The messenger disappeared, and presently the door opened again to admit a shock-headed youth with paper cuff-protectors round his wrists. 'This is Mr Jackson, a new member of the staff. He will take your place in the postage department. You will go into the cash department, under Mr Waller. Kindly show him what he has to do.' Mike followed Mr Bannister out. On the other side of the door the shock-headed one became communicative. 'Whew!' he said, mopping his brow. 'That's the sort of thing which gives me the pip. When William came and said old Bick wanted to see me, I said to him, "William, my boy, my number is up. This is the sack." I made certain that Rossiter had run me in for something. He's been waiting for a chance to do it for weeks, only I've been as good as gold and haven't given it him. I pity you going into the postage. There's one thing, though. If you can stick it for about a month, you'll get through all right. Men are always leaving for the East, and then you get shunted on into another department, and the next new man goes into the postage. That's the best of this place. It's not like one of those banks where you stay in London all your life. You only have three years here, and then you get your orders, and go to one of the branches in the East, where you're the dickens of a big pot straight away, with a big screw and a dozen native Johnnies under you. Bit of all right, that. I shan't get my orders for another two and a half years and more, worse luck. Still, it's something to look forward to.' 'Who's Rossiter?' asked Mike. 'The head of the postage department. Fussy little brute. Won't leave you alone. Always trying to catch you on the hop. There's one thing, though. The work in the postage is pretty simple. You can't make many mistakes, if you're careful. It's mostly entering letters and stamping them.' They turned in at the door in the counter, and arrived at a desk which ran parallel to the gangway. There was a high rack running along it, on which were several ledgers. Tall, green-shaded electric lamps gave it rather a cosy look. As they reached the desk, a little man with short, black whiskers buzzed out from behind a glass screen, where there was another desk. 'Where have you been, Bannister, where have you been? You must not leave your work in this way. There are several letters waiting to be entered. Where have you been?' 'Mr Bickersdyke sent for me,' said Bannister, with the calm triumph of one who trumps an ace. 'Oh! Ah! Oh! Yes, very well. I see. But get to work, get to work. Who is this?' 'This is a new man. He's taking my place. I've been moved on to the cash.' 'Oh! Ah! Is your name Smith?' asked Mr Rossiter, turning to Mike. Mike corrected the rash guess, and gave his name. It struck him as a curious coincidence that he should be asked if his name were Smith, of all others. Not that it is an uncommon name.