Great Britain -- Politics and government -- 20th century -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Politicians -- Fiction
"Well, that's pretty straight," he thought. The instructions were
certainly free from ambiguity. "Made a failure of it!" The cigarette
tended to resignation. "Needed a cleverer fellow than I am to make it
go." This was his usual sobriety of judgment. "Rather glad to be out of
it." That was the draught-horse's instinctive cry of joy at being
released from a hopeless effort. They were right on the other side--it
was not a "paying proposition." He was good at seeing facts; they did
not offend him. So many people are offended at facts--really a useless
touchiness.
"All right!" said Andy, flinging the end of the cigarette into the
grate, and taking up that fateful code again.
"Passionately" met his need: "Will act on instructions received without
delay and with all possible saving of expense."
"Yes," said Andy, his stylograph moving in mid-air. He turned over the
pages again, seeking another word, thinking very hard whether he should
send that other word when he found it.
The word was "Interjection." It meant: "My personal movements uncertain.
Will advise you of them at the earliest moment possible."
To cable "Interjection" would mean an admission of considerable import,
both to his principals in Montreal and to himself. It would imply that
he was thinking of cutting adrift. Andy was thinking terribly hard about
it. It might cause his principals to consider that he was taking too
much on himself. Andy was not a partner; he was only on a salary, with a
small contingent profit from commissions. It seemed complimentary--and
delusive--now to call the profit contingent; the salary was all he had
in the world. Such an independently minded word as "Interjection"
incurred a risk. Before he had done thinking about cutting adrift, he
might find himself cut adrift. The principals were peremptory men. In
view of his failure to make the London branch a "paying proposition,"
perhaps he was lucky in that he had not been cut adrift already. There
was a code word for that--"Seltzer." It meant, "We shall be able to
dispense with your services on the ---- prox."
"Seltzer thirtieth" would have thrown--and might still throw--Andy on
the mercy of the world. Turning up the code (if you are not thoroughly
familiar with it) may be interesting work--"as exciting as any novel,"
as reviewers kindly say of books of travel.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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