"Say, Bo," he said, grinning; "don't let 'em kid you any more."
Evan's eyes suddenly opened. He made a confidant of this fellow and asked him about the initiation tricks of bankclerks. He was warned against winding combinations, ringing up fictitious numbers on the telephone, and other misleaders.
Evan did not smile when he handed the six fives back to the teller. He said nothing in reply to Castle's question, until the teller grew intolerable; then he growled:
"Go to hell!"
Evan was not a profane individual, as a rule, but there were times when drastic measures seemed justifiable.
Castle looked at him with real anger, and came out of his cage.
"You darn young pup!" he exclaimed menacingly.
Watson raised his voice in a loud laugh, and drew the teller's attention to the new man. Mr. Robb came back to the cage for some change—and the storm did not mature.
Evan was not relieved. He wanted to have a row with Castle. But it was not the teller he worried about back at his own desk: it was himself. He was ignorant! With all his high-school education and his big marks in languages he did not know that combinations should not be wound, or that three-dollar bills were not somewhere in circulation. There was knowledge for him in the bank, after all!
And he decided to make that knowledge his. He applied himself to the office books, after that, and fought against the desire to quit and go back to school. He would ask questions about everything and know all there was to know.
CHAPTER II.
SWIPE DAYS.
When Nelson was able to take out the collections Porter found himself in line for the savings ledger. It never occurred to the Bonehead that elevation was apt to bring added responsibilities; he thought only of the promotion. Nothing now mattered except the fact that J. Porter Perry was a ledger keeper. He managed to drop the information in every store on his last trip round with the bills, and proclaimed his successor in a tone that was very irritating to the new "swipe."
Evan ground his teeth—but thought of Frankie. He spoke respectfully to all the bank's customers, and tried to act like a gentleman, on the street. In a week's time he knew every merchant in town well enough to speak to him, and had overcome the giggles and whisperings of counter girls.
Mornings were always bright enough to him. When he first wakened a kind of pall usually settled about his lonesome crib, but the May sunlight soon helped him forget that he was "out in the world alone." He knew that his father would gladly send him money and stand by him no matter what happened. This was great consolation, although Evan did not admit to himself that it was. He wanted to be an independent man, as his forefathers had been; he was unwilling to have his father support him any longer by store-labor. When he reflected that soon he would be able to keep himself and make little gifts to his mother and sister he took courage and forged through whatever difficulty happened to be in the way.
Evan had seen college boys fritter away their time, miss examinations repeatedly and get into trouble that cost their fathers dearly. He determined that he would keep clear of youthful mixups and try to save his money, to show his parents that he appreciated what they had done for him, and to repay them, as well as he could, for what they had given him. Sometimes he thought he had made a mistake in going into a bank, but he felt, at that, that it was a brave and unselfish thing to do, and he thought he saw wherein banking had many advantages over school life. He could get an education behind the wicket and the iron railing that would make him self-reliant. This idea fixed itself firmly in his mind.
Homesickness still bothered him, of course. It made itself most strongly felt after meals, like a species of gout. A youth, especially a bankclerk, usually enjoys a good appetite; there is considerable excitement about satisfying it. But when bodily hunger is appeased the mind has leisure to satisfy itself or to feel dissatisfied. Evan could not throw off the gloom that settled on him in the afternoons and evenings. He saw and heard constantly that which reminded him of home and those he loved best. But he did not succumb to the torture. He faced his trials and resolved to make good.
While Nelson was battling against foes seen and unseen, Perry was engaged in gladiatorial combat with a savings ledger. In the space of a week he had developed a singularly profane vocabulary. Probably the contiguity of Watson had something to do with it. He was under the special tutelage of Watson, and the handling he received was anything but gentle. It surely did require patience to instill anything into that head of Porter's. His instructor would stand over him and tell him in a dozen words just exactly what entries to make in a customer's passbook. Porter would stare into oblivion during the lesson and when it was done make a dab at his ink-pot, enter up a cheque as credit, cross it out and make it a debit, then reverse the entry—all before Watson could interfere. The Bonehead was not slow; in fact, he was too rapid—but his swiftness was a serious detriment since the direction taken was usually wrong. Porter acted on impulses, and they seemed destined forever to be senseless. A swift inspiration came to him, he made a slash with his heavily inked pen, there was a blot, a figure with heavy lines drawn crookedly through it, an exclamation of despair—and then the blank look. The vacant expression seemed to be behind all his woes, and an empty mind was undoubtedly behind that.
"You missed your calling, Port," said Bill Watson on one occasion; "you should have been a sign painter. Those aren't figures you are making, you know."
Perry looked hopelessly at his work and then into the ledger keeper's face. Watson indulged in a spasm of mirth.
"I can hardly wait till balance day," he stammered, with difficulty controlling himself; "that nut of yours will crack—and I don't think there'll be enough kernel to excite a squirrel."
"Aw, cut it out and show me this," grumbled the savings-man.
"Yes," interrupted the teller, in his mandatory way, "don't be kidding him all the time, Watson."
The ledger keeper looked at Castle through the wire of the cage.
"Oh, hello, Clarice," he said, "when did you get back?"
The teller reddened, but made no reply. He was not accustomed to impudence, for he was a near relative of Inspector Castle's. This time, though, he could not find words to support his dignity, so he remained silent.
Evan heard him speaking to the manager about it, later.
"I simply won't stand it, Mr. Robb," he was saying; "they've got to show respect."
"Well, you know, Alf," said the manager carelessly, "they're only boys. Don't be too hard on them. … By the way, how do you like Nelson?"
"Oh, he's no worse than the general run," replied Castle impatiently; "I suppose he'll get there in time."
"Yes," said Robb, reflectively, "like the rest of us. … You know, I rather like the boy; he seems anxious to do his best."
Castle made no reply, but left the manager's office suddenly, as though disgusted at not having found satisfaction there. The manager sighed, deeply enough for Evan to hear, and murmured audibly:
"Mollycoddles, all of us!"
With that he slammed down his desk-top and reached for his hat with one hand and a half-smoked cigar with the other. When the front door closed behind him Watson and Perry engaged in a rough-and-tumble. A heavy ruler rolled to the floor with a bang, Porter's big boot struck a fixture, and various other accidents contributed to the hubbub.
"My——, cut it out!" shrieked the helpless teller, glowing with wrath.
Watson