CHAPTER XI.
JOYS OF BANKING.
The Banfield teller shivered an instant, but, on sudden thought, braced himself and began to say:
"You came in answer to my—"
"I came to inspect the branch," said Castle, quickly, looking Evan in the eye as he pushed past him into the office.
The teller's hopes fell. He thought the inspector was going to take him aside and ask him all the particulars of his loss. He would have had to tell them—and he wanted to. It flashed across his mind that had Castle come in answer to his (Evan's) letter, it would have been sooner. Why had the inspector allowed two weeks to elapse?
"Where is Mr. Penton?" asked Mr. Castle, when a light had been turned on in the office.
"He's giving a party to-night, sir," said Nelson.
"Is that so? Well, we won't interrupt it. You might just ask him to come out for a moment and open up. Where is the rest of the staff?"
"They are in there, too."
"Good; we can set right to work."
Evan took Penton aside and whispered the news. The manager paled slightly and his colorless eyes looked queer; but a flush suddenly overspread his face, and he said:
"Couldn't have come at a better time. We're entertaining the best customers in town."
He greeted Castle with an affectation of great friendliness. It was well done. Penton surely was an artist at deception.
The inspector spoke blandly to him, and politely refused to interrupt Mrs. Penton's party.
"Just you open up for us, Mr. Penton," he said, "and go back to your—customers! The staff and myself will get the work started."
Evan was watching not the inspector but the manager. Penton's eyes moved uneasily in their sockets, and he protested:
"Oh, no, they won't miss me. I'll jump right in with you."
Castle was delving in his bag.
"Well," he said, "I suppose you know them best; but I don't want to interfere with—business."
Penton laughed, relieved, at the remark, and hurried into his apartments to excuse himself. The party folk were awed by mention of the inspector, and their interest gave Penton an idea: he would introduce Castle to them. The inspector thought the suggestion a good one. Penton whispered him hints about the men whom he would present, so that Mr. Castle might know how to dispense his pretty words. Evan listened to those whisperings until they were silent in the hall that led to Penton's house, and an uncomfortable feeling crept over him. The manager was currying Castle's favor.
Henty and Filter came out to the office before Penton and the inspector.
"What do you know about that!" cried Henty, crimson.
The teller smiled faintly. Filter's pallid face was glowing in anticipation of coming balances. It was ten o'clock.
To Evan, who knew what a bank inspection meant, this one was particularly unwelcome. Inspections always are, to experienced clerks, who have no regard for the novelty of the thing; they mean from one to three weeks' work, day and night without let-up. But the blinding work is not the worst of it; the suspense is what unnerves and worries. A fellow never knows what moment he is going to get a figurative knock-out from the head office official. The inspector, if he happens to have indigestion or domestic trouble, can be appallingly disagreeable.
Henty had never been through the ordeal of an inspection, but he had heard about it. He stood now staring at the teller, comically.
"Gee," he said, "and old Peterson has had one of my drafts out for three days. A sight, too."
Filter was in a dream about the ledger. Evan was thinking. He did not like Inspector Castle; he felt that he could not expect much of him. Still, he determined he would tell his story. Evan had no very definite conception, at the time, of what that story would be; and when Castle and Penton went over to the hotel for a drink, before setting to work, he wondered whether it would be advisable to speak about the silver at all.
Penton stayed close to the inspector, as though unwilling to leave him alone with the teller. Evan saw it plainly, but what could he do? It was not for him to thrust himself on I. Castle, or tell him whom he should or should not ignore. Ignored! that was it! The $350-man was beneath the notice of an inspector. It occurred to Evan now why head office had not answered his letter. What right had he to write head office? He could not, in this connection, forget the look Castle had given him at the bank door, with the words: "I came to inspect the branch."
The manager's efforts to please and assist the inspector were both pitiful and burlesque, to those who knew his daily habits. He wedged himself into the cage with Castle, handing him parcels of money to count, and playing the caddy to perfection. He lifted a bag of silver, and as he did so his bulging eyes rested waveringly on the teller, who was watching. At the same moment Evan heard his name spoken softly from the hall. Mrs. Penton was calling him.
"Mr. Nelson," she whispered, when they stood out of hearing in the shadow of the hall, "I want to ask you something."
Her patient face bore a frightened look, her eyes and voice were beseeching.
"What is it, Mrs. Penton?" he asked, kindly.
"It's about Pen," she said. "You'll try to help out, won't you?"
He wondered if she knew about the missing money. Had Penton told her?
"You mean about—about drink?"
"Yes," she answered, vaguely; "there's nothing—else—is—there?"
No, she did not know about the silver. Why had Penton not told her? It seemed to Evan that she should have known about the loss, especially since her husband was putting up half of it. But he knew she would never suspect Penton of stealing, and therefore any reference to the shortage would be incomprehensible to her. If she thought the teller suspected her husband she would be heartbroken. Evan's thoughts flew. After all, he had no proof that the manager had taken the silver, and before he voiced his suspicion to Mrs. Penton, or head office either, he must have proof.
She stood gazing at him, waiting for his promise. She looked so girlish and dependent he forgot danger and only remembered that a woman's happiness was at stake. It gave him a heroic impulse.
"I'll do all I can, Mrs. Penton," he said, quietly. "Things seem to have started off smoothly, and I think everything will be all right."
The young woman was in a party dress and a party humor. She took Evan's hands in her own and pressed them. "You are a dear," she whispered, and fluttered back to her guests.
Evan hated Penton at that moment more, perhaps, than he ever had—though not so much as he would hate him. The young wife's faith resolved the teller, however, to watch the manager instead of telling head office about his drunkenness. It was hardly likely Penton would get another chance to rob the cash; he was a coward and would be afraid to try again.
It surprised the teller to know that Mr. Castle would take a drink, particularly with Penton. Was it a trick of the inspector's? If it was, he would approach the teller before going back to Toronto. Evan would let it rest at that. He would not take the initiative, both on account of Castle's peculiar actions and Mrs. Penton's pleading.
At 2 a.m. Henty swore. It was a pretty early orgy, but A. P. probably felt justified, at that.
"When are they going to ring off?" he asked Nelson.
"I'm going now," said Evan; "my head is splitting."
Penton heard.
"Why didn't you say so before, old man," he said, softly; "we don't want our teller to go out of business."
Henty winked at Evan from behind the manager's back, and when Penton had eagerly answered a summons from the inspector, whispered:
"What's his game, I wonder?"
"If you stick around, A. P., you may find out."
"By Jove," said Henty, "I will stick—till the cock crows!"
Nelson climbed the hill to his lodging. He lay in bed an hour before sleep came, and then dreams bothered him. They were nightmares; a confusion of figures, money and old associations. He dreamt that he was an inspector and that Penton had taken him out for a drink, talking, the while, about swollen deposits, curtailed loans and expanding prospects. There was an unknown and unfortunate clerk mixed up in this dream; a queer, vague fellow.
Next morning A. P. left his lodging for work much earlier than usual. He called on the teller, whom, for some reason, he desired to escort to the office. Evan was eating breakfast.
"Just up?" asked the junior.
"Yes," interposed Mrs. Terry, "and he should be in his bed. See how tired he looks, Mr. Henty."
Evan laughed.
"Mother would be jealous," he said, "if she knew how well Mrs. Terry treated me."
The kind woman smiled, pleased.
"I can't make much headway," she said, coughing, "for what I try to do the bank goes and undoes."
"That's true enough," interjected the teller.
"And now this inspection affair is on," continued Mrs. Terry, "I'm afraid they'll lay him up."
Henty blushed tremendously, but looked steadily at Mrs. Terry, as he said:
"I sure envy your boarder."
Nelson glanced up from a dish of cherries.
"Maybe Mrs. Terry would let us room together here," he smiled.
Henty's eager expression was enough.
"He's welcome," replied Mrs. Terry, and added: "then when they have done for my present boarder I'll still have someone."
To the junior's delight he was thus invited to share Evan's room, and Mrs. Terry's cooking. He kept stammering out his thanks until Nelson was through eating.
"Let's walk around the block before going to the office," said A. P. when they were outside; "I want to tell you what happened last night."
Evan lit a cigarette, probably to fortify his nerves against an anticipated shock.
"You weren't gone long," said Henty, "when the manager went over to Filter and talked a while in whispers. Then he came to me and began shooting off about my good work and a lot of other rot, gradually leading up to what was on his mind, and sort of preparing me for the third degree. 'Henty,' he said at last, springing it, 'I suppose you know we had a loss around here? Now I want to ask you something confidentially. You don't think Nelson would take it, do you?' I looked at him and told him he'd better roll over—not exactly in those words. 'I don't think he would either,' said Penton.
"When he and the inspector had their heads together inside the vault I asked Filter what the manager had been saying to him. It was exactly what he had said to me. 'What's the matter with them?' said Filter; that's all. Some day Filter'll wake up and get enthusiastic about something; I think it'll be in the next world, though."
Evan laughed. It was such a fine spring morning he could not have forebodings. He was not worried by what Henty had told him.
"He's just trying to smooth things over, A. P.," said the teller.
"Do you think so?"
"Sure."
The junior sighed, like one who tells an ostensibly funny story without effect. The teller threw away his cigarette half-smoked.
"I don't feel much like work this morning, A. P.," he said. "I'd rather go out into the woods and tap a tree for sap."
"It's a little late for that, I'm afraid."
"Do you know anything about sugar-making, Henty?"
"You bet; I made sap-troughs all one winter and emptied two hundred of them every day in the spring. You'll have to come down home with me sometime."
"Thanks," replied the teller, "I'd like to. Will you return the visit?"
"Just try me."
When they reached the bank Penton was already there, but the inspector was not yet around.
"Well, how are you this morning, Nelson?" asked Penton, in a business-like tone. Henty walked on through to his corner of the office. He never stayed in the neighborhood of W. W. Penton any longer than was absolutely necessary.
"All right, thank you," answered the teller, turning to go to work.
Penton framed up a stage mien and spoke in a dramatic or tragic whisper. Evan had no difficulty in seeing through the make-up.
"You don't suppose either Henty or Filter would be capable of taking that money you lost, do you?"
The teller laughed sarcastically. He was angry, and had it on the tip of his tongue to say: "You're crazy!" but he thought it better to hold his temper.
"Has the inspector been asking you about it?" he said.
"Well—yes," replied Penton; "he said I'd better ask all of you your opinions, just as a matter of form. Not that he suspects anybody; he thinks it probable that someone climbed in the window, between five and six o'clock that day, and got it."
"Impossible," said Evan; "besides, they would have taken it all."
Penton's unpleasant eyes grew still more unpleasant.
"Good G—, man," he said, "the money's gone, and we've got to account for it in some way!"
"We have accounted for it, by putting it up," answered the teller. "What good can our speculations do head office?—they're not losing anything anyway."
Without further palaver he went to his cage. He tried to focus on the work before him, but his head swam. He saw pictures of himself and Penton in a fight; himself equipped with new grips far superior to the toe-hold in point of pain. He tried to figure out Penton's object in asking the questions just asked. "We've got to account for it," afforded a clue. That was it: Penton wanted the staff to substantiate any ridiculous explanation he should see fit to give the inspector. He interviewed them so that he might be able to put words in their mouths, when reporting to Castle. Evan realized that should he be asked any questions by the inspector, he must tell more than would be good for Penton.
The day's rush started in the regular market-day fashion. To begin with, several dames brought in an amalgamation of barnyard soil and spring ice in their boots and stood over the hot-air grates to thaw. That simple act put the clerks in a market-day mood and gave the office a market-day "atmosphere." Then things went spinningly. The bank and the staff became a machine and the parts thereof, as if incited to action by the combustion of certain gas-mixtures in the place. Especially the teller's head took on the character of a metallic organism: he could almost hear the wheels buzzing. Occasionally a cog somewhere grated, as, for instance, when a drover brought in a cheque for $500 and had to wait in line behind the wife of a neighbor whom he hated, until she got $1.79 for her produce ticket, and had deposited $1 to the credit of Janet Jorgens in trust for little Harry Jorgens.
It was three o'clock before Evan had a chance to eat lunch. It lay on the little table in his box, dry and sour. He looked at it with enmity, and, snatching a few bites of this and that, which he washed down with cold water, threw the remainder in a waste-basket, and went back to the dirty money.
Penton was all aglow. He perambulated up and down the office shouting through the wicket at people to whom he had never spoken before. He would run to the ledger, find out the name of a poor innocent farmer whose whiskers told of a possible buried treasure somewhere, and bawl out that name, to the owner's consternation.
"You've got a busy office here, Penton," said the inspector, just before the door was closed.
"Yes, Mr. Castle. Of course we have no opposition right in the town. But I mean to hold it, even though another bank opens up. I hear the N—— Bank is coming in."
"Yes," said Castle. "By the way," he remarked, addressing the teller's back, "wasn't it a market day on which you lost the silver, Mr. Nelson?"
Evan turned around; the two men were leaning against a desk behind the cage.
"Yes, sir," was the simple reply.
The inspector nodded, then walked into the manager's office. Penton followed him—but that was nothing unusual. The boys returned to their work.
"First shot!" shouted Filter, who had been working on the current ledger balance off and on all day.
Henty stopped licking an envelope, and allowing it to stick to his tongue, whispered hoarsely:
"Loud pedal, Gordon; the inspector's in town."
Filter colored. It must have been quite a relief to his placidly pale face; but his eye caught an unextended balance, and he forgot the offence immediately.
It was six o'clock before Evan had his cash balanced. A money parcel had come in from Toronto, another had to be sent out, and the cash-book had not been able to compare totals until after five.
The inspector and the manager went over to the hotel just before supper, and afterwards to the Penton apartments, where Mrs. Penton had a spread laid for I. Castle.
Three times during inspection Mr. Castle accepted the same invitation. Evan wondered if Mrs. Penton had woven her charms about the inspector; he thought it quite likely. She would do it for her husband's sake. Castle, by the way, was a bachelor. One day he held up a bunch of collateral before a head office clerk who was clamoring for permission to get married and said:
"Look at that; if I had married I would not have this bunch of security."
Evan had given up hoping that Castle would favor him with a private interview; in another day the official would be gone, to repeat his tortures on some other unsuspecting branch.
"What do you think of it, Gordon?" asked Henty.
"Of what?"
"It, i-t."
"You mean the inspection?"
"Your foot's asleep—sure; did you think I was talking about the World's Series?"
"I don't mind the extra work," said Filter; "you see, that's the difference between a good man and a bum one."
"Ugh!" said Henty, slapping his own cheek, "Right on the transmitter!" He turned toward the teller and suggested a walk around the Banfield pond, called a lake.
"It will do you good, Evan," he said.
A few nights' companionship had made the teller and junior chums; had accomplished more in that respect than months of office association had done. Henty sometimes called Nelson "Even." He said he thought the nickname was a good one; in the first place it meant a poetic summer evening; and in the second place it looked like the masculine gender for Eve. The night Henty enlarged on the probable derivation of his friend's name, Nelson laughed Mrs. Terry awake. It was the time of night when anything sounds funny to the one who cannot fall asleep.
Evan liked the big rough-and-ready junior. He looked like a farm-hand, and acted like a young steer; but he was amiable, and had brains, too. Above all, he was wholesome.
"I'll be with you in a minute, A. P.," said the teller.
They walked along the lakeside. Spring had really come. Crows were flying around aimlessly, early robins piped from a willow where the "pussy-tails" were budding, and a blackbird with glossy neck chirruped unmusically on a stump.
"Don't you ever get the fever to go back on the farm, A. P.?" said Evan.
"This time of year I do. Dad would like me to do the prodigal. Sometimes I feel like going, too."
"Why don't you go?"
Henty licked his lips—a childish habit of his—and asked innocently:
"Straight, Evan, do you think I'll ever make a banker?"
"I don't know; they say a poor clerk often makes a good manager."
"At that rate," laughed Henty, "I ought to make a peach. Filter says I'm on a par with those market-women when it comes to clerking."
Evan smiled, and picking up a stone threw it out into the lake. Something in his action interested the junior.
"Darn it," he said, "I don't know why I ever left home. I could have gone through all the colleges in the country if I had wanted to."
"Oh, well," said Nelson, carelessly, "a fellow gets certain experience in the bank that college men know nothing about. They get the baby taken out of them. They have to live in lonesome burgs and make up with uninteresting strangers. I suppose it all helps make a man of them."
"Give us a cig," said Henty; then—"Don't forget the girls, either. They're a great education."
Nelson was silent: he had graduated from that sort of thing.
"A fellow shouldn't string them, though, Austin," he said, thoughtfully.
To give valuable advice on matters of love one must have experience, but to get experience one must suffer and make others suffer; consequently, love-advice is undesirable from both experienced and inexperienced. In the first instance it makes the adviser inconsistent, and in the second case it is valueless.
"I've made up my mind I'll never trick the dear creatures," said A. P.
"You will if you stay in the bank."
"How's that?"
"Well, for instance, when you leave here, what will become of Miss Munn? You can't marry her till you draw at least one thousand dollars a year. Very soon now head office will be moving you; you'll gradually forget Hilda; you'll have to."
The big junior blushed, licked his lips, and sighed, but made no reply. For the rest of the walk he seemed sunk in reverie.
Inspection over, Penton walked up and down town where all might see. When he appeared in the main office his manner was overbearing. He placed heavier emphasis than ever on his "my's," and flattered the mayor to the point of idiocy, and cursed his current account with a vim foreign to his old self.
Then gradually he settled into his chair again. There came a lull in office work, and in general business, for the farmers were seeding. Penton began to drag at his upper lip. The film over his eyes thickened, and his brooding deepened.
A silent messenger came from Toronto:
"Instruct Mr. E. Nelson to report at our King Street office, Toronto, at once.
"(Signed) I. CASTLE."
The teller was engrossed in work when Penton handed him the letter. He read it dazedly, a moment, then his face glowed with excitement.
"I won't be able to swipe any more silver," he said, facetiously.
The manager did not reply to the levity; he stared out of the window and Evan could see his cold hands shiver.
"I'll be sorry to lose you, Nelson," he said, humbly, and walked into his house.
Some time later Mrs. Penton came out to bid the teller good-bye. She had been crying; that was the poor woman's chief occupation.
"Are they really moving you away?" she asked.
"Yes, Mrs. Penton, my train goes in a couple of hours."
She held out her hand, and turned away before he had released it. He watched her slight form disappear in the dark hall, and stood gazing into the gloom that enwrapped her.
"Say, Ape," said Filter, "will you take me in your room at Terry's?"
"You can have it all," said Henty, holding up a sheet of paper; "here's my resignation."