked, but the key was in the lock. So I went in and had a look round. From any normal point of view the room’s jammed full, but that doesn’t mean there’s not still plenty of room for Socrates to run about as he likes. However I wasn’t going to take any chances. When I came out I locked the door and put the key in my pocket. I made sure no one saw me doing this. Now I have waited a week and no one has shown any interest in the Bookroom. If anyone does they’re sure to come to me before trying to burst open the door. I’ll say, ‘I believe Father had a duplicate key for that at home. If you wait till tomorrow I’ll have a look and bring it in if it’s there.’ That’ll give me all the time I need to make sure Socrates is out of the way before they get in.

  Thank goodness I don’t owe anything. That was one thing Mother insisted on after Father died. We never ran any bills, except for electricity and gas. That way you always know where you are. With electricity and gas she worked out what they came to each quarter and put something aside each week in a special envelope. At the end of the quarter there was always a little more than enough. I did the same at first, but I wasn’t using enough electricity to justify the quarterly rental charge. Now I’ve got them to put in slot-meters and I must say I find them very satisfactory. I never have more than one light on at a time. If that goes out and I haven’t a shilling in the house I just have to do without till the next day. It’s a bit awkward at times but it does save money.

  Today I took Socrates into the office with me. I used Father’s leather travelling bag. I slipped into the Bookroom when nobody was looking and locked the door after me. Then I opened the bag and let him out. I put out some food for him. Immediately Socrates started to explore. I watched him for a minute or so. He seemed contented enough and I decided it would be all right to leave him. I took the key out of the keyhole and peered through, listening at the same time. I could see no one and hear no one. I came out quickly and locked the door behind me. There was no one about. It was only ten past nine. The girls don’t come in till half-past. After that I knew I shouldn’t have another chance to see Socrates and find out how he was getting on till lunch-time.

  In fact I didn’t see him at lunch-time. It appears that none of the girls goes home in the middle of the day. They bring sandwiches in with them and make tea in the Ladies’ room. All through the lunch-hour they were going in and out. The way our office is nowadays you never know who is watching who. I felt if I was seen going in or out of the Bookroom Jones would hear about it in no time and start asking questions.

  The result of all this was that I didn’t see Socrates again till everyone else had gone home. I went into the Bookroom and called him. I called and called. Soon I began to get worried. I couldn’t think what to do. How far could he have gone? Might he have set off to try to get home? What sort of chance would he have through streets thronged with traffic, or later, if he did get past those first hazards, in back streets inhabited by stray cats and vicious dogs? I had nearly given up hope when I found him curled up, asleep and almost invisible, in a corner of the travelling bag.

  For a moment I wondered if he was dead. It occurred to me he might have been eating the leather off the back of the old books, and that the leather might be treated in some way which made it poisonous. But there was nothing wrong with him except that he was lonely and miserable. His coat was all ruffled and dull. When I stroked him for a little his spirits returned to normal. He began to groom himself. Very soon he was sleek and shining as usual. I never noticed before what a big rat he has become. He never seems to have stopped growing.

  After that I took him into the Cash Office and he ran about there quite happily for two or three hours—in fact till I was ready to go home. I don’t think I’ll take him into the office again. It wouldn’t be kind, really.

  I didn’t like giving up the idea of taking Socrates to the office. I tried to think of some safe way to do it without making him miserable. I decided he had been miserable just because he was lonely and perhaps frightened at the same time. If I took in another rat as well that would stop him being lonely. If I go the proper way about it I may also be able to stop him being frightened.

  For his companion I have decided on Ben Suleiman. Ben Suleiman is the rat I previously called Solomon. I don’t know why I changed his name. It is almost as if he forced the new name on me.

  Today is Sunday. This morning at about the time I would have been getting ready for church if Mother were still alive, I put Socrates and Ben Suleiman in the travelling bag and caught a bus into the city. The city is very quiet on Sundays. There was no one at all in the street where our office is. I always carry with me Father’s key of the office. It is one thing Jones has never tried to take away from me. If he did I wouldn’t be able to lock up when I work late. And if he asked about it and didn’t take it away he couldn’t go on pretending not to know about my working late. So he would either have to stop me or let me take tea-money again, and I don’t think he really wants to do either.

  Anyhow I let myself in, took the two rats down to the Bookroom and released them. From time to time I went back and peeped in. They both seemed perfectly happy.

  The reason I chose Ben Suleiman is that I think he is the only rat who is Socrates’ equal intellectually. In fact I think he may be superior even to Socrates as regards intellect. But there is still something about him I don’t like.

  I went home about six. I got all my back work cleared up. I worked all the time just as if it had been a normal day, but the amount I got through surprised me. In the office during the day I am kept back by constant interruptions, people wanting this and that. At nights my rate of work is slowed down, I think, just by the fact that I am tired. If I work an occasional Sunday in future it will be as good as three nights and I will be able to bring in as many rats as I can carry without fear of anyone finding out.

  Jones is getting in consultants. The girl heard about them from Jones’
s ‘Secretary’—as he now calls the typist who does his letters. In Jones’s world a secretary is as essential to prestige as a car.

  ‘But what are consultants?’ I asked the girl. She and I are now quite friendly.

  ‘Oh they come in and discover a business is being run all wrong. They work out economies and get in more staff to put them into effect. They find out nobody’s any good but the office boy. They recommend he should be made managing director. Usually the firm goes bust after that. Meantime the consultants will have moved on somewhere else.’

  ‘If it’s like that why do people ever get them in?’

  ‘Just it’s the modern thing to do. Maybe they’ll decide you and I should be directors. That’d be fun, wouldn’t it?’ I realised she was joking.

  Of course it went all round the office in no time and everyone is feeling a bit jittery. The Book-keeper said, ‘You’ll have to smarten yourself up now, young man. Going to be no more inefficiency round here.’ All the older men are taking that attitude, but secretly they’re scared stiff. I suppose at heart no one is really completely confident.

  So far the consultants don’t appear actually to have started. They just come in from time to time and have talks with Jones in private.