A Canadian Bankclerk Part 34

"Sorry to--s-see you here," he stammered.

Evan grasped the hand of his old manager, Sam Robb.

CHAPTER XIII.

_THE MACHINERY GRINDS._

Castle turned his head and sneered, just as he used to do in Mt. Alban.

"You must come up and s-see me," said Robb.

"I will," replied Evan.

Watson came along for the draft register, winked at Robb, and returned to his desk, followed by Nelson.

"Is Mr. Robb one of the clerks here, Bill?"

"Yes--liability ledger. I had it on my mind to-day to tell you, but you were not around when I remembered what it was that bothered me.

Sam's been here several months. They took his job away from him because of letters Alfy wrote."

Nelson could hardly believe it.

"The calf," he muttered. "What does Robb think about it?"

"Oh, he doesn't say much. He works like a n.i.g.g.e.r, all but about two days a month--when he goes on a tear. Been hitting the can a lot lately."

"I don't wonder," said Evan; "what has he to live for?"

He had something, though, as every man has--his self-respect. But one sometimes loses that when others do not attribute it to him.

Evan had never felt more incompetent than when Watson asked him to take out a balance. He could just as easily have "taken out" a degree at the Toronto University. While he fretted his still pounding head, Bill rode the round-up of registers, supplementaries and totals. Long drawn out exclamations reverberated in whatever corner of the office he happened to be searching.

"Teller's book," he shouted behind the paying teller; "come on, Sid."

The poor teller was short in his cash. Bundles were piled almost to the top of the cage; he s.n.a.t.c.hed them up one by one and ran through them. He had a sore hand, too; it had been poisoned by infectious money. Two weeks later, when the teller had returned from sick-leave, head office refused to pay his doctor's bill, insinuating that the poison might be something else!

"Get out of here, you wolf," yelled the teller; "you're more ---- bother than ----"

"I'm sorry for you, old kid," interrupted Watson, laughing; "give us your book, I'll add it up and maybe find your difference."

Sid Levison hesitated, picked his book up quietly, and faced Watson with:

"You're a yard wide, Bill. I wish we had more of you around here. I got in $50,000 in parcels this afternoon and Charon wouldn't send any relief. Gee, but I'm tired, and my hand pains infernally."

He yawned so widely his gla.s.ses fell off. Relieved of them, his face looked peaked and his eyes inflamed and weary.

"Meet Mr. Nelson from Banfield, Mr. Levison."

"How are you?" said the teller, offering his hand; "used to work there myself, years ago."

Then he turned to his money.

"How long has he been in the bank?" Evan asked Watson.

"About ten or twelve years, I think."

"He should be a manager by now."

"Sure," said Bill, "I could handle an easy chair myself for that matter. There are at least ten clerks in this office who could manage a branch, but everybody can't have one, you know. Managerships are sugar-plums to be handed out carefully by head office."

"I see," said the new man. "But," he added, "the banks claim they are very hard up for managers."

"That's because the job isn't up to much when you do get it; a good many fellows get out when they find what they're up against. A lot of this talk about the great opportunities of banking originates in head office and is peddled around the country for a purpose. The bank has the greatest advertising system in the country and the least expensive.

It carries the biggest bluff on earth. The bank's on a par with political flag-wavers when it comes to handing the people the bunco."

About five o'clock Mr. Willis, the old general-ledger clerk and ex-manager, edged over toward the cash book, with his hat on and a pipe in his mouth.

"Well, Watson," he said, lighting a match, "how's your successor coming along?" The match was burning down, but Willis held it tantalizingly away from the pipe while he added: "Why don't you introduce him?"

While the match threatened to burn the old clerk's fingers he slowly greeted Evan, and puffing a last flickering flame into his bowl, in a way that showed how closely he had, during years of smoking, studied the science of combustion, asked:

"How do you think you are going to like city work, Mr. Nelson?"

"It doesn't look very good to me," said Evan. "I'm off color to-day; my head is bursting."

"Why don't you go home?"

"Yes, go on," said Bill; "I didn't know you were all in. You certainly don't look any too frisky."

"I may be on the job alone to-morrow, though," replied Nelson, "and just yet I don't know the first thing about it."

Neither Willis nor Watson advised him against the wisdom of learning things when he had a chance, so he stayed. No doubt they knew how it felt to be up against a new post in the middle of a day, with everyone too busy to lend a hand, or even a suggestion. The perspiration that has been lost under those circ.u.mstances would make quite a stream.

Bill had a bad balance. He worked till ten o'clock, taking half an hour off to eat supper. Evan stuck to it, too. When he got to his hotel he had nervous indigestion and a violent headache. He took quinine and went to bed, more or less disgusted with life. When the drug began to work and the pain of his head was soothed, a peaceful lethargy crept over him, and he wished that he might lie in such repose forever. He dreaded thought of the days to come, for he had had a glimpse of sedentary slavery.

"Oh, pshaw!" he murmured, and ebbed out into Dreamland.

The next morning he awakened late, and did not wait for breakfast. He was the last man to work.

"We begin operations here at nine, Nelson," said Castle, as the new man walked past him.

Evan stopped and looked back, but said nothing. He was not in a humor to explain his semi-sickness to one like Alfred Castle.

"We were waiting for you," said Key; "jump in, old man."

Although he had little idea where he should jump, Evan plunged, like a reckless diver, and fought his way through the previous day's work as best he could. Bill took advantage of a strip of smooth sailing to steal away and have a smoke in the bas.e.m.e.nt. Soon Key found Evan hesitating over the work, and hollered impatiently: