A Canadian Bankclerk Part 7

His father came quietly out of the house and took a chair beside him, driving away his routine ruminations.

"Evan," he said seriously, "I had a talk with your old teacher not long ago and he said it was a shame for you to quit school just when you did. He said you should have got your matric. at least, so that if ever you tired of the bank you could jump right into college. Now, if ever you feel like quitting, remember I'll be only too glad to send you back to school."

Those words had an effect exactly the contrary to what was intended.

Evan felt the force of his father's generosity and unselfishness; he was strengthened in his resolve to be independent; not only independent, but a help to his father.

"No, Dad," he said; "I'm very fond of bank work, and I know I'll succeed."

Both encouragement and discouragement had the effect of spurring Evan on. There was no hope for him: he must go in and play the game--or, rather, fight the fight--to a finish. Then he would know what others knew but could not tell him; what Sam Robb knew and would have been happy to make every prospective bankclerk understand.

In spite of himself and his surroundings Evan felt the old homesickness creeping over him Sunday night. He had decided to take the first train on Monday back to work; he told himself that the hardest way was the best way, and he sought a short cut to success. After church Frankie found it difficult to elicit cheerful words from him.

The two strolled along a side street. Those dear old Ontario villages and towns where the boys and girls walk on Sunday nights along tree-darkened ways, how long will they listen to the repet.i.tions of lovers? Evan's and Frankie's parents had said the same "foolish"

things to each other that Evan and Frankie were now saying, and on the very same street. History repeats, but not with the accuracy of Love.

"Some day I'll come home a manager, Frankie," he was saying, "and then you and I will get married."

"Oh, I hope so," she answered.

She went to bed that night with a happy young heart, and Evan retired feeling sure he loved and would some day marry Frankie Arling.

CHAPTER IV.

_BEING A SPORT._

A sickening sensation took possession of Evan as he boarded the train Monday forenoon for Mt. Alban. He found it hard to banish from his thoughts the invitation his father had given him, to return to school and the pleasant experiences that made up a school education.

The two young girls waved him good-bye from the platform of Hometon station, and it afterwards became known that a tear had stood for a second in the bankclerk's eye.

"You needn't have come till night," said the manager, as Evan walked solemnly into the office.

The words made Evan more homesick than ever. One characteristic of the disease known as homesickness is a strong tendency toward a relapse.

One may imagine himself cured, he goes out of his environment,--and comes back with a new attack.

Because of the pain occasioned by visiting home Evan decided he would stay away several months before making another excursion among home-folk. In this resolve he was unintentionally selfish; his mother and his other friends loved to see his face, if it were but for an hour. But young men are always inconsiderate of their loved ones'

affections. They probably fear that in humoring their parents and kin they will humor themselves to the point of losing their grit. What Evan considered self-preservation was, from the standpoint of the folk at home, something resembling neglect or indifference. When his mother received a note from him saying he would not be home till fall, she had a "good" cry. Mr. Nelson smiled, while the women-folk were looking, and sighed later.

"Let him go it," he said, cheerily; "it takes these things to make a man, you know."

Mrs. Nelson was more resigned after that; she was most anxious to see her son "a man."

Frankie was also notified of the rigid resolve. She felt chilly while reading the letter, and postponed an answer for two weeks. The letter she wrote was as follows:

"Dear Evan,--I don't see why you should make yourself any further away than you really are. It may not be very much pleasure for you to come back to this little burg, but it _is_ nice for us.

"I wrote off my Latin and German papers to-day; to-morrow it's French and Literature. Do you remember how you used to help me guess the pa.s.sages for memorization? You surely were a lucky guesser.

"If you are dead certain you don't want to come home for all those months, you will at least write occasionally and tell us how you are getting along. Mother is calling me now, and I must close. I hope you won't be offended at this letter.

"Sincerely, "FRANK."

When Evan received the note from "his" girl he was much excited. Perry had been moved, a new junior had come, and the old junior was promoted to savings bank. Not only was he excited, he was confused. Besides having to actually wait on customers he was obliged to break in the new "swipe"; and the latter, sad to tell, was about Porter's speed.

The reply Evan sent Frankie was busy. It was rushed off to convey the good news of promotion, and must necessarily have a business ring. In spite of its brevity, however, it contained two or three new bank idioms.

Real work began for Nelson. Not to say that a juniorship is a sinecure: some swipes earn their salaries several times over. One was once known to write the inspector as follows:

"Dear Sir,--I could make more money sawing wood than I can banking."

The following reply came back, through the manager, of course:

"Tell M---- he could earn more money at the job he mentions, but that it would not take him so long to learn wood-sawing as it will to learn banking."

The inspector might have gone one step further and got to the truth of the matter. One requires no education to saw wood, and no intellect; but both education and a certain degree of intelligence must appertain to him who would make successful application to a bank; and education itself requires an expenditure of time and money. The ability a young man possesses has cost him something and has cost his father or widowed mother a great deal. What right has the bank to use it without paying what it is worth? It ought to be worth a bare living, at least--like wood-sawing.

Time flew, for Evan, on his new post. There is certain excitement about bank work, just as there is in playing checkers. It is said of both occupations that they develop the faculties. Counting the stars also strengthens certain brain-tissues. In fact, there are many educational agencies in the world and the universe: it is no trouble to find one or a thousand--the difficulty comes in selecting. He who can choose, with open eyes, the factors that shall enter into his education, is going to be among the fittest. But few boys of seventeen know where to look; certainly Evan Nelson did not. He was naturally a specialist; that is, he was one to put his whole heart into anything.

If he had been left to the moulding influence of a university he would have fastened upon literature or science and created something for the world; but, unfortunately, he was thrown headlong into a counting-house, and, being an enthusiast, began to dig among musty books with an energy that was, in great measure, wasted--except, to the beneficiaries of the concern.

The life he had led at home had given Evan scope for his imagination.

The life he now led made no demand on his creative powers, with the result that his imagination turned away from great things and concentrated on little things--like pleasure.

It was the old story, the story that Sam Robb and others knew. With Nelson it began later than usual, but came with a rush in the following way:

One night in his room above the vault he sat reading in French a story from De Maupa.s.sant, a dictionary beside him. Bill Watson walked into the room and sat down with a grunt, and a cigarette. He lounged back in a chair, well-dressed and glossy-looking, and puffed white rings upward toward the ceiling.

"Why don't you go out a little, Evan?" he said, casually.

The ledger keepers had become pretty well acquainted by now. Evan's sincerity and energy were telling on the books, too. Even Castle had spoken nicely to him one day.

"Out where?" asked Evan, looking away from the French fiction.

"To parties. Where did you think I meant--out in the back yard?"

"I don't know many people yet," replied the savings man.

"You never will, either, unless you make a break. Say, kid, there's a party on to-night. I can get you a pa.s.s. Will you come?"

"It's too late," parried Evan.

Bill regarded him with a look of pity.

"Don't ever make a break like that to a girl in this town," he said, smiling, "or she'll take you for a greeny. People don't go to dances at eight o'clock, you know--not in Mt. Alban."

Nelson felt embarra.s.sed. Watson was talking on: