A Canadian Bankclerk Part 13

"Well," continued the manager, "I'm going to suggest to head office that Alf is drawing too big a salary for this branch to support. It may get me in bad, but after all is said and done I'm manager here, and deserve a little say. If they move him the staff will be raised one notch all round. Watson ought to make a capital teller, and--I like him."

Before long the Mt. Alban manager wrote about the matter, without consulting his teller. The reply he got from head office read:

"Please instruct Mr. Evan Nelson to report at once to Creek Bend, Ontario. By taking on a new junior you can cut down expenses and still keep your present teller.

"(Signed) I. CASTLE."

When Bill Watson saw the inspector's instructions he cursed volubly behind his ledger and exclaimed:

"That settles it; me for a move, too."

Mr. Robb called him on the carpet.

"Watson," he said, "you have a nice job in this office. I heard you talking to Nelson a while ago about a move. Now if you s.h.i.+ft from here it won't help your salary any, and it may involve you in a bunch of work. Besides, you have a free room here."

Bill thought a while.

"I guess that's a fact," he said finally. "I won't say anything. I guess you and I can hold the fort against Mr. Alfred Castle, eh?"

The manager laughed and extended his hand.

"Bill," he said (usually he called the ledger-keeper "Watson"), "I'm in wrong already, and if you asked to leave, head office might think there was something wrong with my management."

"I get you," said Bill, unconsciously speaking as he would to a pal.

"By the way, do you suppose the Big Eye knows that Alf has a girl here?"

"Sure--likely," said Robb; "I'm now convinced that that boy chirrups to his dear uncle about everything."

After musing a bit Bill observed:

"I wish I could make him blow on me. No, I don't, either--he hasn't got the physique to stand it."

Robb chuckled. They spoke of Nelson.

"He's a good scout," said Bill. "How is it they always move the decent heads away?"

"I give them up," said the manager; "the older I grow the more head office puzzles me."

Nelson rapped at the door and was invited in. "Well," grinned the manager, "our pipe-dream didn't mature, did it?"

But Evan was having one of his own, and while he did not like to leave so kind a manager as Robb, he was thinking almost entirely of himself.

"I'll probably be teller in Creek Bend, won't I?"

"Yes," said Bill, "if there's anything to be 'told.'"

The manager laughed quietly.

"Take care you don't get lazy, Evan," he said. "They won't leave you there forever. It will be a city office for yours in due course, and then you'll need to be in practice. You'll be sure to hit a bees'-nest before you quit the bank."

"If they always use me right," said Evan, "I won't ever quit."

"Well," yawned Watson, "if you're satisfied, Nelsy, I guess they are."

Nelson waited a minute before making the request he came with the intention of making.

"Mr. Robb," he asked, "could I take a day off to run home and see the folks? Creek Bend is a hundred miles away and hard to get at--so the station agent says."

"Sure," said the manager, "but I'll have to 'fix' the head office travel-slip."

"What's that?" asked Evan.

Mr. Robb showed him a slip of paper to be signed by the manager of the branch left and the branch arrived at, also by the transient clerk.

This slip records the time to a minute and allows no stop-over or visits en route. Neither does it permit of delay in leaving.

Evan suddenly decided he would not bother going home. He explained to Watson later that he considered it crooked to tamper with the travel-slip and thought he would be a cad to let the manager run the chance of further incurring head office displeasure by altering it.

"By heck," said Bill, "you've got to let some of that good conscience run out if you ever expect to stay in the bank."

"Well, Bill," was the reply, "when I find that I can't be honest in the bank I'll get out of it."

Watson remembered that remark years afterwards.

Evan wrote letters home, one to his mother and one to Frankie Arling.

Then he packed his trunk and bade good-bye to Mt. Alban. Within four hours after receiving notice from head office he was on the train bound for Creek Bend.

Mrs. Nelson cried over her son's letter, and went to her husband for consolation.

"Carrie," he said, "it will do the boy good."

"But why didn't they let him say good-bye to us?" she cried.

"Well," answered George Nelson, "business is business, you know."

In his store-office the father used profanity. Men swear. He voiced a wish that all banks were made of sand and situated in the neighborhood of Newfoundland.

Frankie swallowed something in her throat as she read her letter.

There was one grain of comfort in it, though, prompting the utterance:

"That ends Julia!"

CHAPTER VI.