A Canadian Bankclerk Part 18

"Oh," he grinned; "I've been away so long I forgot there ever was such a thing as Christmas."

"By the way," asked his father, "how did you spend your last?"

"Working," said Evan.

The mother sighed softly.

"You look as though that's all you ever did," continued Mr. Nelson.

"Oh, no," said Evan, promptly, "I've had some good times since that Sunday, a year and a half ago, that I spent here. I have had it sort of tough lately and maybe I'm a little run down, but things will ease off after awhile."

It is characteristic of the bankman that he lives on the hope that work will fall off. Someone is always telling him, as he is always telling himself, that things will slacken; but, somehow or other, the strings stay taut.

Evan was quite a different lad now from the schoolboy who first came home with bank idioms to tickle his mother with and dumfound his sister. As he sat at the Christmas breakfast table his countenance was subdued, almost worried. The long balance-night orgies were registered there; the fixed expression that comes from searching out differences and the strain that accompanies each day's balancing of the cash.

Something more as well--debts!

All bankclerks contract debts. The careless ones do so thoughtlessly, the careful ones reluctantly--both necessarily. Evan owed about sixty dollars, tailor and other bills. A bankclerk must make a good impression on people; he must have a good appearance--head office makes that its business. The clerk's salary--that is n.o.body's business, not even his own. Evan did not mention the fact that he was in debt, when his father asked, good-humoredly,

"Making much money?"

"I'm living," smiled the son.

Lou thoughtlessly said something ill-advised.

"Got a new girl, brother?"

Mrs. Nelson blushed, but her Banker did not. He laughed.

"That's one thing we learn to forget," he said, brazenly.

The caresses of "sweethearts in every town" had had their effect. His sister gave him a rebuking look. He saw a question in her eyes and the shape of it resembled Frankie Arling's contour.

Some women prefer suspense to disappointment. Mrs. Arling evidently did not, for she asked, palpitatingly:

"When are you going back?"

Evan was embarra.s.sed. He evaded the question.

"It's too early to speak of that, mother," he fenced. "Our manager is delicate and apt to break down at any time. I promised to be back--soon. I am the whole thing up at Banfield."

"Are you teller yet?" asked Lou.

"Sure," said Evan, "and then some. I'm pro-manager."

"Let's see," said his father, dropping a hot egg, "what are they paying you now?"

"Three fifty," replied Evan humbly.

It was not the diminutiveness of the figure that sounded so mean to him, but its a.s.sociation with the word "pro-manager." He was not ashamed of a low salary, but of a humble position. If he could convince his father that the position he held was responsible and man-worthy, he would not mind about the salary. Bankclerks are constantly fed with promotion when it is money they need, but they are so trained that elevation practically stands for increase, to them.

"I often run the office for days at a time when the manager is in bed,"

said Evan.

"And the cash--it's in your charge entirely, isn't it?"

"Yes," said the son, proudly.

Mr. Nelson took a deep draught of strong tea. Mrs. Nelson sat silent.

Lou pa.s.sed her brother a piece of fresh toast she had made for herself.

She got her brother alone after breakfast, ostensibly to show him her presents.

"Evan," she said, eyeing him as she used to years before when he had done something to puzzle her, "you don't seem very anxious about somebody."

He did not parry with a question.

"What's the use, Lou?" he said.

She thought a moment: "I guess there is no use of getting serious on seven dollars a week."

Her reasonableness comforted him and he told her so. They became as intimate as when they were children.

"You don't suppose Frank still--well, thinks she is in love with yours truly, do you, Lou?" he asked.

"Well--she doesn't act like it," replied Lou, rather indignantly. "You won't be surprised if I tell you something?"

He said he wouldn't.

".....Frankie is going with another fellow!"

Evan drew a silver case of cigarettes from his pocket, took out a "smoke" and replaced the case. Lou regarded him in amazement.

"Why, Evan!" she exclaimed.

He laughed. His mother smelt the smoke.

"My boy, I'm ashamed of you," she said, coming into the parlor.

He smiled around the cigarette, and said inarticulately:

"I don't smoke many."

"Why don't you use a pipe?" came a deep voice from the kitchen.

"I have a pipe," said Evan.

"Here, take a cigar," returned the father immediately, coming in to rarefy the atmosphere.

Promptly Evan twirled his cigarette into the grate and accepted a cigar with an adult air. Lou began laughing, but soon checked herself and endeavored to give the youthful debauchee a look of scorn. Unable to carry it out, she gazed out of the window.