The Verger
(after Somerset Maugham)

Albert Edward Foreman stood in a respectful but dignified attitude. He had been a servant before he was appointed verger, but only in very good houses. Starting as a page-boy in the house of a rich merchant he had risen by degrees to the position of butler in the house of a retired ambassador till the vacancy occurred at the church. He was tall, thin, grave and dignified. He had tact, firmness and self-assurance.

Now he stood in the hall where he had been invited by the new vicar, a red-faced energetic man of about forty years old. Albert Edward was surprised to find the two churchwardens there.

The vicar began energetically.

"Foreman, we've got something unpleasant to say to you. You've been here many years and you've fulfilled your duties quite satisfactory. But I found out to my surprise that you could neither read nor write".

The expression of the verger's face did not change.

"The last vicar knew that, sir", he replied. "He said it made no difference".
"Do you want to say", cried one of the churchwardens, "that you've been verger of this church for sixteen years and never learned to read or write?"
"I became a servant when I was twelve, sir. The cook in the first place tried to teach me once, but I didn't have any talent for it, and later on I never had the time or need to learn it".

"But don't you want to know the news?" said the other churchwarden. "Don't you ever want to write a letter?"

"No, sir. They have many pictures in the papers so I know what's going on very well. If I want to write a letter my wife writes it for my" "Well, Foreman, I've discussed the matter with these gentlemen and they agree with me that the situation is impossible. At a church like St. Peter's we cannot have a verger who can neither read nor write".
Albert Edward's thin, pale face reddened but he did not reply.
"But couldn't you learn, Foreman?" asked one of the churchwardens.
"No, sir, I'm afraid I couldn't, not now. You see I'm not as young as I was. I've lived many years without knowing how to read and write and I don't want to learn now"
"In that case, Foreman, I'm afraid you must go".
"Yes, sir, I understand".

Later, he put on his coat and walked out of the church. He went across the square, but deep in his sad thoughts he did not walk along the street that led him home, where a nice strong cup of tea awaited him; he turned into the wrong street. He walked slowly. His heart was heavy. He didn't know what to do with himself. He didn't want to become a servant again. He had saved a tidy sum, but not enough to live on without doing something, and life cost more every year. He sighed deeply. Albert Edward was a non-smoker and a total abstainer, but he liked a glass of beer with his dinner and when he was tired he enjoyed a cigarette.

He thought that a cigarette would comfort him now and since he did not carry them he looked for a shop where he could buy a packet of cigarettes.
He did not at once see one and walked on a little.
It was a long street, with all sorts of shops in it, but there was not a single one where you could buy cigarettes.
"That's strange", said Albert Edward.

To make sure he walked along the street again. No, there was no doubt about it. He stopped and thought.
"I can't be the only man that walks along this street and wants to have a smoke'' he said. "If some fellow opened a little shop here, he might make good money. Tobacco and sweets, you know''
He turned, walked home, and had his tea.
"You're very silent this afternoon, Albert", his wife remarked.
"I'm thinking" he said.

He thought the matter over from every point of view and next day he went along the street and by good luck found a little shop to let. Twenty-four hours later he had taken it and a month later set up a business as a tobacconist and newsagent.

Albert Edward did very well. He did so well that in a year or so he opened a second shop and employed a manager. He looked for another long street that hadn't got a tobacconist in it and when he found it and a shop to let, he took it. This was a success too. Then he thought that if he could run two shops he could run half a dozen. He began walking about London, and whenever he found a long street that had no tobacconist and a shop to let he took it. Ten years later he was running no less than ten shops and he was making good money without much effort. He went to all of his shops every Monday, collected the week's takings and took them to the bank.

One morning when he was there paying in a bundle of notes and a heavy bag of silver the cashier told him that the manager would like to see him. He was shown into the office and the manager shook hands with him.

"Mr. Foreman, I wanted to have a talk with you about the money you've got on deposit in our bank. Do you know exactly how much it is?"

"Not within a pound or two, sir; but I have a rough idea".

"Apart from what you paid in this morning it's a little over thirty thousand pounds. That's a very large sum to have on deposit and it is better to invest it".

"I don't want to take any risks, sir. I know it's safe in the bank".
"You needn't worry. We'll make out for you a list of gilt-edged securities. They will bring you in better rate of interest than the bank can give you"
Mr. Foreman's aristocratic face looked troubled. "I've never had anything to do with stocks and shares, and I'd like to leave it all in your hands", he said.

The manager smiled. "We'll do everything. All you'll have to do next time you come in is just to sign the transfers"

"That I could do", said Albert uncertainly. "But how shall I know what I am signing?"

"I suppose you can read", said the manager.
Mr. Foreman smiled.

"Well, sir, the thing is that I can't. I know it sounds funny, but I can't read or write, only my name, and I only learnt to do that when I went into business".

The manager was so surprised that he jumped up from his chair.
"Do you want to say that you've built up this important business and made a fortune of thirty thousand pounds without being able to read or write? Good God, man, what would you be now if you had been able to?"
"I can tell you that, sir" said Mr. Foreman, smiling, "I'd be verger of St. Peter's church"