Chapter 5

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 title 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 class 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. "I'll help him make it up, though."

Mr. Robb came to the cage door for some change, and the teller referred the matter to him.

"Oh, do your best with it, boys," he said. "I'm strong for co-operation. There isn't enough of it among the staff."

Castle turned away with a sneer.

"I've got the liability," he said, sulkingly.

"I'll take charge of that this time," returned Robb; "give the boys a hand at the savings, Alf. And say, Watson, get the cash book written up early so that I can post the general, will you?"

"All right, sir," said Bill, cheerily.

Evan experienced a thrill as these orders were passed around. He felt that he was part of a great system. The names of ledgers and balance-books sounded pleasant to him, for he was daily learning considerable about them. Their puzzles were solving and their mysteries dissolving before his constant gaze. He felt like an engineer lately on the job, or a new chauffeur, only more mighty.

His sense of greatness waned, though, toward midnight on balance day. The savings ledger was out an ugly amount. Bill was also in straits.

"It's a wonder to me," he growled, as the two plodded along alone in the semi-darkness, "that bankclerks don't go nutty."

Evan was scaling a column and did not answer. Watson continued, keeping time with the adding machine.

"Work, work, work; doggone them, it's a wonder they wouldn't ask for a few more particulars on this ledger-sheet. Why, in heaven's name, do they want the names of customers down at head office? They don't know these ginks here, and never will. If they don't believe our totals, why don't they come and look over the books? Oh, ----!"

"Hurrah!" shouted Nelson, cavorting around his desk.

Bill knew the savings man must have struck a balance, but he was too sorely irritated to show enthusiasm.

"Why don't you pat me on the back, Bill?"

"Shut up. Anybody could balance that passbook of a ledger."

Evan cooled down and remained quiet a while. Bill, thinking he had offended his companion, soon looked across with an apologetic smile. Nelson was staring wildly at his totals.

"What's the matter?" asked Watson, well acquainted with vacant looks in bankclerk faces on balance night.

"I--I thought I was balanced. It seems to be one cent out."

The reaction struck Bill as funny, because it duplicated experiences he had had and seen, but he made an effort to suppress his mirth. He laughed silently upon his own unbalanced return-sheet until his nervous system was satisfied, then he spoke.

"Evan."

"What do you want?" sourly.

"Did you ever hear the story about the maid who counted her chickens before they were?"

Evan scowled and raced up and down his columns in search of the stray cent. He did not find it. Bill took pity, seeing that he would not have to go past the units column, and proved Evan's totals. But the cent still hid.

"I'll bet it's in the calling," he said, grinning. "Do you know what that means?"

"No."

"It means you will have to tick off a whole month's work. And remember, we've got the interest to make up, too. No parties this week, kiddo. No more Julias for yours. She'll have another fancier by the time you're unearthed from this junk-heap."

Nelson wondered how Watson could make light of so gloomy a matter. He took his own work very seriously, as most bankboys have to. Bill often worried, but not about his work. When he changed pillows it was a question of finance.

"Cheer up, Nelsy," he said, carelessly, "things always turn up. Remember the old motto: 'It took Noah six hundred years to learn how to build an ark; don't lose your grit.' I'll fish you out if you get too far under water."

Evan was not fond of the idea of being fished out. He wanted to swim unaided.

But he failed. All next day he worried over his "difference," giving a start whenever one cent detached itself from an amount. In the evening Bill called off the ledger to him. When they were nearing the end he called an amount one cent wrong.

"What's that, what's that?" Evan repeated, excitedly.

Bill called it again, but rightly. He chuckled quietly for a little space, greatly to Nelson's aggravation.

It was midnight the first of the month. The savings man struggled alone with his balance; the desks swam around the office and figures danced like devils before him.

"D--!" he muttered.

That was one of his first legitimate swear-words at Mt. Alban--but others would come. The recording angel up above might as well open an account first as last, for one more human being had entered a bank.

The front door jarred and some of the bankboys entered. Bill was not quite sober, and one of his companions had, what he himself insisted was, "about half a bun."

"Don't work all night, Nelsy," said Watson, "th-there's another d-day coming."

"Sure, lots 'em," said the half-intoxicated one.

A teller from one of the other Mt. Alban banks extended a box of cigarettes toward Nelson.

"No thanks!"

"By heck, it helps a fellow a whole lot when he's tired," said the teller; "come on--just one."

Even felt fagged from hours of bootless labor. He hesitated, almost stupidly, and the bankclerk pushed the box rapidly into his hand. He figured it would be childish to refuse after that--and accepted his first cigarette.

It did help him, for the moment. After a few puffs he began to be amused at Bill's words and actions.

"Close up shop," said Bill, recklessly; "to ---- with honest endeavor."

"How much are you out?" asked the alien teller.

"One dirty little copper," said Bill, answering for his desk-mate.

"Let's have a look," said the teller. "This is against the rules, I know--"

"Aw, bury the rules," cried Watson.

While the teller looked Evan's difference loomed up as big as a mountain. The tired savings clerk had stumbled over it many times.

"By Jove!" he shouted, "give us another cigarette!"

A moment later he was sorry he had asked for it, but he was obliged to smoke it. It brought him such pleasant sensations he decided it would be a good medicine to take in crises of hard work.

Immediately after Nelson's difference was found, the boys planned a dance. They had been treated well by the girls of Mt. Alban, and it was up to them to reciprocate.

"Don't you think so?" asked the semi-drunk.

"Sure," said Evan, choking on an inhale.

"Who'll start the fund?" asked Bill.

"I will," responded Nelson, producing a five-dollar bill--all he had.

"That's the kind of a sport," said the foreign teller. "Gee! I haven't seen a real five outside my cage for a month."

"I wish I was on the cash like you, Jack," grinned Watson.

"What would you do?"

"Why, borrow a little occasionally. You didn't get me wrong, I hope?"

"No chance, Bill; we know you're honest."

The dance given by the bankboys of Mt. Alban was a success--in all but a financial way. The thing did not pay for itself, and there was an extra draft on each banker for two dollars. Even wrote home for a loan of five dollars. He also hinted that he needed a new suit, that he felt shabby at parties beside the private banker's son and the haberdasher's nephew. A cheque came signed "George Nelson"; it was twenty-five dollars high. Evan sighed. Then he slowly folded the cheque into his wallet.

He ordered a suit from one of the town tailors and paid ten dollars down.

Bill Watson usually wrote the cash book and the cash items. He saw the cheque from Hometon and made mental note of it. A day or two later he asked Evan for a loan to pay the bank guarantee premium, and got five dollars.

When his suit was finished Nelson was a few dollars short. He went on the tailor's books. The same night Julia Watersea called him up and asked him down. He felt obliged to take some candy along.

"How much should I spend for a box of chocolates, Bill?" he asked.

"Nothing less than a buck, kid," replied Bill, almost rendering his speech ambiguous.

Evan's salary was still two hundred a year--dollars, not pounds. The box of candy he bought consumed almost two days' earnings.