A HUMOROUS STORY. THE BATHROOM DOOR.

Digger (Invercargill RSA), Issue 9, 14 May 1920, Page 2

A HUMOROUS STORY. THE BATHROOM DOOR.

Mr Samtiel Bird, the reCently promoted manager of the Kensingford hranch of the London, Country and Suburbaif Bank, was in a very bad temper. Yet it was a bank holiday, and he had just had his breakfast in bed, a luxury which his soul loved, so he should have been happy. But he was not, and as he lay digestmg his meal, he fretted and fumed for he deemed that Fate was treating him veiy scurvily. For tweaty years he had slaved as a clerk behind the grill of the great building which was the head office of the bank, a typical, steady, reliahle, bank clerk. Then about two months before the time when this story opens, the managership of the important hranch of the bank at Kingsingford fell vacant, and Samuel was offered the post. He had jumped at the chance, for, a quiet, level-headed fellow,, he yet had his ambitions. The managership carried a good salary, far beyond what he had been getting. He would have a house to live in rent free, and, more than all, he wonld, as the manager of an important hranch of a great bank, have what he had always secretly longed for, an assured social position. For Kensingford was an aristocr.hic suburb standing on tb,e banks of the Thames, with a couple of lords' and half a dozen baron ets as residents — and they all used the Country and Suburban as their bankers. It had looked so rosy at first. Mrs Bird had been almost as delighted as her lord when he broke the news to her. Mavis, their daughter, a beautiful girl of nearly twenty, would, her mother reflected, he thrown into the'hest society, and would he practieaJly certain to make a good mateh. It would be nice for Clarence, their eiight-year-old son, also, said Mrs Bird, the riverside was so healthy, etc., etc. But now The partial crumbling of their fine aircastles had come about in this wise. Bankers and bank managers are, from the nature of their business, always objects of interest to the fraternity known as the "heads." They deal in money, and money is what the "heads" love more than anything else on earth, provided they do not work for it. And sometimes when a change is made in the managership of a branch, an mterprising sharp will take it into his head to test the capacity of the new man and his worthinesg for his job. Being new, they argue, he will not J:>e so much up to his job as the old and wary man he has probably succeeded, and carefully worked, there may be "something domg." We will not go into wearisome details (which were all, by the way, carefully set out by industrious reporters when the case was being heard), but all that is necessary to state is that a certain exquisitely dressed gentleman endeavoured to entrap Mr Bird into making him a present of £1,000 or so. He did not succeed. Samuel was too old a bird and too much of a man of business not to be on his guard ; but the matter entailed the calling in of the poliee, and that was wbere the trouble really started. For the oflicer who, by reason of his intelligence and capacity, was given the handling of the case was P. C. Cecil Havelock. Besides being a clever fellow, Cecil was what young ladies like to call a dream of a man. Oliver six feet tall, weighting 13 stone, with not an ounce of fat, he haa the flaxen curly hair and dinkie moustache that no girl can resist. He had handled the matter of the attempted fraud in first-class fashion ; but the case entailed the necessity of several visits to the hranch, with the consequence that Mavis Bird saw him, and the two young people fell in love. And that was one reason why Samuel fretted and fumed. He and Mrs Bird had secretly hoped that when they came to Eingsingford, their pretty daughter would meet with the son of one of the local lords or haroaets, or at least with the heir to one of the richer clients of the bank, and now she had undoubtedly made up her mind that she would rather be the wife of a policeman than anything else in the world. - • "

Not that there was anything against Cecil. On the contrary, he was a fine fellow, and one who was bound to get on in the force. One day he would undoubtedly be an inspector — even a superintendent ; hut nothing could alter the fact that at present he was a policeman, a common copper, a member of the fraternity which is sometimes the object of derison on the part of small boys in the street and comedians on the music-hall stage, It was in Mr Samuel Bird's view a most desirable match, and the more he considered the matter, the more cross he became. There were other things, also, which were the cause of irritation to Samuel. One was the house in which he lived rent free. It was old, draughty, and inconvenient and Mrs Bird had not ceased to rail at it for these reasons since they had taken up residence. If you succecded in opening a window, she said, you would never close it again, not a lock in the house woui. act properly ; it was a perfect dust-hole ; and, in brief, was endowed with all the defects least desired by a British housewife. Then, since the attempted fraud, Mrs Bird had developed a maddening dread of hurglars. They had heen marked down once by thieves, she >aid, and it was absolutely certain that rohbers would come again if it was only to avenge the exquisite friend, who had heen laid hy the heeds by Samuel's acuteness. No fewer than five. nights out of the preceding seven she had routed him out of bed to seareh for thieves, who were, of course, nou-existent. The house was old, and whehever the wind blew it creaked and made mysterious noises, which Mrs Bird dec'lared simply must he caused by the footsteps of depredators. These things, therefore, accounted for the fact that Mr Samuel Bird was in a gloomy and irritable mood, even though it" was a bank holiday, an-d he had had his breakfast in bed. "Yes, there's no doubt about it," he growled as he contemplated the ceiling, "I was a thundering sight better off when I was clerk at the chief office than I arn in this hole. Well, it's no use lying here fuming. I'H get up, have a bath, and go for a walk. Perhaps that will clear off some of the blue-devils I've got." Mr Bird arose, slipped on a pair of slippers, and then, just as he was, clad only in his oldfashioned nighb-shirt — he had always eschewed pyjamas — he stalked off to the hathroom — another source of irritation, for it was pexehed at the top of the fact that the hathroom window was a converted dressing-room. Samuel, being still in a vile mood, banged the door "behind him viciously. Then he switched on the taps and proceeded to divest himself of his only garment. There is a moral to this story. It is that bank managers, and, in fact all those who desire to shine socially, should never allow their feasnpers to get the better of them. For had Samuel not heen in a dull blind rage, he would have taken notice of the fact tha the bathroom window was wide open, and he would never have flung his one remaining link with civilisation — his nightshirt — in that direction. But that is what he did ; and he did not realise what he had done till he caugth sight of his disappearing garment as it flufctered to the g arden down oelow. Samuel Bird made use of an expression which one does not ofuen hear used by responsible and highly respectable bank managers. But he jumped jpto the now well-filled hath. "Shall have to put a towel round me to get back to my dressing-room," he muttered. And then he glanced at the towelhorse stand against the wall. It wa« empty. One of Mrs Bird's many grievances against the neighbourhood of Kensingford was that the tradesmen were unreliahle to a man, and now it was evident that the laundry had failed. He jumped out of the hath, and went to the door of the hathroom-. Ii would not open. He had many times abused the locks of the old house ; but this one was acting only too welL

The room being of the converted variety the lock was a mortised one, and though Samuel pulled and tugged till he was purple with exertion, yet 'the door would not budge. "i tira.il cstch my death of cold,"' he said, as he pieked up a slipper, hoping to attract the attention of Mrs Bird ; but no answe'ring sound reached him. He sat shivering "on the edge of the bath and pondered. Of course he had heard the front door bang to, about a quarter of an hour before. It was obvions what had happened. A tradesman, acting up to the traditions of the district, had disappointed her in the delivery of some article, and his wife had gone out — on a bank holiday, too — to try to obtain tbe missing commodity. The Birds had no servant— another grievance — and therefore he, Samuel Bird, manager of the Kensingford branch of the London County and Surburban Bank, was alone in the house and without visible means of existence, or indeed anything at all. He had another tug at the recalcitrant door. But it was a stout old lock, and had evidently made up its mind that no matter what pressure was used upon it, it would never desert its post of duty. "Ifc is of no account to me," it seenied to say -t„ Samuel, "that you are the master of this house, and I am only a humbie lock. But I am a lock. It is my duty to keep a door shut, and this one is going to remain shut, until I am torn from my place and my springs and holts are shattered into nothingness. If you did not wish this door to remain shut, why did you bang it so viciously? Yes you tug, my d$ar sir, but I was made at a time .when locks were locks. None of your eheap, flimsy suburban locks about me. When I say 'shut,' then 'shut' it is, and you can spare yourself any further exertion, unless it amuses you." And at last- from sheer exhaustion Samuel desisted, and once more sat on the edge of the bath, breathless hut deeply though tful. He had an appointment at twelve with an important ciient of the bank, who wanted to discuss a weighty transaction with him. The bank would never -forgive him if he displeased this wealthy customer. But what was ho to do? As the glow .itiduced by his exertions suhsided, Samuel began to shiver. He would catch his death of cold. He would contract influenza, then pneumonia, and then death would follow. He shut the window with a bang, and then he had. another go at the door handle. In a sense, pehaps his efforts ' were ttiore successful this time but he had not improved matters to any considerable degree, for he had pulled the handle off. He looked at it ruefully as it lay in his hand. Well, it was something more to bang at the door with when somebody came in, if anybody ever did come in. As it was, there was nothing more to be done, except to resume his sea-t on the edge of the ba-th, and think furicusly. He had never hefore realised how helpless a poor man was without his clothes. He had a fine jack-knife with which he could have cut away the woodwork round the lock. But that jack-knife was in the poclcets of his trousers downstairs. Would no one ever come in, or was he ; to remain there until he pined away and ; died, and his rotting skeleton be found in the hathroom? Suddenly he brightened up. His ear had cauight the sound of someone moving below, and a childish treble was raised to implore someone to come back to Wooloomaloo. It was Clarence, his eight-year-old son. He was saved. He attacked the door of the hathroom with the handle, and shouted at the top of hiSfcVoice for Clarence. After he had eontinued doixag this for about ten minutes, there came a patter of childish footsteps up the stairs, "Did you call me, dad " queried his son. "Call you, I should think I did!" cried Samuel. "I'm locked in — locked in here — in this inf ernal bathroom ! Get a screwdriver, or a erowbar, or something, and pass it under the door." "Right dad," and the boy's feet pattered downstairs. He soon came up again, and then tried : to pass various articles under the door to father. But that door was the only well-fitting; one in the house. No single tool in the housebold of Samuel Bird could he induced to pass under it. Once or twice Samuel did catch a maddening glimpse of the edge of a screwdriver, but that was all. *Tt*s no good," said the long-suffering man at last ; "you'Il have to bang the door down. Go for it with the eoal- hammer !"

The lad was nothing loth t-, other boy would. have done he u ^ the door with zest. But at ekrht ^ age, the strength of a lad is& oI ently developed to he equal to-a Awrt, and therei&re the door ed impervious to his attack. rSaia®' When he was convinced that th was more than the boy could 6 ^ Samuel told him to desist. "Go round to the nearest locksmh,,he eommanded, "and tell him to round here and get me out of ti/0"" onee. If you can't get a hcksm* a carpenter ! Any way, get somebodv.' 2 ! get 'em quick!" "Right, dad!" said Clarence. j Clarence ran out of the house fB]j 1 importance of his errand. At the end of the quiet street he another youth, with whom he had^ ready scraped an acquaintance. And h' notice d with envy that Charley Tliomag had a brand-n,ew scooter. "Hullo, Charlie!" said Clarence. "Jlullo, Clarence, where are yoB ing?" said Charlie. "Going to get a locksmith," said QjJ ence proudly. "My dad's locked in 0KI bathroom. " "Well, "he'll have to stay locked in". said the pessimistic Charles. "You won't get no. locksmith to^day. It's Bank Holi. day, and locksmiths always go on the spree on a Bank holidays. 'Sides I don't know where there is oue. See my ne» scooter." "Yes, isn't it a fine one !" said Clarence as he noticed the fact that the toy had real pneumatic tyres. "Like to have a go on it?" "Would I not! Rather !" "Well, here you are then. Don't go any further than the end of the street." As pleased as Punch, and completely forgetting his poor father's plight, Clar. ence mounted the scooter, and put its cap. abilities well to the test. They took turns in riding the vehiclo for about half an hour, and then it dam ed upon Clarence that he was out on an errand, and that his father was uTgentlj expecting his return. "Must go and find that locksmith now," he said. "You won't find any locksmith to-day, I tell you," said Charles. "Coo. look, there's young Wilkins with his scooter! He thinks it's the fineat about these paris. But you watch me race him!" Fascinated hy the prospect. Clarence watched several races between the tio young rivals. But young Wilkins had mori power of leg muscle than Charlie, and the consequence was that in spite of tio excellence of his machine, Charlie was invariably defeated. "Here, let me have a go!" said CW ence, "I'll show you how to beat him!" "All right; TI1 take you on!'' said young Wilkins. Preliminaries having heen fixed up, the two young racers got to work. Clarence worked with all his might, ad soon found that thanks to the fact that he was stronger and more nimble than Charlie ; he was an easy match for young Wilkins ; the scooter he had borrowed, as has been explained before, being an eicellent one. He forgcd on ahead, up streets and down them, full of boyish excit-ernent. But suddenly he realised that he waslj ; himself, in a street he did not know. j He had in fact outdistanced his oppftj ent to such an extent that he was w where to be seen. And Clarence realised something else. He realised that he wai completely lost, and he had a scooter, that did not belong to him. Well, that was something, anyhow. There was no one about from whom he could ask the way, and so, like a philo®pher, he made the best of things, asj' were, and . made good use of Charlie ij scooter. By-and-by a butcher's boy came alotf and Clarence asked him where he cod find a locksmith for his father. The butcher's boy was a lad » strong sense of humour, which he evince ^ !by sending Clarence for a tortuous mile run to a place were no locb®1 ; was or ever had been. ; " 'Spect father's a bit cold waitkgj me," speculated Clarence, as he sco° along. "But 'taint my fault. Its butcher boy's. He oughtn't to hve^j me to a place where there isn t ari\ smith. There came the sound of a loir It was uttered by Charlie who had tr® . ed the boy who had borrowed his sC0° J "Here!" he cried, "what did^yoU | and try to sneak my scooter for.' "I never! I got losted!" . ^ "YeS you did try to pi»ch .1tell everyone that the boy at t ^ a thief. ThatH make everybW . their money out of ihe bank, &n f, father will go broke. Where ^ "Trying to find a father, who's locked up rn the said Clarence. (Continued on page

THE BATHHOOi DGOR.

(Continued from page 2.) "Wcil, I told you you would never find one. Gimme bick ray scooter!" "Let's have just one more go on it." "All right tlien, but oniy one more." . Half an hour later he handed the scooter back to its righiful owner. "Think I'H-go back now," he said virtuously. "Mv dad will be getting cold and tired of wating for me, I 'spect." Clarence was right. His f-ather was cold ; he was also tired of waiting for the return of his offspring. Though it was summer, a chili wind had sprung up, and Samuel's teeth were chattering like castanets. No one had ventured near the house since his son had departed. His feelings towards Clarence were too decp for utterance, and in fact Samuel had relapsed into a sort of dull apathy. Did ever mortal man have things go so utterly wrong with him? Eate was too cruel. But hark, there was the sound of the key in the front door lock ! His wife had returned at last. Samuel waited for the bang which told that the front door had closed on his wife, and then he pounded long and vigorously on the panels of the door with the handle he had wrenched from its place. The immediate result was a piercing scream from his wife. "Help!" she cried. "Thieves ! Murder !" "No, it isn't!" roared Samuel. "It's me — Sam." But 'the distracted woman did not hear him. She had long made up her mind that the place would one day be broken into by thieves, and now they were here in very truth. Still shxieking, she rushed from the house. Once more Samuel sought the cold, hard, uncomf or tabla edge of the bath. Even his wife had failed him. What would happen? Would she run away for gocd in sheer terror? Or would she summon assistance? He was in a state now when he really did not care much whai happened to him. But soon hope revived again. There came the sound of a pounding on the front door. What had happened was that his wife had put her keys down when she came in, and then in her terror had rushed out without them. But the lock of the front door was soon forced, and then came the sound of heavy footsteps. "You gay the noise came from upst&irs madam," said a man's voice. "Yes, I'm sure I heard it. It was a terrible banging." Samuel gave a loud bang on the door with the handle, and then he nipped into the bath. "Why, there it is again," said Mrs Bird's voice. "There's someone in the bathroom," "Yes, mum. We'll precious soon see who it is, too," said several voices. The bathroom was furiously attacked from the outside now, and with lusty truncheons. At last came the ominous crack which told that the stout lock had at last given way. The door swung cautiously open. "If he attacks you, brain him!" cried Mrs Bird. And the next instant the door was opened sufficiently to permit the face of a man to appear. It was the face of P. C. Cecil Havelock! For a moment -he stood transfixed as his eyes fell on Mr Samuel Bird. Then he turned to the men who were with him. "Keep back," he said quietly. "I can deal with this." Then he came back to the bathroom. "Sorry to intrude, sir," he said quietly, "but would you mind telling me what has happened?" "Can't you see?" snapped Samuel/"! came in here to have a bath, and the aecursed lock slipped and made me a prisoner. I should think I've been here yelling for help for about fifteen hours. Go down stairs and get me my clothes, and bring them up here. And mark my words, if you ever let a word of this get about the neighbourhood, I'll send my d&ughter to Timbuctoo. Do you understand?" "Quite, sir," said Cecil, without allowing a ghost of a smile to grace his lips. Then he retired, and Samuel heard him teli the men with him that the affair was oniy a case of someone 'hemg locked in a room, and that they wouldn't be wanted. Then he whispered to Mrs Bird, who simply said : "Dear, what a f right I've had, and all for nothing at all." "He's got some sensc, that yonng fellow, after all," growled the waiting Samuel. "Mavis roight do worse." Witliin a few minutcs Cecil had opened the dsor once again, and had

deposited a complete outfit of elothing on the floor. In a waistcoat pocket was a watch, and Samuel found that, although he would be terribly late for his appointment, yet tuere was a chance that he might still find the eustomer he Avished to see at home. And he did. The great man was terribly incensed at his late arrival, but Samuel took the right COurse with him as it happened. He simply told him the truth of the whole story, and the eustomer laughed till the tears came into his eyes. And having succeeded in getting his man into an excellent temper, cf course Samuel was abie to do his business to considerable advantage to himself and the bank. So all ended well. Cecil Havelock is now a District Inspector of Police, and 'Mavis is perfectly happy as his wife, as she always knew that she would be. The house where Samuel lives has been brought more up-to-date, and Mrs Bird has got over. rriost of her grievances. Samuel is a church warden and a member of the district council. He is also firmly in the conndence of the t\vo lords and the six baronets, and therefore he is a happy man. For Cecil Havelock never let a word escape him as to the episode of t-he bath, for which Samuel is grateful. He sometimes fancies tliat Cecil has mentioned something of ihe incident to his wife though, for when Samuel goodhumouredly twits her with having married a common policeman, she is apt to reply that they may come in uncommonly useful on bath nights. (The End).