A Canadian Bankclerk Part 44

"Why did you leave?"

"My salary was too small."

"Well, I believe you will be all right. Just drop in to-morrow morning at nine o'clock, Mr. Nelson, and I think I can put you to work."

The salary was to be eight dollars a week with good opportunities for advancement. The slaughter-house smelt quite pleasant to Evan as he pa.s.sed it on his way to the car. He felt joyful at heart, and hopeful for the future.

But, oh, that head, how it ached! What sense was there in drinking to drown sorrow when a fellow suffered so the day after? His stomach was sick, and he couldn't endure the sight of a wine-shop. After all, he thought, the liquor was not a drowner of sorrow, but a procrastinator; and, as in the case of postponed debts, interest was added.

Robb was in their room when Evan arrived at Mrs. Greig's boarding-house.

"Well," said the old bankclerk, "how do you feel now?"

"No more booze for me," replied Evan, smiling.

Robb answered with a smile. "I'm glad you're not worrying anyway, old chap. Things will be all right before long."

"The reason I'm not worrying," said Evan, "is because I've got another job. I go on in the morning."

He explained about the abattoir company's offer.

"Well, you're the limit! What salary?"

"Eight a week. They asked me where I'd been working, and why I left."

Robb asked quickly:

"What did you say?"

"I told them the bank, and said I left because of insufficient salary."

The elder man was thoughtful. "I guess that's about all you could say," he replied.

If Evan had not felt so f.a.gged he would probably have written home that he had a new position: as it was, he went to bed early, and arose next morning feeling like a human being. He walked down the avenue with his room-mate, who wished him good luck at Queen Street.

It was before nine when he reached the office of the abattoir company.

The manager came in punctually, and gave the young applicant a cold nod.

"Mr. Nelson," he said, "I'm sorry we cannot give you that position. I telephoned the manager of the bank you worked for and he referred me to head office, who said they could not recommend you."

Thunderstruck, dumb-smitten, unable to say a word in his defence against the lies of head office, Evan turned away. He walked north to King Street, more miserable than he had ever been in his life. He wondered, behind his misery, why the bank would not recommend him; were they intent on making a criminal of him?

The day pa.s.sed slowly. Evan waited for his old friend at the boarding-house, and nursed a growing headache.

"I was afraid of it," said Robb. "Bank officials justify themselves and the bank no matter what happens. Besides being determined to carry out any bluff they have started they will never admit that they pay a man too little salary. If he quits because of starvation pay they say he was no good as a clerk. The bank must maintain at all costs what it calls its dignity. Dignity be--"

Instead of swearing the old bankclerk sighed. He had often said he was tired; now he thoroughly looked it.

Evan sighed too, but chiefly on account of the pain in his head. He went to bed both sick and discouraged, but in an hour he was too sick to think of discouragement. Mrs. Greig had a doctor in, and the ex-bankclerk was given a hypodermic injection. It drove away his pains and sent him sailing into a pleasant land.

Sam Robb did not rest so blissfully.

CHAPTER XVII.

_A BANKCLERK'S GIRL._

After three days' sickness Evan realized, and the doctor emphasized it, that he had been near to nervous collapse.

"The country and outside work for you now, young man," said the physician; "leave offices to men with broad shoulders, like Mr. Robb's."

"Yes," observed Robb, present at the consultation, "let them kill the man who wants to die. I think you're right, doctor; Nelson needs a dose of farming. I have it, Evan! .... I know a fine fellow on a fruit and vegetable farm near Hamilton. He'll be tickled to death to have you, as long as you want to stay; and you'll save money, too."

"A good idea," added the physician, to whose profession money usually looks good.

In a day or two Evan was ready to go in search of health. A telegram from Robb to the Hamilton man brought a phone response that fixed a salary of thirty dollars a month with board. It looked like a fortune to the ex-bankclerk, and he was eager to begin work.

"Before I go, Mr. Robb," he said, somewhat backwardly, "I want to ask you to do something for me."

"Name it," said Sam.

"I don't want my folks to know I'm out of the bank. If they knew I was farming for my health they'd be offended because I didn't go to Hometon. But I can't bear the thoughts of going back home down-and-out---you know how it is."

Sam nodded. "I understand how you feel about it."

"Well, I'm going to forward the weekly letter I write to mother and let you re-mail it from Toronto, addressed on the typewriter. I'll only be a month getting in shape, and then I'll have an office job somewhere."

An "office job" embodied Evan's conception of success, as it did that of his relatives, and many another golden-calf wors.h.i.+pper. He had yet to be weaned.

"I'll do it, my lad," replied Robb, cheerfully; "now then, off with you. And don't forget to write. If, after a month or so, I run across anything in town that I think would appeal to you, I'll wire. j.a.pers lives right in the suburbs of Hamilton, and has a telephone."

The "T. H. & B." carried westward a considerably happier mortal than had been in Evan Nelson's shoes for many a day.

j.a.pers' farm showed up to advantage on a fine May morning. So did his daughter, Lizzie. She was plump, pretty, and peasant-like. Her efforts to sneak cream and sugar into the new "hand's" tea a second and third time were evidence of her normal good nature, if nothing more.

The first day out the ex-bankclerk did not do much. He was busy admiring the symmetry of gardens and orchards, though not of daughters.

In his part of the country those who took any interest in fruit raising allowed the trees to grow up, out, and into each other without molestation, believing in the ever-lasting benevolence of Providence and the frailty of pests; with the result that fruit became wormier and scarcer every year. But in the "Fruit Belt" conditions were different; everywhere was order and care; the budding blossoms made the well-ordered fruit patches fairy groves for beauty. The first day of his sojourn Evan opened his nostrils, closed his eyes, forgot the bank, and thanked G.o.d some doctors knew their business.

His employer would have had him rest a second day, and particularly would Miss j.a.pers have done so, but Evan wanted to show that he was a worker, and also had an eye on the coming dollar per day. So he walked manfully up the rhubarb patch and set to work. Occasionally a muscle slipped and he jerked a whole root out of the ground; but this error was remedied immediately by clawing a little dirt around the root and leaving it--to die. Evan, of course, was innocent of harm done: he saw no reason why rhubarb should not grow in loose dirt as well as tight.

In his sleep, the second night, he wandered in a field of burdocks, plucking the largest stalks for Burdock Blood Bitters. He stopped to chat with a buxom girl possessed of an innocent, rustic manner, and thought she laughed at his white, feminine hands. Next day, as a coincidence with his dream, Lizzie j.a.pers did remark about the ex-clerk's hands, but the stains on them and not their whiteness elicited her observations--and decided her to telephone to the grocer's for a box of snap.

When his back got used to bending Evan began to enjoy gardening. He felt like a bird that had flown out of a cellar into a garden. Lake Ontario sent a breeze up to him, to carry his mind away on its wings.

Peach blossoms were turning more pink; sight of them and the smell of them made the world irresistibly charming. Was it really he who had wallowed in janitor's dust and vault damps with a monster called "Cash Book?" Was not that but a figment of those vague nightmares he had had as a child, when he fell asleep with his clothes on?

Anyway, it did not exist now; and the superb happiness of that realization made the days fly--and days brought dollars. Of course, money did not matter so much now that he had no landlady to pacify; he would have been satisfied with fifty cents a day and board. Such meals as he got!--onions, radishes, lettuce, cream, b.u.t.ter made from real cream, eggs still bearing traces of the hen, and everything to build without poisoning.