Vol. VI No. 1 - Modernist Magazines Project

THE BERMONDSEY BOOK
Looking at the man on the seat in front of him, he thought of
a stout, sleeping inoffensive ant. When he handed the conductor his
fare, he said "Ant" under his breath, not offensively, but reflectively
and explanatory.
The conductor said "Eh?" but Wileman was too changed a man
to set about explaining. He was pursuing his new idea, and he followed
it off the bus, to his lodgings, over the week-end, and on to the bank.
The cashier, the manager, the directors and Wileman's fellow
clerks all became ants with very little to distinguish one from the other.
True, the director who had been responsible for the fateful censoring
was allowed individual treatment to this extent. Wileman bearded
him in his den, gave him notice that he intended to retire, and when
pressed for an explanation, looked the director over, murmured "Ant,"
and, speaking as nonchalantly and as unfeelingly as if the director was
indeed an ant, he told him what he thought of banks in general without
mentioning any bank in particular. The up-shot was, that he got a
rise in salary, without caring much either way.
Nor did he remain in the bank long. When a man rides roughshod
over the rights of others and is not over-scrupulous, the world is apt
to step aside and allow him the right of way. That's how it was with
Wileman. In twelve months he was a director himself, $nd in two
years he was the power behind half-a-dozen boards and companies.
Socially he was looked up to, in spite of stray scandal as to his
business methods. He could not avoid this, but to give him credit,
he set no store by popularity. He gave the cold-shoulder to three
match-making mammas, whose daughters were comparable to the
-fiancee of his bank-clerk days, as sunlight unto moonlight, as wine unto
water.
His ripples spread and spread, showing no signs of vanishing. But
one sunny afternoon he experienced a vague longing. The memory
of that afternoon when he had encountered the ants was with him.
There was a curious glint in his eyes as he left the bank. Even the
bank-clerks noticed and wondered at it, as they nodded to him
obsequiously.
It was a short walk to the Monument, just by London Bridge. He
found that the top platform had been closed to the public for some
time.
"The Public!" He handed a pound-note to the policeman who