_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 made a grab for him, but he rushed into his cage and locked the
door. The combatants were puffing too hard to speak, or one of them at
least would probably have vented some sarcasm. Evan eyed the
proceedings approvingly; it was a relief to witness a little disorder
where the orderly teller-accountant ruled. Porter, with all his
boneheadedness, was a match for any man in the office, including the
manager, when it came to the primitive way of "managing" affairs; Evan
was compelled to admire his physique and the tenacity with which he
clung to an opponent. After all "the porter" possessed certain
qualities not to be despised. But Watson hit the point uppermost in
Nelson's mind.
"Port," he said gasping, "if you would wrestle with your job as
gallantly as you do with an antagonist you'd soon be chief inspector."
Perry grinned.
"Come on, Bill," he coaxed, "put me next to this dope."
Bill bent over him and laid down the law. Evan finished his mail. The
teller brushed the office from him with a whisk, and, adjusting his tie
and hat to a nicety, walked out into the streets to be admired by the
female population of Mt. Alban.
An hour later the "swipe" was diligently dusting the front office, his
back to the door, when someone entered the bank. Thinking it was
Porter he did not look up, but went on with his work. There was a
sickening dusty smell in the office: the aftermath of a broom.
"Hello, there," said Robb; "do you work all the time, Nelson?"
Evan looked up with an apologetic smile, and, hurriedly dusting the
manager's chair, made as though to leave the sanctum.
"Don't run away, my boy," said the manager; "I came in on purpose to
see you. Sit down."
The junior obeyed.
"How do you like banking by this time?"
"Pretty well, sir, thank you," said Evan timidly.
Mr. Robb looked at him disconcertingly during a pause.
"Who advised you to join a bank staff, Nelson?" he asked, slowly.
"It was my own idea, Mr. Robb. I felt as though I had gone to school
long enough at my father's expense. He earns his bread hard and I
began to feel it was up to me to do something for myself."
"Oh, I see," said the manager, pensively. Again he was silent.
"Did you say you wanted to see me about something?" ventured the new
junior.
"Well--I--I was just wondering, Nelson, if you had taken up with the
bank just as a sort of notion, and if you had I was going to discourage
you."
"Don't you think it's a good business, Mr. Robb?"
"Sure--sure--it's all right. That is, for certain ones. You'll
probably be quitting it when you get older."
Evan did not reply immediately. He was trying to figure out what the
manager meant.
"I hope I'll get along well," he said, finally.
"I hope so, Nelson; you deserve it; I'll do all I can for you. But the
bank is rather uncertain, you know. We are all--well, more or less
servants. Even I get my call-downs regularly. You didn't know that,
eh? Well, you'll get wise to a whole lot of things as time goes on.
However, I don't want to discourage you. Do your best wherever you
are."
Mr. Robb puffed his cigar into life before continuing.
"Don't take things too seriously, though. Now Mr. Castle, for
instance--anything he says just swallow it with a few grains of salt.
He's got bank blue-blood in his veins, you know. And this sweeping and
dusting--don't be so particular. You should be out playing ball or
tennis. I must get a woman to clean up from now on. The last manager
here started this business, but I'm going to stop it. I didn't say
anything while Perry was on the job because it helped break him in to
the habit of discipline--but you don't need a schoolmaster; in fact,
you need a sporting coach.... Here, do you smoke?"
Evan declined the cigar with thanks.
"You're right," said Robb, "it's a poor habit.... Was there nothing in
your home town that attracted you?" he asked suddenly.
"What do you mean--a business?"
"Yes."
"No, sir. There doesn't seem to be anything so good as the bank for a
young fellow."
"That's right," smiled the manager; "there doesn't seem to be. The
only thing some people in this country can see is the bank."
The junior looked surprised. Robb smiled satirically.
"A little of it won't do you any harm though, Nelson. Stay with it for
a while, since you have left school for good, and something else will
come along.... How do you like your boarding-house?"
"All right, sir."
When the manager had gone Nelson sat submerged in thought. He came to
the conclusion that Mr. Robb had "some kick coming" or he would not
give the banking business such cheap mention. He was swayed by the
prejudice of his boyhood days when the bank boys of Hometon were the
big dogs; and by the well-remembered expectations of his dear mother:
"We're going to have a banker in our family!"
The same evening Evan was perched on a stool stamping a pad of "forms"
when Watson entered.
"Hello, Nelson," casually. "There wasn't a phone call for me, was
there?"
"No, I didn't hear any, Mr. Watson."
Bill turned his face and grinned. By and by he focused his black eyes
on the new "swipe."
"How do you like banking by this time?" he asked soberly.
"I'm beginning to like it better," said Evan.
After a pause: "You know, they're apt to move a fellow any time; even
you might be moved. You've got along a whole lot better than most
juniors, and I wouldn't be sur----"
The ledger keeper broke off--the telephone was ringing. He took down
the receiver and began to talk loudly enough for Evan to hear.
"Yes, long distance. Where? Toronto! All right. Hello. Yes, this
is the S---- Bank, Mt. Alban. Yes, this is one of the clerks. Who?
..."
Watson put his hand over the mouthpiece and whispered excitedly to the
staring junior:
"It's the inspector!" Then he continued to speak: "Yes, sir, we have
two junior men here. Yes, sir, one of them is here now. Three weeks.
Yes, he's pretty good. You want to speak to him, sir?"
Watson turned to Evan.
"Inspector wants you," he said in a businesslike way.
Evan felt his knees weaken. He stared at the ledger keeper
despairingly, but bucked up when Watson said:
"Don't keep him waiting--remember he's the inspector."
"Hello," said Nelson, feebly. "Yes, sir. I--I suppose so, sir, if the
b-bank wants me to. Report there at once?--all right, sir, I'll try--I
mean I'll report--"
He hung up the receiver and murmured: "Berne!"
"Well," said Watson, like one who had been waiting in suspense for the
news, "does he want to move you?"
The ledger keeper laughed very hard and called it a good joke.
"But it will mean more money for me, won't it?" asked Evan, anxiously.
"Sure, your salary will probably be doubled. They may put you on the
cash there. It's an out-of-the-way place, you know, and you're
practically an experienced man by now."
A few minutes later two of the boys from another Mt. Alban bank came to
the front door and were admitted by Watson. They formed a semicircle
around the latest man of the hour in bank moves, and plied him with
questions. They appeared to enjoy the thought of his being moved to a
remote quarter of the province. The thing finally struck Evan himself
as funny, and they all indulged in a very satisfactory laugh. It
developed later, but not before Evan had telegraphed the exciting news
home to his mother, that only three out of the four had known what they
were laughing at.
Soon after a boy enters the bank he begins to look for something
exciting, in the form of promotion, or a move. He is given to
understand that many interesting and profitable changes await every
bankclerk; he knows not the day nor the hour when he may be transferred
to far-off green fields, filled with strange girls and other "things"
to make life pleasant. It is this ever-growing expectancy which gives
banking a fascination for young men, especially country boys. They
cannot see the day of weariness and monotony that is coming, the day of
poverty and celibacy, because between that time and the present there
is a golden glamor, a flame of luring light. This flame is fanned by
the windy tongues of reckless clerks and fed with the "oxygen" that
escapes from head office envelopes.
Evan believed it possible for his reputation to reach the ears of the
inspector after three weeks' service, and, although he was surprised
for the moment, he considered it reasonable enough that one of the
high-up officials should communicate with him over the telephone. All
night he counted cash in a nightmare and saw himself signing letters to
head office as "pro-accountant." Early the following morning he packed
his trunk and mentally bade his room good-bye. On his way to the
telegraph office, before eight o'clock, he was surprised to meet Mr.
Castle, the teller.
"I heard about it, Nelson," said Castle, stopping him on the street,
"and came down to inform you. This funny work has got to stop."
The teller-accountant was partial to verbs of command.
"What's that?" said Evan, bewilderedly.
Then Castle explained the frame-up, and, leaving the junior to console
himself on his first big disappointment, went up town to breakfast.
"Long distance" had meant across the street in a competitive bank.
The feelings of humiliation and chagrin experienced by the poor "swipe"
were exactly those that come to all bankboys in the days of their
initiation. It was the beginning of wisdom for Evan: though the end
was a long way off. Just as he had fallen from the position of
pro-accountant to junior, and from $400 to $200, in one minute, would
he tumble off many another pinnacle, on his way to solid ground.
It was a week before the Berne sensation died out in the "banking
circles" of Mt. Alban. It expired one balance night, the end of the
month of May. Everything but work must be forgotten in a bank when
balance day comes.
The manager was back at his desk by seven o'clock, the teller in his
cage a few minutes later, Watson turned up about seven-thirty--the
savings-man had taken no nourishment at all. With a pair of red ears
and a mouth full of indelible he sat propped up to his savings ledger,
the picture of idiocy. His lips moved unintelligibly as he slowly
crawled up a long row of figures, smearing the sheet en route. At
regular intervals he stopped in the middle of a column, muttered
profane repetitions, and started at the bottom again. Watson cast a
twinkling eye on poor Perry.
"Hadn't you better graze, Port?"
No reply. This was a fight to the finish with Porter. His opponent
had him throttled, but still he was game. The current-account
ledgerman laughed ecstatically to himself. Castle was annoyed.
"Don't laugh, Watson," he said, again using his favorite imperative,
"you'll have to balance the savings yourself anyway."
Bill Watson squinted through the wire at his fellow-clerk.
"The 'Rules and Regulations' put that up to the accountant," he said,
still smiling. Castle ripped a blotted sheet out of his "blotter," but
made no answer.
Evan had hurried through with his mail and his supper, and was now
intensely occupied in adding the interest table. He was shown an
out-of-date table with figures at the bottom of each page, and told
that every month the junior had to add those stereotyped columns. Like
all bank beginners, Nelson did not use his brains. Juniors are taught
(1) to obey, (2) to work, (3) to ask no foolish questions. No matter
how absurd a task appears, perform it without a kick. The
happy-go-lucky boys take a chance and ask questions rather than do what
seems to be unnecessary work; but Evan was the conscientious kind, the
kind that obeys unquestioningly and never lets up until fully convinced
of error. There is a noble six hundred in the bank, as well as the
army; but in the bank the number is greater than six hundred.
Perry was working hard this balance-night, but not from a sense of
duty--he wanted to show the management that he could balance that
savings ledger. Porter was a bulldog; Evan more like a sleigh-dog.
The manager and the teller-accountant left the office about eleven
o'clock. Watson was "out" a small amount in the current ledgers, but
had left them to take down a new set of balances for Porter. Yawning
hopelessly, Perry leaned against the desk, wondering how on earth he
had ever managed to be out $396,492.11 in a ledger with deposits of
only $400,000.....
The town of Mt. Alban was silent. The main street was in darkness,
except for the gleam that came from the windows of three bank
buildings. It was past midnight, but out of twenty bankboys in the
town, fifteen were still working.
In one of the banks a young clerk slept, with his head on his hands and
his hands on an interest table. The ledger-keeper found him thus.
"Too dang bad," he said to Perry; "I forgot all about him.... Hey,
Nelson, it's morning!"
Evan raised his head and opened his eyes. Watson smiled good-naturedly.
"It's a shame to kid you," he said. "This was another bum steer. But
the practice in adding won't hurt you, eh?"
Nelson stumbled up the back stairs and fell asleep on his bed to the
tune of an adding-machine, run by Porter. In his dreams he stood at
the foot of a mighty column--of figures. It reached to the clouds. A
ghostly friend of Jack-in-the-Beanstalk's whispered to him that he must
climb that column if he would reach Success. Evan began the ascent.