A Canadian Bankclerk Part 29

"And now this inspection affair is on," continued Mrs. Terry, "I'm afraid they'll lay him up."

Henty blushed tremendously, but looked steadily at Mrs. Terry, as he said:

"I sure envy your boarder."

Nelson glanced up from a dish of cherries.

"Maybe Mrs. Terry would let us room together here," he smiled.

Henty's eager expression was enough.

"He's welcome," replied Mrs. Terry, and added: "then when they have done for my present boarder I'll still have someone."

To the junior's delight he was thus invited to share Evan's room, and Mrs. Terry's cooking. He kept stammering out his thanks until Nelson was through eating.

"Let's walk around the block before going to the office," said A. P.

when they were outside; "I want to tell you what happened last night."

Evan lit a cigarette, probably to fortify his nerves against an antic.i.p.ated shock.

"You weren't gone long," said Henty, "when the manager went over to Filter and talked a while in whispers. Then he came to me and began shooting off about my good work and a lot of other rot, gradually leading up to what was on his mind, and sort of preparing me for the third degree. 'Henty,' he said at last, springing it, 'I suppose you know we had a loss around here? Now I want to ask you something confidentially. You don't think Nelson would take it, do you?' I looked at him and told him he'd better roll over--not exactly in those words. 'I don't think he would either,' said Penton.

"When he and the inspector had their heads together inside the vault I asked Filter what the manager had been saying to him. It was exactly what he had said to me. 'What's the matter with them?' said Filter; that's all. Some day Filter'll wake up and get enthusiastic about something; I think it'll be in the next world, though."

Evan laughed. It was such a fine spring morning he could not have forebodings. He was not worried by what Henty had told him.

"He's just trying to smooth things over, A. P.," said the teller.

"Do you think so?"

"Sure."

The junior sighed, like one who tells an ostensibly funny story without effect. The teller threw away his cigarette half-smoked.

"I don't feel much like work this morning, A. P.," he said. "I'd rather go out into the woods and tap a tree for sap."

"It's a little late for that, I'm afraid."

"Do you know anything about sugar-making, Henty?"

"You bet; I made sap-troughs all one winter and emptied two hundred of them every day in the spring. You'll have to come down home with me sometime."

"Thanks," replied the teller, "I'd like to. Will you return the visit?"

"Just try me."

When they reached the bank Penton was already there, but the inspector was not yet around.

"Well, how are you this morning, Nelson?" asked Penton, in a business-like tone. Henty walked on through to his corner of the office. He never stayed in the neighborhood of W. W. Penton any longer than was absolutely necessary.

"All right, thank you," answered the teller, turning to go to work.

Penton framed up a stage mien and spoke in a dramatic or tragic whisper. Evan had no difficulty in seeing through the make-up.

"You don't suppose either Henty or Filter would be capable of taking that money you lost, do you?"

The teller laughed sarcastically. He was angry, and had it on the tip of his tongue to say: "You're crazy!" but he thought it better to hold his temper.

"Has the inspector been asking you about it?" he said.

"Well--yes," replied Penton; "he said I'd better ask all of you your opinions, just as a matter of form. Not that he suspects anybody; he thinks it probable that someone climbed in the window, between five and six o'clock that day, and got it."

"Impossible," said Evan; "besides, they would have taken it all."

Penton's unpleasant eyes grew still more unpleasant.

"Good G--, man," he said, "the money's gone, and we've got to account for it in some way!"

"We have accounted for it, by putting it up," answered the teller.

"What good can our speculations do head office?--they're not losing anything anyway."

Without further palaver he went to his cage. He tried to focus on the work before him, but his head swam. He saw pictures of himself and Penton in a fight; himself equipped with new grips far superior to the toe-hold in point of pain. He tried to figure out Penton's object in asking the questions just asked. "We've got to account for it,"

afforded a clue. That was it: Penton wanted the staff to substantiate any ridiculous explanation he should see fit to give the inspector. He interviewed them so that he might be able to put words in their mouths, when reporting to Castle. Evan realized that should he be asked any questions by the inspector, he must tell more than would be good for Penton.

The day's rush started in the regular market-day fashion. To begin with, several dames brought in an amalgamation of barnyard soil and spring ice in their boots and stood over the hot-air grates to thaw.

That simple act put the clerks in a market-day mood and gave the office a market-day "atmosphere." Then things went spinningly. The bank and the staff became a machine and the parts thereof, as if incited to action by the combustion of certain gas-mixtures in the place.

Especially the teller's head took on the character of a metallic organism: he could almost hear the wheels buzzing. Occasionally a cog somewhere grated, as, for instance, when a drover brought in a cheque for $500 and had to wait in line behind the wife of a neighbor whom he hated, until she got $1.79 for her produce ticket, and had deposited $1 to the credit of Janet Jorgens in trust for little Harry Jorgens.

It was three o'clock before Evan had a chance to eat lunch. It lay on the little table in his box, dry and sour. He looked at it with enmity, and, s.n.a.t.c.hing a few bites of this and that, which he washed down with cold water, threw the remainder in a waste-basket, and went back to the dirty money.

Penton was all aglow. He perambulated up and down the office shouting through the wicket at people to whom he had never spoken before. He would run to the ledger, find out the name of a poor innocent farmer whose whiskers told of a possible buried treasure somewhere, and bawl out that name, to the owner's consternation.

"You've got a busy office here, Penton," said the inspector, just before the door was closed.

"Yes, Mr. Castle. Of course we have no opposition right in the town.

But I mean to hold it, even though another bank opens up. I hear the N---- Bank is coming in."

"Yes," said Castle. "By the way," he remarked, addressing the teller's back, "wasn't it a market day on which you lost the silver, Mr. Nelson?"

Evan turned around; the two men were leaning against a desk behind the cage.

"Yes, sir," was the simple reply.

The inspector nodded, then walked into the manager's office. Penton followed him--but that was nothing unusual. The boys returned to their work.

"First shot!" shouted Filter, who had been working on the current ledger balance off and on all day.

Henty stopped licking an envelope, and allowing it to stick to his tongue, whispered hoa.r.s.ely: