Psmith in the City by P. G. Wodehouse

It was noted by the observant at the bank next morning that Mr. Bickersdyke had something on his mind. William, the messenger, knew it, when he found his respectful salute ignored. Little Briggs, the accountant, knew it when his obsequious but cheerful "Good morning" was acknowledged only by a "Morn' " which was almost an oath. Mr. Bickersdyke passed up the aisle and into his room like an east wind. He sat down at his table and pressed the bell. Harold, William's brother and co-messenger, entered with the air of one ready to duck if any missile should be thrown at him. The reports of the manager's frame of mind had been circulated in the office, and Harold felt somewhat apprehensive. It was on an occasion very similar to this that George Barstead, formerly in the employ of the New Asiatic Bank in the capacity of messenger, had been rash enough to laugh at what he had taken for a joke of Mr. Bickersdyke's, and had been instantly presented with the sack for gross impertinence.

"Ask Mr. Smith -- " began the manager. Then he paused. "No, never mind," he added.