A Canadian Bankclerk Part 21

"Well, I must hand it to you, Ape," said the ledger-keeper sarcastically. "You certainly have a remarkable pair of eyes. You travel several miles behind, like an echo or something, but you always get there. Why don't you save your memory all that extra work?"

The good-natured junior laughed.

"Don't be cross, Gordon," he teased. "To tell the truth I was thinking of Hilda Munn."

Filter looked exasperated.

"How in ---- do you ever expect me to find that difference if you travel blindfolded? I'll bet a dollar we've pa.s.sed over it."

Nelson came in the office.

"How much are you out?" he asked.

"Ten cents," said Filter; "this book--"

"Wait," interrupted Evan, "do you remember that deposit slip we changed after the calling about two weeks ago? Was it fixed in the ledger?"

Filter's eyes brightened. He looked up the account and found his difference. Henty regarded the teller with unsophisticated admiration, then, on the impulse, grabbed him by the muscles and commenced backing him around the office.

"Gee, you're a horse!" said Evan, wrenching himself free; "where did you get all that gristle?"

"In the back pasture," interpolated Filter, in jovial spirits now that he was balanced.

"Wrong there," said Henty. "I put on this stock of beef in the rear end of a mow one hot summer when the sow-thistles were bad."

While the boys were in good tune Nelson broke to them the news of Jones' resignation.

"The deuce!" exclaimed Filter, who rarely went higher.

"We don't need a manager," observed the junior, grinning, "when we've got a man who can remember deposit slips for two weeks."

Evan said nothing, but naturally he liked Henty for the flattering speech, the more so since Henty usually meant more than half of what he said. Praise is apt to be dangerous to one who draws Evan's salary; he felt himself growing more and more dissatisfied. Evan was awakening to a realization of his superiority as a bankclerk. He was a successful clerk, and he knew it; but he also knew, by now, that his success was due to labor rather than to special apt.i.tude for that kind of work. He could not banish Jones' words from his mind; if he had expended the same amount of energy on some other business he would probably have achieved far greater efficiency than would ever be possible in banking.

He doubted more and more that climbing steps into the bank was equal to shinning it up a beanstalk.

For a few days after Jones' conversation with him he was silent and thoughtful at his work. Instead of making poetic memos, like Service, in his cage, he made note of the work he waded through, and tried to picture himself in a private office. That was going one further than Jones' imaginary desk with the telephone at one's elbow, but the imagination is fertile territory.

It is difficult to say where Evan's speculations would have landed him--it is difficult to say, although the probability is he would have arrived where dissatisfied bank-boys usually do, Nowhere--had not W. W.

Penton, the new manager, put in a sudden appearance.

It took Penton quite a while to get in the bank door, as he had with him a wife and two poodle-dogs, the latter property especially requiring much attention and considerable coaching before they would condescend to enter the office. Possibly their pampered puppy noses sniffed some of the trouble that was to come. Dogs are prophetic when there is something undesirable to be foretold.

Mr. Jones had gone out on the morning train and would not be back for a day or two. Consequently Evan, next in charge of Banfield branch, was obliged to receive the new dictator: such it was Penton's disposition to be.

He strutted through the office to the cage, where Evan was busy with a customer, and spoke half civilly:

"Are you the accountant here?"

The teller turned around, with a bunch of counted bills in his hand.

"Yes, sir," he said, "just a minute and I'll be out."

"Come out now," said Penton.

Evan finished waiting on the customer, who had been standing in front of the wicket long enough, and then obeyed the manager. The two looked at each other challengingly. Penton's expression was almost a glare.

The teller stood his ground. He conceived a ready dislike for the tall figure before him. At length Penton extended his hand. It was bony and cold. Evan discarded it as quickly as possible and called over the rest of the staff for introduction.

Filter shook hands methodically, scarcely raising his eyes to meet the bulging, colorless eyes of Penton. Henty blushed, but his gaze was unwavering. The dogs barked uproariously, scampering to and fro like rats. Mrs. Penton, from the manager's office, tried to quiet them, but they seemed bent on carrying out the bluff they had started, imitating in that respect their male master.

"I've got an infernal toothache," said Penton, speaking to the junior, "would you run across to the hotel and get me some brandy? If that doesn't stop it I'll have to see a doctor."

His tone was more polite now. Henty left his work and went for the liquor. While he was away the manager and his wife took a hasty glance at their living quarters. She remained there with the terriers, but Penton soon came back for his remedy. When Evan went in he found three-fourths of the liquor gone, but the tooth was still aching. Mr.

Penton was evidently in agony; he swore.

"Ask Mrs. Penton to come with me to a doctor's, will you?" he said.

Nelson rapped on a door at the end of the hall leading from the office into Penton's apartments. The dogs set up another hullabaloo. From his office the pained manager cursed them heartily. Henty was ready to bubble over with merriment, but the teller motioned him sober.

Mrs. Penton hesitated as she entered her husband's office. She could not have seen the flask, for it was not now in sight.

"Come with me to the doctor's, won't you?" he asked, with the suspicion of a whimper in his tone.

She looked behind her before answering. Evan was hovering near, to run errands or show them the way to a physician's.

"All right, Pen." She spoke timidly. Evan was sorry for her.

Penton was uneasy; he hesitated when Evan said: "If you don't mind, I'll be glad to go with you."

Mrs. Penton spoke out:

"It's awfully good of you, Mr. Nelson. Mr. Penton may have to take gas."

He did. Nor did ever a youngster take senna less gracefully. The gas alone probably would not have made a madman of him, but mixed with the liquor it did. In the earlier stages of unconsciousness Penton jumped from the table and threatened to kill the doctor. The country physician only laughed at the wild and, to Evan, appalling curses and threats of the temporary lunatic. It mattered not to that rustic doctor whether his patient carried a stiff neck or a limber one--he would do his work just the same. He happened to be a dentist, which was fortunate, for he needed dental knowledge to extract a great tooth from the patient. The further skill of a veterinary surgeon would scarcely have been superfluous, Evan thought, amid so much horse-play.

Mrs. Penton seemed very much upset, but she shed no tears. The teller wondered how she could look on at all. It was the first case of gas he had seen, and it not only awed him but filled him with repugnance.

Painfully was this the case when Penton madly expectorated over an incredible distance upon the poor doctor's curtains.

Nelson had always had profound respect for whatever manager he worked under. He looked upon bank officials as something more than men. The reverence of his mother for inst.i.tutions and things traditional held to him. But as he gazed on the squawking Penton, lying stretched out on a board while the village dentist-doctor dragged at a tooth, he had a sudden conception of man's equality and his likeness to the beast.

Even bank-managers were poor, puling cowards in the face of pain, or under the influence of a little gas.

Having slept out his unnatural sleep Penton jumped dazedly from his board and rushed to the door. Before anyone could stop him (the doctor did not seem anxious to do so) he had reached the street. Evan ran after him, and Mrs. Penton after Evan. The long form of the new manager wobbled across the street toward the bank. Evan came up with it and steadied it. Mrs. Penton's face was burning red when they arrived under cover.

"I'm so sorry this has happened, Mr. Nelson," she said, "for your sake."

"Oh, that's all right, Mrs. Penton," he replied; "I always sympathize with anyone who is suffering."

She looked him her thanks.

"Mr. Nelson," she whispered, "did Pen have anything to drink before going to the doctor's?"