A Canadian Bankclerk Part 8

"It helps business, you know. Customers like to know the fellows who are looking after their money. They like to think you take an interest in them."

Evan closed his book quickly.

"I'm not afraid to go to the hanged party," he said suddenly.

"That's talking, Nelsy. Get busy, then. You've got nothing to shave, so it shouldn't take you long to get ready."

Before long the new savings man presented himself dressed for the dance. Bill regarded him with concealed amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Say, Evan," he said softly, "could you lend us a dollar? I think there's something in my account, but I forgot to draw it this afternoon."

Evan knew there was nothing in Bill's account, but he could not refuse the trifling loan. He wondered how Watson could spend eight dollars a week, when his board only cost him three dollars and a half.

In return for the loan Bill did his best to make Evan feel comfortable at the dance. Now the savings man knew nothing about dancing, and he was equally ignorant of cards. He found girls at the party anxious to teach him the former, and married ladies ready to give him "a hand."

With thought of Watson's recently delivered words fresh in his mind, he began to learn new ways of making himself valuable to the bank. He would ingratiate himself with the customers.

Two members of the party were particularly agreeable "customers." Evan discovered that there were some very interesting girls in Mt. Alban.

One of the two belles paid Watson great attention and the other seemed partial to Evan himself; both treated him exceedingly well.

"She's a bird, isn't she, Nelson?" observed Watson, when the two bankclerks were alone for a moment.

"You bet. That dark hair of hers is mighty becoming."

Watson laughed.

"I mean the other, you jacka.s.s. Mine."

"Oh," said Nelson, absently.

The following day Julia Watersea came into the bank and deposited some money with the teller. Evan felt his face fill up when he saw the red pa.s.sbook--it meant she would have to face him before the transaction was finished.

"How are you to-day?" he asked, working hard on the book and trying to look professional.

"Very well, thank you, Mr. Nelson. By the way, do you like picnics?"

Bill kicked him from behind.

"Yes--yes, indeed," said Evan, quickly.

"Well, we girls are getting one up for Sat.u.r.day afternoon. Could you and Mr. Watson come?"

Bill rushed up to the savings wicket.

"Could we?" he cried, smiling at the dark-haired girl. "Can we?"

"All right," said Julia, with color; "we're going to meet at our place."

De Maupa.s.sant and the dictionary were doomed. Bill warmed up to the junior ledgerman now that the latter was growing sociable. He periodically forgot to put a cheque through during bank hours, preferring to do his business through Evan.

Miss Watersea's picnic happened, and it was a good one. Evan enjoyed himself so well he forgot to write Frankie her weekly letter. He would have had to mention Julia in it, anyway, and perhaps it was as well to omit writing altogether.

The girl Bill called his was something like Lou Nelson. Evan felt at home in her company, but she did not attract him in the same way Julia did. Hazel Morton had more fire in her than either Lou or Julia--that, Evan said to himself, was how it was she held Bill Watson. Bill was not at all easy to hold.

In the day when Evan Nelson was a savings ledgerman, bankclerks in Eastern towns were nicknamed "village idols." The t.i.tle was quite appropriate, too. Even yet bankboys are looked for and looked after in those towns. It is quite natural that they should be, for they are a good cla.s.s of fellows. The worst that can be said about them, as a rule, concerns their prospects; and it is to the credit of young women that they do not take a man's means into account when they want to fancy him.

After the picnic Bill and Evan were alone above the vault. The current-account man was moody.

"Kid," he said, impulsively, "it's ---- to be poor, isn't it? Why don't you kick once in a while? The only decent kicker we have around this dump is Robb. He's all right."

Evan smiled pensively.

"---- it," continued Watson, "I don't see why a fellow can't earn enough to--to--"

"Get married on?" suggested Evan, who was, at the same moment thinking of an ideal composed of Frankie Arling and Julia Watersea.

"Sure! Why not?"

"Would you really like to get married, Bill?"

"Yes, I would."

"So would I."

Watson was forced to laugh. He was twenty--that was bad enough. But Nelson was not yet eighteen. Bill continued to gaze at the serious face of his companion until his own countenance changed. Instead of speaking or sighing he lighted a cigarette.

"Will you have one, Nelsy?"

Evan shook his head.

"Do you think Julia would object?"

"What's she got to do with me?" challenged Nelson.

"Why, she's your girl, man. Sailors have sweethearts in every port, you know, and bankers in every town."

Evan tried to connect sailors and sweethearts with cigarettes, but just at that time was unable to establish anything but a far-fetched relationship. Later in life, on the Bowery, he thought he saw the connection.

In the midst of parties and picnics balance day loomed up. Castle's frame of mind, like a special make of barometer, registered the event a day or so in advance.

"Have you got your ledger proved up?" he asked Evan.

"Pretty well, I think."

Under Bill's tutelage, Evan had dropped the "sir" when speaking to Castle.

"Remember, the interest has to be computed this month. Watson, it will be up to you to check it."

"I'm not the accountant," said Bill, chewing gum with a smacking noise.