Railway buildings maintenance foreman Mr. Harry Stottle was taken to task by the Big Boss himself for still not having carried out a small, but urgent job at a certain railway station, a task which was scheduled for the current financial year. The latter was already coming to a close, but the relevant sum of money in the estimates remained unused and might even remain so. Such an oversight or neglect was a most undesirable thing for it would necessitate many a complicated additional operation of carrying that sum forth into the next financial year's estimates.

Following a severe reprimand, expressed in the most appropriate words, Mr. Harry Stottle was told by the Big Boss to send a gang of carpenters to the station in question early next morning and to have the job number so and so done once and for all.

"I can spare no carpenters tomorrow except these five Greeks, who are very poor at English," objected Mr. Harry Stottle.

"What? Not good at English?" barked the Big Boss. "You speak as if they were to deliver an oration in English or to write an essay in English on the wisdom of railway foremen! What actually matters here is this: are they sufficiently good with their tools?"

"Yes, they are quite allright as far as work goes," admitted Mr. Harry Stottle.

"And so what?" the Big Boss barked in an even more irritated way. "Why then all that nonsense about poor English? Send them first thing in the morning to the station!"

Mr. Harry Stottle lingered a second as if wishing to raise some objection.

"Did you hear what I said?" roared the Big Boss. "Yes, Sir!" answered Mr. Harry Stottle.

"Then buzz off!", commanded the Big Boss.

Next morning the foreman summoned his five Greek carpenters. Four of them could speak no English at all, but the fifth, Polycrates Pythagoras, whom all his Australian mates in the workshop called simply Paul, was more advanced in the knowledge of that language than his four compatriots. He was not only able to understand most simple English sentences, but could even say a few English words himself. At least, he was well able to say in the most fluent way: "Yes, Sir!" And he did so in a particular, cheerful manner whenever addressed by his superiors.

Mr. Harry Stottle gave the five Greek carpenters a railway pass and explained, addressing himself particularly to Polycrates Pythagoras, where they were expected to go, what to do and to whom to report. To make sure that they would not forget the name of the station master, to whom they had to report, Mr. Harry Stottle wrote his name on a slip of paper. "Mr. S. O. Crates" was written there.

"And tell him that I have sent you," ordered Mr. Harry Stottle. "You know, of course my name, Paul?"

"Yes, Sir!" said Polycrates Pythagoras. "Me knows."

"And what is my name?" checked Mr. Harry Stottle.

"Aristotle," answered Polycrates Pythagoras.

"Mr. Harry Stottle," corrected the foreman.

"Yes, Sir! Mr. Aristotle!" cheerfully said Polycrates Pythagoras and respectfully clicked his heels.

Then the foreman once more explained to his Greek subjects what they were expected to do.

"Clear now?" he finally barked.

"Yes, Sir! Yes, Sir!" said Polycrates Pythagoras cheerfully and once more clicked his heels.

"Well, then, go and do a good job for me!"

Polycrates Pythagoras lingered a second as if wishing to ask something while the other Greek workers were standing behind him with their mouths wide open.

"Did you hear what I have said to you?" barked Mr. Harry Stottle.

"Yes, Sir!" answered Polycrates Pythagoras with an air of some uncertainty.

"Then piss off!" commanded Mr. Harry Stottle.

"What? Here? Why?" murmered a bewildered Polycrates Pythagoras. "Get out of my office!" roared Mr. Harry Stottle.

And Polycrates Pythagoras departed with his compatriots to carry out the foreman's order.

A few hours later Mr. Harry Stottle rang the station master to find out how the work was going.

"Had they any trouble in finding you?" Mr. Harry Stottle asked,

"They had a bit of trouble at first," answered Mr. S. O. Crates, "for they made an ancient Greek bullfighter — or whatever he was — out of me, and were looking for Mr. Socrates. When they were asked who sent them here, they said that Mr. Aristotle did. This was another ancient bullfighter or bull, or something like that. At last, when they showed me the slip of paper, I realized that they were looking for me."

Mr. Harry Stottle gave a free outlet to his indignation, swearing from the bottom of his heart.

"Hey!" warned the New Socrates. "Don't swear like this! Switchboard girls can overhear you!"

"I couldn't care less, who could overhear me!" shouted the New Aristotle. "These bloody New Australians make me sick! Always trouble with them! And what an insolence: to make an ancient Greek bull out of me! I hope at least that these bastards are doing a good job for you."

"O, they work like hell!" said the New Socrates. "I never saw such an enthusiastic crowd of carpenters. They work so hard that, believe me, a cloud of dust hangs over the station all the time. I can hardly breathe here!"

"O, that sounds allright," the New Aristotle cheered up. "With their good work they have redeemed this ancient bull's business to some extent at least. By the way, how much have they done already?"

"They have pulled down the whole fence around the station and almost the whole enclosure around the goods' yard too," said the New Socrates contentedly on the other end of the line.

"What?! Pulled down almost the whole fence?" shouted the New Aristotle at the top of his voice. "I have sent them to repair it, not to pull it down. Oh, bloody New Australians with their "Yes, Sir! Yes, Sir!"

David Marquis

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