A Canadian Bankclerk Part 25

Mrs. Penton got the manager to bed and then came out to the office.

"Mr. Nelson," she whispered through the cage, "could I speak to you?"

Evan went into the manager's office with her.

"I know you are going to tell head office about it this time," she said, despairingly. "It isn't right for me to ask any further consideration from you. The business here will be ruined."

"I won't say anything," replied Nelson, "until some of the customers begin to kick. I have an idea they will not do any reporting without warning us, though."

The manager's wife sighed.

"It would be a relief, I sometimes think," she said, "to get back to the city. Pen was busy there and it kept, his mind occupied. I see there is no hope for him here. The trouble is head office might drop him from the service altogether. Of course, his relatives in Berlin are big depositors--"

"That might help some," said Evan, treasonably. Then, "Don't give up, Mrs. Penton. We may be able to scare him good for another month or so."

She made an effort to smile, but it was a tired one.

"You are my only hope, Mr. Nelson," she said, forcing back her tears.

"I'm going to tell you something more."

He wondered what was coming next.

"Pen," she continued, "is in debt, I'm afraid. How could he help it when he spends so much on liquor? His salary here is only nine hundred dollars and rent, you know."

That seemed a great deal to Evan, who got board for $3.25 per week.

"Do you mean he owes money in town?"

"Yes."

The teller recalled what Filter had said Jack Hunter told him. If the manager owed Hunter money, he probably was in debt elsewhere, too.

"Well, Mrs. Penton," answered Evan, "I don't know what to say. I wish I had the money myself to lend. Do you know what I get?"

She blushed.

"It is only your advice I ask, Mr. Nelson," she replied, sadly. "As to your salary, I think they ought to pay you more than Pen."

Evan's chest went out an inch or two, but he found himself still unequal to the task of advising her. Things would have to take their course, as they always do.

Now, in the course of things, there came a very busy day. The manager had been sober for a fortnight; he sat in his office pulling at that long upper lip of his, and consuming inwardly with the fierce desire that drunkards know. Perhaps no one sympathized with him sufficiently.

Who, after all, knows anything about h.e.l.l but those who have been there?

Before the teller's box thronged women and men from all the country roundabout, smelling strongly of poultry. It was such a cold day that the bank was chilly and windows could not be raised. The aroma that arose before the wickets was indescribably potent. Evan felt his head swim and his stomach sicken. But work was behind him, pushing him along; he knew he must get through somehow. Filter was not able to handle the cash, especially on a market-day, and Evan would not have trusted Penton in the cage, under the circ.u.mstances. If anything happened the teller was responsible for the cash: he would be taking a chance on Penton--and a fellow can't afford to be a sport on seven dollars a week.

When a man fills a position where he is practically indispensable, so far as the work, not the position, is concerned, his job is his master.

Many a bankboy, on the verge of collapse, is unable to leave for a single day his unhealthy environment. Some, like Evan, are tied down by circ.u.mstances; the majority of them are bound by their own foolish tenacity. All of them realize, sooner or later, that their labor was in vain. When their health is gone, like Jones', and their efforts stored up in bank buildings, those modern Egyptian obelisks, who knows or rewards them? If they find themselves, after years of service, unfitted both mentally and physically for anything but clerical work, and yet unable to longer endure the strain of it, what are they going to do? The man who sells his vitality is a fool, but he who gives it away is worse than a fool. The trouble with us fools is that we don't believe it about ourselves. Evan was sceptical of the harm bank toil was working upon his const.i.tution. He would not allow himself to think his health was failing rapidly--or even slowly.

Silver was always in great demand on market days. In the midst of his rush, this very busy day, Evan discovered that he had not brought from the safe enough quarters to carry him through. A murmur arose from the stampeders when he left his box and walked to the vault. The murmur became a grumble when he fumbled the vault combination without opening the door.

"Filter," he called, impatiently, "open this hanged vault, will you? I can hardly see the numbers."

Calmly the ledger-keeper turned the combination, clicking it open unhesitatingly. He turned and winked at Henty.

Evan brought out a bag and deposited it on a small table in the cage, there for the accommodation of odorous money parcels and noon lunches.

On opening the silver he found there were five packages of quarters, one hundred dollars each. He took one package out, tied up the bag, and set it under the table out of the way.

His cash was two dollars short that day. Too weary to look for his "difference" in the mess of work he had gone through, he put it up.

But it worried him. He could not afford even so small a loss, for he was in debt as it was. His father had sent him a remittance, but he had sent it back, saying: "If I can't keep myself by this time, I'd better give it up as a bad job." He was too game, when writing home, to put blame for failure on the bank, so he took it himself. But he would not take money.

Locking-up time came late that market day, for the hucksters' list was enormous. The teller had paid out five hundred dollars in small bills and silver. He yawned as he packed away the filthy money in his tin box, and yawned as he carried it into the vault.

Henty and Filter were preparing to go up to supper.

"Wait, fellows," said Evan, "I'll go with you."

Penton sat in his office as the boys pa.s.sed out. He had not initialed the teller's book, but had watched him lock the cash in the safe.

"I suppose you'll be back to-night," said the manager, not looking at any of the boys in particular.

"No," said Evan, "I won't. My head aches already."

But he did come back an hour later, and his head ached worse than ever, for he was worrying about the bag of silver he had forgotten to take from under the cage-table and lock up in the safe.

There it was, tied up, and how and where he had left it. With a sigh of relief he picked it up and locked it in the vault. Only Evan and Filter had the vault combination. Penton said he preferred not to have it, as he did not want to accommodate farmers after hours; it had never been done in the M---- Bank, where he had received his training.

It is customary for a manager to check the teller's cash once in a while. He is supposed to do it irregularly so as to keep the teller in constant suspense. Market day at Banfield was Tuesday. Wednesday afternoon Penton came round to count Nelson's cash. In the morning, first thing, the bag of silver had been locked in the safe, inside the vault.

There were two compartments in the safe; in one of them the "treasury"

(a sort of local rest fund) and certain doc.u.ments were kept; in the other, the cash box and bags of specie.

Penton first checked the bills and silver in the teller's drawer and tin box, then got the treasury notes and found them right.

"How much gold have you on hand?" he asked the teller.

Evan told him.

"I guess it's all right, but I'll count it, anyway."

He did, and found it correct.

"Bring me the silver, will you?" he said; "I might as well check everything while I am at it."

Evan brought several bags from the safe, and stood by while Penton opened them. When they came to the bag of quarters that had been left under the table for an hour the previous day, they made a discovery.

At least Evan did. He found a package of one hundred dollars missing.

"What!" exclaimed Penton.

"Yes, there were five yesterday when I opened the bag, and I just took one out. There are only three here now."