A Canadian Bankclerk Part 11

He had a sudden impulse to take her hand, but she seemed to detect it, and subdued him with a powerful smile.

"Miss Wat--"

"Call me 'Julia,' won't you?"

"All right, I will." (But he didn't.) "I think you are a good sport."

"Oh, Mr.--"

"Call me 'Evan,' will you?"

"What a nice name," she smiled; "it's odd. All right, Evan, but you mustn't call me a 'sport.'"

He had thought it was going to be considerable of a compliment.

"You know what I mean, Miss--Julia!"

"Oh, don't call me 'Miss Julia,'" she laughed; "that sounds like a maiden aunt."

He colored; his breaks were coming too thickly.

They wandered down the lawn-walk to the gate, and there Nelson bade her good-night by shaking hands. He knew she would be in the bank next day, but handshakes are always in order after nine o'clock p.m.

As he walked along Mt. Alban's quietest and prettiest street toward the bank a peculiar sense of loneliness and guilt possessed him. He suggested to himself that he only regarded Julia as a friend, and that knowing people like the Waterseas was necessary to his success as a banker. Of course he intended to pay his way along; he would always give Julia candy and take her out, in return for her kindness to him.

The thought that he might be involving her in one of those attachments more easily made than broken did not enter Evan's head. He was too inexperienced to worry over such matters. Others were too experienced.

Telepathic waves reached him from Hometon. He saw Frankie's face clearly outlined inside the Little Dipper. He remembered his words to her, words containing a promise. Yes, indeed, he would be true--

But still he felt the warmth of Julia's hand. Why had he taken it in his, and why had he felt buoyant when she blushed?

He was vaguely conscious of a conflict in his heart. Yet he swore to himself that everything would be all right. Young men are usually quite sure that nothing unpleasant can come of anything.

Bill Watson was sitting in the manager's office when Evan entered. He greeted the savings man with a puff of smoke followed by no words.

"Something new for you to be in so early, Bill," said Evan.

Bill opened his mouth in the shape of a cave, and kept the white smoke revolving within it--like some sort of mysterious and legendary white fleece.

"How did she like the chocolates?" he said suddenly.

"They seemed to go all right."

Bill puffed a while.

"Shame to blow good coin like that," he said, musingly.

"Why?"

"Well, when a fellow thinks of the blots he makes earning a bean he should be gentle with it."

Nelson laughed derisively.

"You're not getting economical, are you, Bill?"

"No, but, I'm sore on myself to-night. About once a month I take a night off to repent."

Evan pinched his pal's knee-cap.

"A fellow can't be a piker, Bill," he said, with the air of a profligate young millionaire escapading in the columns of the press.

"You can't go to parties and things without spending money."

Watson looked at his desk-mate.

"Evan," he said, thoughtfully, "in about two years more you'll be just where I am."

"Where's that?"

"In debt, and a spendthrift--if you can call me a spendthrift for getting away with $400 a year."

Nelson sighed. It was unusual for Watson to turn monitor. What he said was all the more effective on that account.

The Hometon boy thought of his tailor's account. He would have to be writing home for more money before long--unless he could borrow it.

The very caution Bill had sounded suggested to Nelson a way out. He would borrow from a stranger. He could pay his father back the cheque, and also he could settle the tailor's bill. Just how he would settle the real debt itself was not for present consideration. It never is.

It is the humanest thing in the world to borrow money.

Evan turned the light on his desk and wrote a letter to his father. It thanked the merchant for his loan, in rather a businesslike manner, and a.s.sured him he would get the money back. This was the letter of an ostensibly self-made son to his merchant father, reversing the t.i.tle of a well-known story.

Another letter Evan wrote--to Frankie Arling. This one was as follows:

"Dear Frank,--It is quite a while since I wrote you. I hope you have not been accusing me of negligence. I am pretty busy, you know.

"The people up here are mighty kind to us bank-fellows. There is one family in particular that uses us white. Miss Watersea--that is the daughter--told me last night I was to come up as often as I could.

They have a magnificent home. I wish I were making more money so that I could take Julia (that's her name) out more.

"How are you getting along at school? It's surprising how soon a person forgets those lessons you are now learning. Bill is calling me--I must close for this time.

"Yours, as before, "EVAN."

If he had known the comments Frankie would make on a conspicuous sentence of one of his paragraphs, Evan would have made the letter still shorter than it was. It was natural that he should refer to Julia. One should never write a letter to anyone when someone else is on his mind, unless the third party is a mutual friend. Letters, like young children just able to talk, have a habit of telling tales. Often we say to a sheet of paper what we would scarcely tell by word of mouth to the one to whom it is addressed; and yet the letter is mailed and forgotten with the profoundest nonchalance.

The following day a long envelope came from head office to the Mt.

Alban office. It contained the "increases."

Castle's salary was raised from $650 to $800. Watson got $100; Evan a raise of $50. The junior did not expect any, and he was not disappointed in his expectations. Nevertheless he was disappointed.

Mr. Robb was snubbed! He said nothing. Bill emulated the manager's stoicism--another two dollars per week made little difference to Bill; it would all have to go out in debts, anyway.