”I’ve made up my mind,” said Williams, looking up from his desk.
“Oh, yes?” grunted the man across the room.
“Yes, I have finally decided to leave.”
“Leave? Leave Pritchard’s? Come on; you’ve got to be kidding.”
“No, I am not kidding. I have thought it all out most carefully. I am leaving!”
Dawson let the papers drop back into the file drawer. “My God! You’re serious!” he stammered, and dragging a chair to the desk, sat opposite the other. “Why in God’s name would you…?”
“Dawson! How many times must I ask you not to take the name of the Lord…?”
“Yes. Yes. I’m sorry Mr Williams. You were saying?”
“Hm. Indeed I was. I was saying that all this,” he gazed slowly around the office, almost sadly, “all this is about to become a memory; nothing more!”
“But your watch Mr Williams, what about your watch? Only eighteen months away. Only four people have ever received gold watches from Pritchards!”
“I know lad, I know,” sighed Williams, “Margaret will certainly be upset about that.”
“You mean she doesn’t know?”
The older man shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Well, no. Not exactly.” He forgot some of his superiority. “I haven’t as yet broached the subject with my wife. These things have to be thought out carefully before any real commitments are made. You’d do well to remember that, Dawson!”
“Yes, sir.” Replied the clerk, looking a little down at the mouth. “You are actually going to leave then, sir. I mean, this office, this desk?”
“Cheer up lad,” encouraged the manager with a grin, “things aren’t so bad you know. Why! With a good word from me the company may look past your lack of years and give you the office. Think of it Dawson! This time next month you could be running the whole show!”
It was Dawson’s turn to shuffle in his chair. His hand swept down his face, as though removing some unwanted emotion.
“What will you do?” He asked.
“Oh. I don’t know,” said Williams, lounging in his chair, “probably do a bit of fishing. Never really caught up with my fishing, you know.” He looked almost lovingly at Dawson. “Ever fish?”
Dawson shook his head.
“Great sport.” the old man crowed. “Nothing quite like it for relaxing after a hard week at the…” he realised what he had nearly said. He reddened a little, and added, “That’s all behind me now.”
The older man leaned towards his colleague in the gesture that foreshadowed a confidence.
“We do have a little put by. Don’t really have to wait till I’m almost dead to enjoy it.”
“To be quite frank with you,” said the younger man, also leaning forward slightly, “I don’t think I’d care to stay if you went, sir.”
The old man looked deeply into Dawson’s moist eyes. He made another decision. He straightened.
“Look, Dawson, you’re not to take too much notice of me, you know. I have these fancies from time to time.”
The other man brightened.
“After all,” he continued, “an old man is quite entitled… for goodness sake! Where’s last month’s receipt file? I asked for it fifteen minutes ago!”
Crisis over, Dawson glowed.