A Canadian Bankclerk Part 41

That it was not valuable diversion was due to the environment. In the first place the work was monotonous, and the mind naturally sought a channel of entertainment, rather than of thought; in the second place, one got accustomed to the line of talk popular with the boys and unless he mixed with them he was out of the swim and in a cold, silent current of his own.

Sometimes the diversion Evan permitted himself took the form of Frankie Arling. It was not often, now, that he thought of her seriously--that is, as his wife. Seven years was too long a time to look ahead. He could not, after a good many months in the world of business, realize Frankie as he had done in those old school-days; but he could still think of her, in an ideal way.

Would Frankie be proud of him if she could see him handling that mysterious jumble of figures called the "cash book?" He wondered how the "city" way, which he believed himself to be acquiring, would appeal to the sweet country girl. He smiled as he thought of summer vacation--not such a great while off--when he should go back to Hometon and--and what? He did not know. He couldn't carry back tales of success, for his salary was only four hundred dollars a year. He couldn't go back well dressed, because he was fifty dollars in debt to the bank, and owed a tailor's bill in Banfield.... Invariably thoughts of the girl he knew he loved brought him misery and despondency.

Thoughts of home brought him little less. He might have known, from that, that either he or the bank was a failure; but a fellow of nineteen looks through a smoked gla.s.s. To say that Evan did not think is scarcely the fact. He did think, but spasmodically. The mind is a dual thing: the superficial mind can be employed on an adding machine and leave the thinking function free to operate in any direction; but before that is possible the superficial mind must be familiar with the object that engages it. It is not an easy matter to figure sterling exchange, for instance, and at the same time think about irrelevant things; but it is easy to run an adding machine, or even to add, and think simultaneously. On the cash book Evan found himself engaged in all kinds of work; on some of it he had to concentrate (although no "brain power" was necessary), while on some of it he worked mechanically. Whenever a period of serious dissatisfaction, brought on by something Robb or Key had said, troubled him, it was of short duration: something always broke into his mind and scattered the argument framing there. By the time he was free to resume the argument foreign thoughts had intervened, and his brain was in a muddle. Before the muddle could be dissipated by a cold point of common sense, something else had come along. And so things went. So the days and weeks went.

When Evan got a night off, sick and tired of struggling with figures and fancies, he indulged in some of the exciting amus.e.m.e.nts of the city, which were new and attractive to him, and in "quiet little games." He was slipping into a rut, and probably he would have stayed there for months or even years, like hundreds of other young Canadian bankboys, had not the poverty of his existence driven him to the temporary form of relief known among bankclerks as "kiting."

"Bankclerks are always hard up." This is one of the public's chestnuts. It is not a horse-chestnut, however; this one is digestible. It is a fact. The reason is, chiefly--poor pay. It is absolutely necessary for a fellow to either get money from home (even after three years' service) or to borrow and fly kites. Kite-flying is the last resort. It is simply a matter of cashing a cheque on your own bank through some other bank whose clerks are known to you, or through some outlying branch of your own bank, and keeping that cheque out (keeping the kite flying) until pay-day comes and you can deposit to meet it. There is nothing dishonest in the transaction: customers float cheques all the time. The bank cannot lose through the kiting of clerks; only tellers who cash the kite can lose, and they know the "flyer" before taking a chance.

Sometimes a floated cheque floats home sooner than expected, and then there is some sudden high-financing to be done.

It was the custom in Evan's bank for the accountant to look after all clearing items on which exchange had been added by other banks. When the clearing men on the machines registered a bill with exchange they laid it aside for the accountant to see. The clearing of that 23rd of May was very heavy, and everybody was rushed.

"Here are your exchange amounts," said Marks, turning his bunch over to Cantel.

"Do you want them now, Nelson?" asked Cantel, "or shall I rush them up to the accountant and give them to you later?"

"Take them up," said Evan, puzzling over a badly-figured cheque, "and wait for them. He's been holding them back lately, and the ledger-keepers are developing claws."

When Cantel came back he had the exchange items, but he seemed thoughtful, and looked askance at Evan.

"Nelson," he whispered, "come here; I've got something coming....

Whose cheque do you suppose Charon kept back for further investigation?"

"Not mine from Creek Bend, was it?"

"You're on."

The cash-book man's face reddened.

"I didn't expect it in for three or four days yet," he said. "Dunn never would do a trick like that on me; he must have misunderstood."

Cantel laughed.

"I wouldn't take it so hard," he said; "everybody's doing it."

"I know," replied Evan, "but when I first came here Pen----"

"Forget it," said Cantel, turning to his work, "they need guys like you and me around here too much to kick over a kite."

So the "C" man thought. Every junior man seems to think that he is necessary to the bank. The older he grows the smaller he becomes in his own estimation, because in the bank's estimation. The bank understands the advantages of "depreciation" in stocks--and employes.

Before Evan could find a clerk who was willing or able to lend him enough to cover the cheque for eight dollars he had issued to pay board and buy a pair of shoes, Charon had set eyes on him from a distance and was beckoning to him.

The accountant had little glittering eyes. They shone out of his smooth, round face like boot-b.u.t.tons from a lump of dough. He fixed them on the cash-book man.

"Mr. Nelson," he said politely, "I'm sorry to tell you that head office has just telephoned down and asked for your resignation."

"My resignation!"

"Yes."

"But Mr. Charon, you're not going----"

"It's not my doing at all," said Charon, interrupting; "anything you have to say had better be told to the manager."

Evan had never been introduced to the manager, but he walked into the big private office and started saying he scarcely knew what.

"Oh, are you Mr.--er--, the young man whom head office has asked to resign?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm sorry I cannot do anything for you."

"But won't you tell me why I'm fired?"

The cash-book man gazed fiercely into the manager's eyes. A thought for his personal safety probably decided the pompous old gentleman to compromise a little.

"It's on account of that cheque you issued--and--and--"

"And what?"

"And that Banfield affair!"

The truth dawned on Evan. He stood for a moment oblivious of his surroundings, thinking of his father and mother and friends. He was suspected. It was worse than Robb had said: he was not only under disfavor, but under suspicion. Head office had only waited for a pretext to fire him.

"But I didn't take that money----" he began.

"Those are my instructions," replied the manager, turning to his work.

Evan felt sick. He tried to make the accountant talk, but all Charon would say was:

"You'll have to grin and bear it."

"Well, can I see the inspector?" asked Evan, in desperation.

"I wouldn't advise you to; it will do no good."

Turning away, the cash-book man entered a telephone booth and called up Castle.

"This is Mr. Nelson," he said, "of Banfield. Can I see you, sir?"

"No," snapped Castle; "I'm very busy."

"But I want to tell----"

The receiver clicked. Evan was aware of an answering sound somewhere within himself, as though the ties that bound him to honesty and good-faith had suddenly snapped.