Mr. Faulks had entered the office as a lad, and, after long years of
patient service, had worked his way up through all the grades to the
very top of the permanent staff. He had no one over him now but the
statesman who, for the time being, was responsible for the department
in Parliament--a mere politician, perfectly raw in official routine,
who had the good taste and better sense to surrender himself blindly
to the guidance of Mr. Faulks. What could a bird of passage know of
the deep mysteries of procedure it took a life-time to learn?
He was the true type and pattern of a Government official. A prim,
plethoric, middle-aged little man; always dressed very carefully;
walking on the tips of his toes; speaking precisely, with a priggish,
self-satisfied smirk, and giving his opinion, even on the weather,
with the air of a man who was secretly better informed than the rest
of the world.
He was very punctual in his attendance at the office, passing the
threshold of the private house in a side-street near Whitehall, where
the department was lodged all by itself, every morning at eleven, and
doing the same thing every day at the same time with the most
praiseworthy, methodical precision. His first step was to deposit his
umbrella in one corner, his second to hang his hat in another, his
third to take an old office-coat out of a bottom drawer in his desk,
substituting it for the shiny black frock-coat he invariably wore;
then he looked through his letters, selected all of a private and
confidential nature, and placing the morning's _Times_ across his
knees deposited himself in an arm-chair near the fire.
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