Originally Posted: 11:30 PM - Feb 14, 2012

A well-dressed middle-aged gentleman stepped out of the lift and looked down to find there were stairs before him. Puzzled, he stepped down them and found himself face to face with a very tall fellow with a red carnation in his jacket.
“Good morning, sir,” he said with a genial smile. “Are you being served?”
“Er, no,” the gentleman replied. “I’m looking for a gift for my mother-in-law. Can you assist me?”
“I’m afraid not, sir,” the fellow replied kindly. “I am the floorwalker. I believe you require the services of our Mrs Slocombe. Please, follow me.” He led the gentleman over to a counter. “Mrs Slocombe, are you free?”
A middle-aged woman popped up from below the counter, frightening the gentleman. Her hair was a shocking pink, very similar to the shade of bubble gum. She looked left and right before answering, “At the moment, Captain Peacock.”
“The gentleman seeks a gift for his mother-in-law,” Captain Peacock informed her before returning to the centre of the floor.
“Oh yes?” Mrs Slocombe gave him a benevolent smile. “What did Sir have in mind?”
“I’ve no idea, I’m afraid,” the gentleman said. “You see, she rather loathes me and I promised my wife I’d try to be nice to her, so I thought I’d buy her some sort of gift. Trouble is I’ve no idea what to buy a sixty-three year old woman.” The gentleman’s face brightened all of a sudden. “Ah! Perhaps you might suggest something? You have similar features.”
Mrs Slocombe’s smile flickered for a second and she blinked rapidly in irritation. “Certainly, Sir.” She turned to her assistant and said, “Miss Brahms? Are you free?”
A younger woman stepped forward, wearing a very sweet smile that practically showed off every single tooth in her mouth. “Yes, Mrs Slocombe?” she replied.
“Would you bring me a box of scarves from the stock-room?” Mrs Slocombe requested. “I believe we might be able to find one that suits Sir’s mother-in-law.”
Miss Brahms curtsied politely, turned around, dropped the grin, and muttered something under her breath as she went to fetch the scarves.

Across the floor Captain Peacock was delivering a young man over to the men's counter. “Mr Grainger? Are you free?”
“I’m afraid not, Captain Peacock,” replied an elderly gentleman. “I’m just serving an American tourist that requires trousers.”
“Is Mr Humphries free?” Captain Peacock asked.
“I’m free!” cried a thin blonde man who stepped from behind the cabinet, adjusting his tie as he flitted forward. “How may I assist Sir today?”
“I’m looking for some underwear,” the young man said. “I’ve just moved out so I can attend university and I’ve never bought ‘em before. My mum always did.”
“You don’t say,” Mr Humphries smirked, taking in the young man’s attire, which consisted of ripped denims, a stained Oxford shirt over a vest, and decrepit leather sandals. “Well, I’m sure we can find something that will suit you.”
“I want somethin’ real sexy that the girls will dig,” the young man said with a grin. “Got anythin’ saucy?”
Mr Humphries blinked a few times. “That depends on what you term ‘sexy’ and ‘saucy’. We have Y-fronts, jockey shorts, and boxer shorts. What do you fancy?”
“Boxers, mate,” the young man nodded, still grinning.
Mr Humphries smiled his charming smile, then turned and addressed his junior. “Mr Lucas? Are you free?”
Mr Lucas had been sneaking a peek into a large textbook when he heard his superior call for him. He shut it quickly and pretended he had been waiting for that very moment. “You seem to have caught me in the middle of nothing, Mr Humphries.”
“Do tell,” Mr Humphries smirked, for he knew better. “In that case, would you care to assist in selling some sexy saucy skivvies to Sir?”
“Say that five times fast,” Mr Lucas chuckled, taking out a drawer full of boxer shorts.

Back at the ladies’ counter Mrs Slocombe was losing her patience with the middle-aged gentleman. Scarves were strewn everywhere, as well as several hats and about ten pairs of gloves. Despite everything she’d shown him the gentleman was still unsure of what to purchase.
“I just can’t make up my mind,” he frowned. “Do you have any other suggestions?”
Mrs Slocombe gripped the edge of the counter for support. “Indeed I do,” she said through gritted teeth. She fought the urge to tell him what she really wanted to say and replied, “I shall have my assistant fetch one more item from the stock-room. Miss Brahms? Would you get me the new dressing gowns from the stock-room? I believe the Vicar of Dibley line should do nicely.”
“But they’re on the top shelf,” Miss Brahms exclaimed. “Oh, please don’t make me go up there, Mrs Slocombe. I’ve no head for heights!”
“Oh very well,” Mrs Slocombe grumbled. She then caught the eye of the floorwalker before calling, “Captain Peacock, are you free?”
“At the moment, Mrs Slocombe,” Captain Peacock drawled.
“Would you please assist my junior in obtaining some dressing gowns from the top shelf of the stock-room?” Mrs Slocombe requested in her most obliging tone.
“Unfortunately I am unable to do so, Mrs Slocombe,” Captain Peacock sighed. “I’m afraid I did my back in this past weekend playing golf with an old Army chum. However, I shall have Mr Lucas come and assist you.” He left the ladies’ and walked over to the men’s counter. “Mr Lucas, please step forward.”
“I’m sorry, Captain Peacock,” Mr Lucas refused politely. “I’m just helping Mr Humphries with this young man.”
“Mr Lucas,” Captain Peacock said, with a very impatient note to his voice. “Step forward. Now.”
Mr Humphries looked at the junior, who had gone a bit pale. Abandoning the boxer shorts in his hand Mr Lucas did as he was told. When he was close enough Captain Peacock gripped his arm roughly and led him away from the counter. Once they were out of earshot the floorwalker quietly snarled, “I am in charge of this floor, Mr Lucas, and when I give an order you are to hasten to obey it, regardless of whether you are assisting a customer or another salesman. Do I make myself clear?”
Mr Lucas stared at Captain Peacock, shock written all over his face. He nodded. “Yes, Captain Peacock.”
The floorwalker released his arm, pointed to the ladies’ stock-room, and growled, “Miss Brahms requires some assistance in obtaining some stock from the top shelf. You will go and fetch the items for her. And if I hear one complaint from either of the ladies you will go on report straight away. Understood?”
Mr Lucas nodded again and walked away quickly. Miss Brahms was nearby and looked almost as pale as he did.
“Blimey, what’s gotten into ‘im?” she asked when he reached the counter.
“I have no idea,” Mr Lucas replied. “Just show me what you need so I can get it done and maybe not piss him off any worse.”
“The Vicar of Dibley dressing gowns on the top shelf,” Miss Brahms told him. “They’re a little heavy.”
Mr Lucas waved her concern away and went into the stock-room, followed by Miss Brahms. A moment later there was a crash, the sound of splintering wood, and a shout. Mrs Slocombe dropped the gloves she was showing to the gentleman and ran into the stock-room, where Mr Lucas was lying on the floor. The ladder he’d been standing on was broken; three of the rungs had snapped in two, sending him crashing to the ground. In an attempt to steady himself he’d grabbed onto the shelf, which snapped off in his hands and showered him with boxes of merchandise. A large welt was forming on his head as well as a few bruises on his chest where his shirt had been ripped down the middle. He clutched his back and winced as he tried to sit up slowly.
“Are you alright, Mr Lucas?” Miss Brahms cried out. She got down on her knees to examine him.
“I think I might’ve pulled something,” Mr Lucas groaned. He gave up trying to raise himself and allowed Miss Brahms to comfort him. She picked a pair of carnation-pink knickers off his head as Mrs Slocombe kneeled as well.
“You poor lad,” she simpered. “’Ere, someone call Sister and get ‘im an ice pack!”
“You stupid boy!” Captain Peacock snapped as he arrived at the scene. “What were you playing at?”
“I was only doing what you told me to do,” Mr Lucas retorted. “You said help Miss Brahms and I did. Only the ladder’s got dry rot and gave way when I got hold of the dressing gowns. Next thing I know I’m on my back and covered in lacy things.” He pushed a pile of frilly lingerie off his lap in disgust.
“Anything I can do?” Mr Humphries asked, poking his head into the stock-room.
“I think we can manage, Mr Humphries,” Captain Peacock drawled. He turned his attention back to Mr Lucas, who was being doted on by the women. “I suggest you get on your feet and start cleaning up this mess at once.”
“I thought I heard shouting,” came Mr Rumbold’s voice from nearby. He looked in the stock-room and did a double-take. “Mr Lucas! What on earth are you doing?”
“’E was helpin’ me get some stock off the top shelf,” Miss Brahms explained. “The ladder broke and he tried to grab ‘old of the shelf, but it gave way as well.”
“I’ve called Sister,” Mr Grainger grunted as he hobbled over. “She’s on her way down with some ibuprofen and ice packs.”
“Ridiculous,” Captain Peacock growled. “I had worse when I was in the desert. He’s perfectly alright.”
“Captain Peacock’s right,” Mr Lucas groaned. “I’ll be fi- AUGH!” He’d tried to sit up again but apparently the pain was too much. Miss Brahms reached under him and extracted a knobbly handbag that he’d been lying on.
“That’s better,” Mr Lucas panted. “Thank you.”
“Captain Peacock, we’re not in the desert now,” Mr Rumbold reprimanded the floorwalker. “And we are certainly not in the Army. Grace Brothers has a strict policy regarding accidents on the job. This should have been reported to me the moment it occurred.”
“But you came out, anyway,” Mrs Slocombe said, her brow knitted partly in concern for Mr Lucas but mostly in annoyance with Mr Rumbold. “So you know what’s ‘appened.”
“Well, yes,” Mr Rumbold concurred. “True. But I shall need to start the necessary paperwork now. Excuse me. Oh! Here comes Sister now.”
A kindly nurse came down the stairs and parted the crowd of onlookers to get to Mr Lucas. Upon seeing the welt on his head and bruises on his chest she tutted and began administering the ice packs in her hands.
“He’ll need some X-rays,” she said. “Here, take these.” She opened a bottle and forced some tablets into his hand. “They’re a non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drug. That should bring down the swelling and relieve some of the pain. Can you sit up?”
Mr Lucas made a final attempt to raise himself to a sitting position with the help of the ladies. He winced in pain but was soon propped up and able to swallow the tablets.
“Right, everyone out,” Sister commanded. “You two keep him sitting up. He mustn’t lie down for thirty minutes after taking those. Someone call a cab. Who’s going to accompany him to hospital?”
“I will,” Miss Brahms and Mr Humphries said together.
“I think it would be best if Mr Humphries went along,” Mr Rumbold said. “He can assist Mr Lucas in the emergency room should they require him to change into a hospital gown.”
“I don’t mind if Miss Brahms comes with me,” Mr Lucas whimpered. “She’s been a great comfort to me.”
Mr Rumbold shook his head. “No, Mr Humphries shall go with you.”
Mr Humphries smiled as he stepped over the strewn merchandise to take Miss Brahms' place behind Mr Lucas, who was mumbling under his breath.
“I shall call a cab for them,” Mr Grainger stated and wandered over to the ladies’ phone.
“What about Mr Grainger?” Captain Peacock demanded. “You can’t expect him to run the counter alone.”
“Quite right, Peacock,” Mr Rumbold nodded. “You shall take Mr Humphries’ place for the remainder of the day.”
Captain Peacock’s face flushed crimson with fury. “I shall take his place?”
“That’s right,” Mr Rumbold said. “Mr Humphries, if you would, please, loan Captain Peacock your tape measure and chalk?”
Mr Humphries looked as though he’d been asked to pet a starving Rottweiller that was foaming at the mouth. He dipped his hand into his pocket and extracted both items. With a shaking hand he held them up, whereupon Captain Peacock snatched them violently before turning and heading toward the men's counter.
“The cab is on its way,” Mr Grainger said. “Will there be anything else?”
“No, Mr Grainger,” Mr Rumbold said, clapping a hand on the senior salesman’s shoulder. “Captain Peacock shall be assisting you for the rest of the day. Carry on, everybody!” He waited until the staff dissipated back to their counters before lending a hand to Mr Lucas. He and Mr Humphries pulled the junior up to his feet. “Now, as soon as you hear anything from the doctor you are to phone me straight away and let me know.”
“Thank you, Mr Rumbold,” Mr Lucas whimpered. With Mr Humphries’ help he staggered upstairs to the waiting lift.
“Perhaps you and Miss Brahms can attend to the merchandise,” Mr Rumbold said, pointing to the jumble of goods. “I shall call Mr Mash up to take care of the shelves and ladder.”
“You know, that could have been one of us,” Mrs Slocombe remarked, running her hand over one of the broken rungs. “That poor boy. I actually feel terrible for him.”
“I’m sure Mr Lucas will be right as rain in no time,” Mr Rumbold assured her. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I must start the necessary paperwork regarding this unfortunate incident.” And with that he was gone, leaving the women with the mess. Mrs Slocombe bent over and picked up a dark green dressing gown, draping it over her arm.
“Oh, that’s perfect!” cried the gentleman, who had been watching the entire affair. “I’ll take it!”
“Sale, Miss Brahms,” Mrs Slocombe sighed.

Later that afternoon the lift doors dinged open, revealing a very doped-up Mr Lucas who was being directed by Mr Humphries. He had a small bandage on his forehead and his shirt had been repaired with medical tape to prevent baring his chest for the world to see. He swayed a little at the top of the stairs before plodding down them and nearly colliding with the centre display stand. Fortunately he stopped just in time and giggled at the sight of a male mannequin wearing only a pair of bright blue Y-fronts.
“Lookit tha’ one,” he said to Mr Humphries. “’E barely fills ‘em out.”
“You’re one to talk,” Mr Humphries said with a derisive snort. “Come on, we’d better find Jug Ears and give him a report.”
“Oh, Mr Lucas!” Mrs Slocombe cried out. She sprinted toward him. “Are you all right?”
“Never better, Betty-baby,” Mr Lucas drawled. He caught her in a warm, friendly embrace. She stood frozen and looked quite nervous, but allowed him to pat her on the back affectionately. Then he gave her a kiss on the cheek and she looked as though she might faint.
“You’ll have to forgive my friend,” Mr Humphries said. “They gave him an injection of muscle relaxer and a bottle of the same.” He held up a vial of pills, giving it a shake to demonstrate. “You should have seen him when I came in the room. He took one look at me and started singing Puff the Magic Dragon, only he exchanged 'Puff' for 'Poof' and didn’t stop until I threatened to perform a certain Jewish operation. Even then he started giggling.”
“He’s going to be all right, though, isn’t he?” Miss Brahms asked as she joined them in the middle of the floor.
“’Allo, Shirley,” Mr Lucas grinned. “You’re looking lovely today. You know, I don’t half-fancy you. Whaddya say we go back to my place an’ I’ll…I’ll…” He swayed on the spot until Mr Humphries took his arm to steady him. “Ugh…I think that stuff they gave me was a bit potent.”
“All the more reason we should go see Mr Rumbold, tell him what the doctor said, and then get you home,” Mr Humphries said, trying to lead Mr Lucas away from the women.
Captain Peacock came out from a fitting room just then; he went directly to Mr Humphries, looking quite relieved. “Ah, you’re back,” he said. “And Mr Lucas looks perfectly all right. You will be wanting your tape measure and chalk back, I imagine…” He took both items from his pocket and offered them.
Mr Humphries shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not until tomorrow. Mr Lucas is a bit tipsy at the moment from – OI!” He gave Mr Lucas’ arm a hard yank when he noticed the junior was about to slip away toward Miss Brahms. “He’s had an injection of muscle relaxer, which is the only way he’s able to walk without pain.” Just then Mr Lucas’ knees gave way and he plopped onto the floor. He shook his head in much the same way a dog shakes when doused with water, then began chuckling as if someone told him a very naughty joke. Mr Humphries sighed and pulled him back to his feet. “I think I may need a few of these pills myself tonight.”
Captain Peacock’s expression turned very sour. He watched Mr Humphries struggle with Mr Lucas and was reminded of a petite woman who has bought a fourteen-stone English Mastiff without the luxuries of obedience training or sterilisation.
“What did the doctor say?” Miss Brahms asked.
“Hang on a minute,” Mr Humphries said. “Mr Grainger, might I borrow your chair for a moment?”
“Certainly, Mr Humphries,” Mr Grainger replied. He brought out a wooden chair and set it near the counter. Mr Humphries directed Mr Lucas to it, forced him to sit down, and took the tape measure from Captain Peacock. He tied it around Mr Lucas’ chest, securing him to the chair somewhat, then told him, “You will stay there until I’m ready for you. Move one foot and I’ll be more than happy to call a mohel tonight.”
“You look exhausted, Mr Humphries,” Mrs Slocombe remarked. “Do you want me to go get Mr Rumbold?”
“I think that would be best,” Mr Humphries said. “I can’t leave him alone for more than a few seconds or he wanders off and gets into all sorts of mischief. I had to stop him from groping several nurses and one time he tried to pinch a packet of biscuits from an elderly patient. Not to mention the foul language he used when the doctor told him he has to abstain from certain activities for two whole weeks!”
“What sort of activities?” Miss Brahms inquired.
“That will do, Miss Brahms,” Mrs Slocombe interrupted. “I’ll go get Mr Rumbold.” She left the floor while Mr Humphries smacked Mr Lucas’ wrist when he tried to pinch a female customer’s ample rear.
“Aside from the obvious injury to his head, he seems perfectly fine,” Captain Peacock remarked.
“He could have brain damage, you know,” Miss Brahms snapped.
“It would be very difficult to tell,” Captain Peacock snorted.
“Why is there medical tape all over his front?” Mr Grainger asked.
“Ah, that was my idea,” Mr Humphries said, leaning on the counter for support. “His shirt is ripped beyond repair and he was a bit self-conscious about his exposed chest, so I found some water-proof tape and did a quick fix while the nurse’s back was turned.”
“What about this?” Miss Brahms asked, pointing to the bandage.
“It’s a very minor cut,” Mr Humphries replied. “I’m more worried about the bump on his crown. I’m afraid vinegar and brown paper won’t be enough for it, but they’ve given him some anti-inflammatory medicine to keep the swelling down.”
Just then Mr Rumbold appeared on the floor, followed closely behind by Mrs Slocombe. She stood by Miss Brahms, who was still fussing over Mr Lucas while Mr Rumbold looked him over, tutting as he did so.
“Oh dear,” he muttered. “He does look terrible.”
“You’re not so pretty yourself,” Mr Lucas smirked.
Mr Rumbold bristled at this remark until Mr Humphries sighed and said, “He’s drugged up, you can’t take anything he says personally. He’s already told me at least ten times that I’m his best friend, even though I’m about as macho as Judy Garland.”
“I see,” Mr Rumbold nodded. “Well, what did the doctor say?”
“That I’ve got the sweetest ass she’s ever seen,” Mr Lucas replied.
“No, she said you were very sweet, even if you are an ass,” Mr Humphries corrected him. “She also said he’s pulled several muscles in his back and to keep an eye on the bruises. She advised that he stay home from work the rest of this week and he’s not allowed to lift more than ten pounds when he returns. He has an appointment for a recheck in two weeks. Here’s a copy of his Dos and Don’ts for the next fortnight.” Mr Humphries took out a few sheets of paper that had been folded and tucked into his inside coat pocket. He sifted through and handed one to Mr Rumbold. “Here’s his work excuse…copy of the bill…copy of the medical chart…and a receipt for the cab fares.” He passed each one to Mr Rumbold, whose expression turned a shade graver as he took them.
“Yes, this seems to be in order,” he said as he scanned the pages. “Very well, Mr Lucas, you are excused for the rest of the week. However, we shall require certain documents to be filled out each and every time you see the doctor for this particular condition.”
“Ooooh,” Mr Lucas cooed. He’d just realised that Miss Brahms was right behind him and had craned his neck so he could get a look at her ample bosom. “Wibbles wobble but they don’t fall down!”
Miss Brahms jumped back, clutching her hands to her chest, her expression one of shock and fury.
“I’ll explain everything to him later when the drugs wear off,” Mr Humphries groaned. “I’d best get him home now. Come along, Mr Lucas!”
“Mr Humphries,” Captain Peacock demanded. “Mr Lucas has been excused from his position, not you.”
“That’s quite alright,” Mr Rumbold said, waving aside Captain Peacock’s remark. “It’s obvious that Mr Lucas would be lost without a trusted friend. You are excused for the remainder of the day, Mr Humphries.”
“Thank you, Mr Rumbold,” Mr Humphries said. “Mr Lucas, are you…oh, right…” He removed the tape measure restraint and handed it back to Captain Peacock. “Just stick it in my drawer when you’re finished with it,” he added.
“Do you mean to tell me that you’re going along with this charade?” Captain Peacock practically spat. “The boy is perfectly fine! Why, I had worse injuries when I was fighting Rommel in the desert, yet I still carried on.”
“Captain Peacock, we’re not in the desert anymore,” Mr Rumbold reprimanded him.
“He wasn’t in the desert then,” Mr Grainger muttered under his breath to Mrs Slocombe.
“Still, I see no reason why he cannot do his job,” Captain Peacock snapped. “Other than the obvious lack of mental capacity that was present before he was hit on the head.”
“You’re just cross because you’ve had to take up Mr Humphries’ position today,” Mrs Slocombe growled, “instead of walking around being a pompous twit.”
“I will not be spoken to like that,” Captain Peacock fumed.
“Quite right,” Mr Rumbold stated firmly.
“Thank you,” Captain Peacock said.
“I am the only one with the authority to tell you that you’re a pompous twit,” Mr Rumbold said.
Captain Peacock was fuming now. “I am merely pointing out that Mr Lucas’ condition will in no way interfere with his job duties and that he is being coddled in a manner that will not be beneficial to his physical or mental health.”
“Oh go blow it our your ass, Steve,” Mr Lucas suddenly snarled.
Everyone turned to stare at Mr Lucas, who was suddenly quite lucid. He jerked his arm free of Mr Humphries’ grip and walked right up to Captain Peacock. Their faces were inches apart and although Mr Lucas was slightly shorter than the floorwalker he still seemed to tower over him with his rage.
“I don’t know what your problem is,” Mr Lucas growled, “but I’ve had it with you. Ever since I started here you’ve been downright horrible to me. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it but it ends now.”
He took a step back and the staff could see that Captain Peacock was shocked and trying his best to hide it. Mr Lucas turned and addressed Mr Rumbold now in a much calmer tone.
“I would like to request a transfer to another department when I return,” he stated firmly. “I refuse to work under this man any longer. To do so would jeopardise my emotional and physical health even worse than it is now. And if need be I will consult a solicitor regarding this matter.”
Mr Rumbold shook his head, rocking back and forth on his heels. “There will be no need for that, Mr Lucas,” he said, holding his hand up defensively. “I quite understand. I shall make some inquiries this week and see that you are transferred to another department. I believe there is an opening in Electronics that might be suitable.”
“Thank you, Mr Rumbold,” Mr Lucas said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my doctor has ordered that I take as much rest as possible this week.” He turned to Mr Grainger and shook his hand. “Mr Grainger, it has been a privilege.” Then he addressed the women. “Mrs Slocombe, Miss Brahms, it has been an honour.” He took their hands and even kissed their knuckles in a gentlemanly fashion.
He turned to Mr Humphries last and embraced him like a brother. “Thank you for everything. You really are my best friend, you know. I’ll miss working with you.”
Mr Humphries looked quite alarmed. “You can’t leave us,” he whimpered. “Who am I going to share my confidences with?”
“You’ve got my number,” Mr Lucas replied.
Mr Humphries pressed his handkerchief to his mouth to stifle the sobs that were on their way. Mr Lucas smiled affectionately, gave the sales assistant a friendly pat on the back, then started ascending the stairs. At the top he pressed the call button, stepped into the lift, and turned around. “Oh, and Captain Peacock?”
“Hmm?” the floorwalker answered.
Mr Lucas blew a raspberry and gave him the two-finger salute before disappearing behind the doors.

The next few days were somewhat tense as Mr Rumbold interviewed applicants for Mr Lucas’ old position. On the floor Captain Peacock acted as if nothing had happened while Mr Humphries silently seethed in anger. Mr Grainger forgot more than once that they had no junior and would start to call for Mr Lucas, then catch himself and shake his head solemnly. In fact, the only persons who seemed a bit relieved by his absence were the women.
“I hate to say it, but it is much nicer without Mr Lucas here,” Mrs Slocombe observed at lunch on Friday.
“I know,” Miss Brahms said. “No rude comments, no insults, no sarky remarks…”
“And no laughs,” Mr Humphries sniffled.
“He was always very kind to me,” Mr Grainger reminisced. “Even though he made all those jokes at our expense, you had to laugh.”
“Well, I didn’t,” Mrs Slocombe retorted disdainfully. “He was thoroughly aggregating to myself and Miss Brahms.”
“Aggravating,” Mr Humphries corrected her. “Aggregating is where you collect or gather into a group.”
“What, like at special events?” Miss Brahms asked.
“Sort of,” Mr Humphries replied. He looked down at his Lancashire hot pot, which he’d hardly touched, and had an idea. “Here, this is a good example.” He pushed all the carrots to one side of his plate. “You see, the carrots have aggregated to one side.”
“Why not just say they’ve joined up togevver?” Miss Brahms inquired.
“I don’t know,” Mr Humphries said. “Ask Mrs Slocombe. She’s the one who brought it up in the first place.”
“I did not,” Mrs Slocombe snapped. “I merely pointed out that since Mr Lucas is not here the atmosphere is much more amiable and congenital.”
Mr Humphries looked at her with a mixed expression of irritation and pity. “Mrs Slocombe, do you ever stop and think before you speak? It’s times like this when I think of giving you a dictionary for your birthday next month.”
Mrs Slocombe puffed up in fury but before she could retort they were joined by Captain Peacock. No one said a word to him as he sat down. Mr Humphries even went so far as to move to the end of the table, taking up Mr Lucas’ former place. Captain Peacock ignored this and actually began humming under his breath.
“Ah, I’m glad you’re all here,” Mr Rumbold said as he approached their table. “I’ve got some good news. I’ve found a suitable applicant to replace Mr Lucas. He’s young, friendly, energetic, and has some former experience in sales, so he should be able to bring some fresh ideas to our department.”
Mr Humphries looked away from the table as he tried to repress a sob. Miss Brahms put a consoling hand on his arm while Mrs Slocombe inquired, “When will he be joining us?”
“Monday morning,” Mr Rumbold beamed. “As he is new to Grace Brothers I would like for you all to arrive at eight-thirty sharp to meet him and welcome him to our floor.”
“And does this new staff member have a name?” Captain Peacock asked.
“Oh yes,” Mr Rumbold replied. “Martin Smith. Charming young man. Just left Cambridge last year. Well, I shall leave you to your lunch. Carry on, everybody!”
Mr Grainger watched as the manager walked away and grumbled, “That didn’t take long.”
“It’s not a difficult position to fill,” Captain Peacock said airily. “The only qualifications necessary are having a body temperature of approximately ninety-eight degrees Fahrenheit, knowledge and skills directed toward inspiring and expiring air from one’s lungs, and the ability to count without the aid of one’s fingers.”
“In other words, you would only just be qualified for the position,” Mr Humphries muttered under his breath.
“I heard that, Mr Humphries,” Captain Peacock drawled. “You would do well to respect your superiors or you might end up looking for such employment yourself.” He picked up his newspaper, which was folded to the comics section, and took a bite of his sandwich.
Mr Humphries turned quite pale but said nothing. Instead he returned his aggregated carrots to the rest of the hot pot, but didn’t eat them. The others were also quite shocked by Captain Peacock’s statement; Mrs Slocombe was now puffed up like a blowfish. She looked ready to pop at any moment. But it was Mr Grainger who spoke next.
“Captain Peacock, I don’t think that was very fair,” he said as amiably as he could given the tense atmosphere. “Mr Humphries is still quite upset about Mr Lucas leaving us. They were quite close, you know. Almost like brothers. And the Canteen is a place where we are allowed to speak freely without fear of reprimands or repercussions.”
“Very true, Ernest,” Captain Peacock replied without looking up from his paper. “However, as floorwalker and an ex-officer of the Royal Army I do demand the respect due to me, whether we are on the floor, in the Canteen, or at the social club.”
“You’re quite correct, Captain Peacock,” Mrs Slocombe said.
Captain Peacock gave her a warm smile. “Thank you, Mrs Slocombe.”
“And allow me to show you some of the very respect you deserve,” she simpered. She stood up and gave him the two-finger salute along with a particularly damp raspberry. Then she picked up her plate and stalked off to another table, followed by Miss Brahms, Mr Grainger, and Mr Humphries.

continued...