_BLACKBALLED._
During the progress of the drama in which Nelson played so conspicuous
a part and which he regarded as a tragedy, Sam Robb was at the
Receiver-General's exchanging money for the paying-teller. He had not
returned before Evan was gone from the office for good.
"What am I to do, Mr. Charon?" Nelson asked the accountant, after
Inspector Castle's insult.
"Grin and bear it," repeated the accountant, thinking, no doubt, that
he had hit upon a very happy phrase.
Evan felt that it would take all his moral valor to "bear it" without
the "grinning." He fulfilled that latter half of Charon's command--it
seemed like a command rather than a suggestion, to the bank-trained
clerk--three or four years later.
"But what about the fifty dollars I owe the bank?" he asked.
"I suppose you'll have to put it up," said Charon, studying the
expression of the face before him.
"But there is three months' salary coming to me, according to the Rules
and Regulations," replied Evan.
The accountant did not have to scratch his head; apparently he was
prepared to act deliberately.
"Well," he said, "since they haven't said anything about the silver you
had better say nothing. We are paying you two weeks in advance; let it
go at that."
For a moment Evan figured. There is no crisis where a bankclerk can't
figure. Three months' salary would be $90. That was coming to him.
But he owed the bank $50, and they had paid him $15 more than was due,
leaving only $25 due him. It would not pay to fight them for so small
an amount. In fact, he did not know how to fight; besides, the vim was
knocked out of him and he only wanted to get away from that wretched
office. A strong revulsion possessed him; he turned away from the
accountant without answering, and his eyes wandered about the dark,
bad-smelling office. He suddenly discovered that he hated every desk,
every book, and the brazen-faced fixtures.
But coming to his own desk he found the work piling up, and
mechanically he lifted a pen to straighten things up a bit before
leaving. A good bankman, under any circumstances whatever, cannot
endure to see things in a mess. Evan had scarcely taken up his pen to
make an entry in the "bank book" when Alfred Castle glided toward him
and said in a high-pitched, authoritative tone:
"Never mind that, Nelson; you're through here and we want you to quit."
The fired clerk was too badly wounded, for the moment, to be angry.
Later, he wondered why Fate should have been so spiteful as to send
Castle, above all others, on that humiliating errand. He suddenly
remembered the way Alfred had greeted him on his arrival in Toronto,
and came to the conclusion that from the first he had been under
suspicion with that respectable nephew of the "Big Eye's."
Evan went down to the basement for his hat, not quite expecting to find
it there; in truth, he would not have been much surprised to find the
basement itself gone. Certainly, the foundation had disappeared from
under a structure mightier and stronger, as he viewed it, than piles of
stone and mortar. He had frequently criticized the office slavery of
the bank, but he had never lost faith in the institution's magnitude
and imperishability. It was the solidity of it that he had banked on
and clung to, in spite of blinding work; but now the golden god had
crumbled, like the smitten image of Daniel's dream--so far as Evan was
concerned. The idol still stood for idolaters, of course, like that
other image in the Prophet's time; but to the enlightened, the
awakened, it had perished. And, to carry the analogy further, Evan,
like Daniel, saw before he understood. He must have his vision
interpreted for him. Time would accomplish that. Just now he gazed
and wondered. Clearly he saw a ruin, but as yet it was inseparable
debris, and the sight of it put his head in a muddle.... While he
washed his hands in the basement he stared at the wall, and looking
away from that his eyes met those of Bill Watson.
"Hello," said Bill, hurriedly, "what are you fooling away your time
down here for at this hour of the day? You must have the c. b. down
finer than ever I got it, Nelsy. By gum, you've travelled some since
you came here; I was on the job six months----"
Watson paused suddenly.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
Evan saw that Bill was uninformed. Such is the rush of a city office
that one man does not know what happens to another, until the pipes are
lit and "chewing the fat" commences.
In a few words Nelson told his old desk-mate what had happened. Bill
was speechless. He did not even swear. He stood looking at Evan, but
his eyes seemed too wide-open to see anything. While he was trying to
frame words the voice of Charon sounded at the head of the basement
stairs.
"Watson, Watson!" A customer was probably waiting to deposit.
Urgent as was the accountant's voice, Bill delayed long enough to shake
hands and say:
"Come up and see me at the boarding-house; I want to tell you
something."
Evan half promised--but never went. The next time he saw Bill they
were far away from Toronto and banking.
As the cash-book man walked through the office with his hat in his
hand, Marks, the C man, shouted:
"Hey, the banks are balanced!"
Evidently the accountant had kept the matter quiet. The boys who
happened to see Nelson pass out of the front door probably thought he
was taken with one of his violent headaches, and had gone for a
druggist's dose. He had done that several times during his cash-book
experience. Once he had been taken with an acute indigestion pain and
a doctor was called in. The doctor advised him to take a taxi home. A
few days later the bankclerk was presented with a bill for $3.50--half
a week's salary. The indigestion, needless to say, had been caused by
eating a cold lunch under the nervous excitement of waiting work.
Another time he had been searching in the vault for a package of old
vouchers and a book had fallen on him, breaking both lenses of his
glasses: cost $4.50--more than half a week's pay. Those things were
all "in a day's work," Willis used to say. So were board and bed. The
fact of the matter is, Nelson was given nothing and had nothing outside
of a day's work; a day's work was what he lived for. And there are
hundreds of Nelsons in the banks now.
As Evan passed Charon, the accountant did not raise his head; nor did
Castle lift his. Evan did not care; they were nothing to him now.
Neither was the bank anything to him. He cursed it; in oaths he had
never expected to use he cursed it.
With the very taste of profanity on his lips, Nelson stood absently
gazing into a liquor store. The shiny bottles fascinated him. He
wondered if the stuff in them was all that it seemed to men to be;
would it drown care and disappointment? Above all, would it bring
unconsciousness?
He had seen Robb lying drunk, and the sight had interested him. Robb's
sprees were not bestial like Penton's; they were dead, harmless. That
was the sort of thing Evan, in his melancholy state of mind, would
like. He had tasted liquor and it rather tickled his palate; why not
carry a bottle up to the boarding-house and go in soak for the
afternoon? He knew it was wrong, but he wanted to do something
desperate; also, he wanted to make sure of falling asleep and
forgetting everything. He thought of his mother and sister, and of
Frankie, as he looked into the liquor store. That was just the
trouble, he thought too much about them. What would they think of his
dismissal? It would break the mother's heart and the girls could never
understand. Evan was in a torture of worry. He wanted to cry, as he
would have done ten years before, but that was out of the question--he
was twenty; so he repeated an oath that made him shiver and feel
penitent, then went deliberately into the wine shop. He bought two
flasks of cognac, and slipping one into each hip-pocket turned up Queen
Street to University Avenue.
Mrs. Greig was in the kitchen when Nelson reached the boarding-house.
He went quietly up the stairs to his room, which had been done up and
would not see the maid again that day, and shut himself in. Unscrewing
the top of one flask, he put the neck to his mouth and swallowed two
gulps. The room was warm, but he did not think to open the window. He
sat back in a wicker chair and concentrated his mind on the liquor.
How much would it take to make him drunk? how long would it take? He
looked for immediate results from the first two mouthfuls, and finding
none drank again. Feeling a slight nausea the second time he waited
several minutes, and a tingling sensation succeeded the nausea. Then
he gulped some more, and the flask was half gone. He settled back in
his chair and his eyes grew heavy. Afraid the effect might work off he
drank again, after which the room swam so that he had difficulty in
catching the bed. His mind was acutely alert to everything for quite a
while, although his limbs were incredibly heavy. But by and by he
seemed to see his soul retire behind a black drape--and came oblivion.
It was after-hours in the bank. The boys worked away as though nothing
had happened. It had been whispered that Nelson was fired, but each
clerk had something in his own experience which he considered just as
sensational as that. Far from philosophizing on the treatment accorded
Nelson, some of the boys made his misfortunes serve to emphasize the
reckless awfulness of their own careers, the uncertainty of which was a
source of pride and self-congratulation. There are bank-fools who take
delight in the very unsubstantiality of their occupation; instead of
treating their avocation with the seriousness one's life-work deserves,
they look upon it as a game or a joke. These fellows are greatly in
the minority, of course; but usually a city office harbors several of
the type. Two or three of them had their heads together around the
cash-book desk, where Marks was now reigning monarch.
"Shut up, will you," bawled the ex-C man, flushed with the worry of a
new post; "it's a wonder they wouldn't fire ---- things like you
instead of a good man."
Marks was speaking to boys of longer service in the bank than himself;
but it is an unwritten law that the cash-book man is supreme in his own
circle--and the gabblers mentioned were standing on one of the radii.
They glanced at his red face, his burly figure and small ankles, and
gradually moved away.
In the furnace-room three old clerks were solemnly conversing, like the
ghosts of departed bank-victims once incarcerated there.
"It's the old story, Sam," said Key, referring to something Robb had
been saying about the Banfield affair; "Penton has gone there so
recently the bank couldn't transfer him without rousing suspicion in
the minds of Banfield customers; so they made Nelson the goat."
"They couldn't do it in Banfield, though," suggested Willis, "because
everybody there must know the boy is honest. They moved him to the
city to get him out of the way, and then waited a chance to fire him on
a trumped-up charge."
Robb turned his head and expectorated on the concrete floor.
"Boys," he said, "it's too dirty to talk about. It's like them, by
----, it's like them! They know that Penton is the thief and crook,
but they are afraid of losing business if they move him away. Evans
tells me another bank had a man up there and thought of opening. Old
Castle knows that, and he's afraid of giving a bad impression by
shifting managers. But he wants to make Penton believe that head
office trusts him, and in order to do that he fires the poor innocent
kid. In cases like this, to justify its bluff about seeing and knowing
everything that goes on, the bank _must_ have a suspicion, the wrong
_must_ be atoned for. If it will not answer to convict the guilty one
look for a goat. It doesn't matter a hang to the bank whether a
fellow's reputation is ruined or not. Bah! I'm sick of it."
Willis smiled around the stem of his pipe.
"I wonder," he said, "what they'll do with Penton. They certainly must
suspect him. They at least must know he's a booze fighter."
"Oh, don't worry," replied Key, "they're watching him. It doesn't suit
their present purpose to fire him, therefore they keep him on; but they
know perfectly well he won't try any more of his monkey work for a
while. They'll soak him some time, when the psychological moment
comes. I used to know the son-of-a-gun; he's a yellow dog, and he'll
be good now for a while out of pure cowardice. As for drinking, he's
not the only bank manager who souses regularly. They'll stand for him
a while, until it will look reasonable to move him."
Robb grunted.
"They know Penton wouldn't take a chance on anything big in the way of
a personal loan from the cash, and they'd rather have a teller lose
fifty now and then than to lose business."
In that strain the three old clerks talked about the Business they had
once--and their relatives still--worshipped.
Quite early Sam Robb arrived at the boarding-house. He met Mrs. Greig
on the verandah and looked for signs of news in her eyes. But she
merely wished him good-evening.
"Has Nelson been home yet?" he asked, forgetting to speak about the
beautiful May weather.
"No, I don't think so," said Mrs. Greig.
"I suppose he went over to the Island," thought Robb; "although that
wouldn't seem like Evan. I'll bet this thing has bust him all up."
Absent-mindedly Robb turned the knob of his room door and walked in.
He uttered a whispered exclamation.
On the bed, in his clothes, lay the ex-cash-book man, dead to the
world, as he wanted to be. An uncorked flask almost empty stood on the
dresser, and beside it an unopened flask.
For a moment the humor of the situation struck Robb, and he laughed
silently in a chair. But by degrees his face sobered, and he gazed
pensively out of the window, a shade of sadness reflected in his
countenance. At length he rose and taking the flasks from the dresser
emptied their contents in a basin. Then he took off the sleeper's
shoes and undressed him by degrees. Evan groaned during the exercise
but did not waken. He slept through, indeed, until the following
morning.
Very early he crawled out of bed and doused himself in the bath-tub.
He was sick at his stomach and his head felt like a hogshead;
unaccustomed to liquor as he was, the cognac had taken violent effect.
He staggered, although perfectly "sober," and wondered if he would ever
get his shoes laced. His room-mate in the bed opposite him heard the
rummaging.
"Good night, Evan," he said sleepily, as though just turning in.
For a moment Evan was confused and actually thought it must be evening,
but a smothered chuckle from beneath the sheets of the other bed
notified him that it was really the morning after.
"What time is it?" he asked; "my watch has stopped."
Robb made an effort to keep sober, more than Evan had done the previous
day, and told the time. He dressed with his back to the young man,
indulging the while in inward bursts of merriment. The soberness of
Evan's countenance made it all the more difficult for his friend to
contain himself.
Evan did not suspect that Robb was enjoying a one-sided entertainment,
until a mirror betrayed the fact; then he, himself, laughed. The
louder he laughed, the louder he wanted to laugh. The old clerk joined
him frankly, and when they had done, cried--
"Isn't this a ridiculous world?"
Evan agreed that it was. Gradually he lost his sense of humor,
however, for after-intoxication is a series of reactions, and a
headache reminded him that alcohol was said to be hard on the nerves.
"Where are you going?" Sam asked him, as Evan took his straw hat from a
hook.
"Out in the air," he said; "I feel rotten."
"Get some good strong coffee, Evan; that will fix you up sooner than
anything. Fresh air is too natural a remedy to cure an unnatural thing
like a drunk, especially a fellow's first drunk."
Again the elder man laughed, and this time he begged his young friend's
pardon.
"You mustn't be sore on me for having such a good time at your
expense," he said; "but really I never saw anything quite so funny in
my life. You the temperate and sober-minded cash-book man.... By the
way, you must stick around here until you land a job."
Nelson began to say that he was under too great obligation already, and
felt that it would hardly be square; but Robb interrupted him with a
couple of powerful expletives, and they agreed to another week's
companionship.
After coffee Evan thought he would like to walk down University Avenue
with Robb, and did so for a few blocks; but the lightness of his head
counselled a shady and steady bench. He fell by the wayside.
"Just rest up to-day, old man," advised Sam, "and don't worry. It's
very dangerous to stew when you're already pickled."
Evan smiled half-heartedly and promised to spend the day at Island Park.
"I'm glad you're not coming all the way," said Robb, without much humor
in his face.
"Why?"
"I wouldn't want your destination to be the bank, for fear it might
sometime get to be your destiny--like mine."
"Are you glad they fired me?"
"Not exactly, Evan; but I'm glad you're out."
"What do you think of the way they did it?"
Robb glowered at a passing limousine.
"Don't ask me," he said fiercely. "From now on my daily prayer is for
a chance to get back at them. I hope it will come. All my life in the
business, Evan, I've seen instances, like this, of the bank's
mercilessness. I'm sick and tired of it. It's you who are lucky, my
lad, and I who am unlucky."
"Still," said Evan, "it's an awful thing to feel that you're suspected
of being a thief."
Robb's eyes flamed.
"They don't think it," he said sharply; "the rascals know you are
innocent! It is not their opinion that hurts, Evan, but their
influence--I hope--" He did not finish it. "I wonder," he continued,
"if these fellows know what it is to hear their hearts beat? They
claim to be big men; they make a great display of affection among their
own folk, but when it comes to showing humane consideration for
someone, they can't do it. They only invest friendship or justice
where it will, like the money they invest, bring big returns. The
clerk is only one of the many who don't count with them. What does he
matter to them?--they wear him out and pay him out for gain."
The ex-manager spoke with emphasis and his lips puckered as after a
bitter expectoration.
"I hope," said Evan, "that some day you'll get a chance to quit."
"That sounds good, coming from you," replied Robb. "I only live on
that hope myself. Sometimes it seems forlorn enough, though.... By
Jove! it's after nine; I must beat it. I'll see you at dinner
to-night, eh?"
"All right."
Evan watched the old clerk down the avenue, and he remembered the first
time he had seen that gait. It was in Mt. Alban on a May day, too.
The juvenile bankman had pictured himself walking down the main street
of some town inside a manager's clothes and shoes--just like Mr. Robb.
But thinking made Evan's head thump. He decided it would be a good
idea to catch a McCaul car and connect with the ferry for Island Park.
He boarded the car, together with one or two women and a little girl
carrying a lunch indigestible anywhere but on Centre Island.
The beauty and quietude of Toronto's rest resort and the sparkling
freshness of the surrounding water, revived Evan a little; but a
stronger liquid than H2O was around his brain somewhere, and the Island
became uncomfortable. In spite of the pleasant environment he found
himself unable to take his mind off the bank and what it had done to
him. Early in the afternoon, he suddenly imagined that he could endure
no longer to sit and worry, so he took the ferry back to the city and
went to the office of the _Star_.
After inserting an advertisement for a position as bookkeeper--saying
nothing about recommendations--he waited around the Star office with a
crowd of other work-seekers until the afternoon edition emanated from
the large mouth of a small newsboy. He felt more like crawling away in
some alley and dying than hunting a job, but he was anxious to
obliterate the bank from his mind; and besides, he wanted to have
another situation before writing home that he had quit the bank.
Evan did not have the faintest intention of telling his people he had
been fired. They would not understand it, he knew. How could they
understand such medieval work? This was not a day of inquisitions or
guillotines! But when he was established in a better position than the
one he had left, it would be easy to explain that he had resigned. He
knew that his father was not much in favor of banking anyway.
The first ad that attracted the ex-clerk belonged to an abattoir
company near the lake-front. He wasted no time in getting to their
office.
"Where have you been working?" asked the manager.
"In the S---- Bank," replied Evan.
"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
passed 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 fagged 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 passed 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.