"That's what is the matter with him, then," she said, looking sadly toward the groaning unfortunate on the couch.
Penton was in a peculiar shade of mind. He made weird remarks at times, spoke sanely occasionally, and groaned continually. He kept his hand to his cheek and swore at the tooth and the doctor alternately. Mrs. Penton did not allow his oaths to embarrass her.
"I hope you won't mind," she apologized; "I won't ask you to remain more than a few minutes."
"I'm ready to stay as long as you wish, Mrs. Penton," he said.
"Thank you very much. It is so good of you. It's awfully nice to have a teller like you, Mr. Nelson. Mr. Penton was afraid—we were afraid we mightn't—you know, like the staff. I am so glad to find you so kind; I'm sure you will get along splendidly with Pen."
Again Evan was flattered. Here was a manager hoping he would not have to quarrel with his teller! That was, virtually, Mrs. Penton's admission.
Evan did not need this additional evidence of Penton's weakness. The toothache episode had satisfied him. He heard for days the manager's squawking, and saw before him the manager's cravenness.
Jones had come and gone: the new manager had taken over the bills and the cash. Penton's tooth was better, but he was in a bullying humor. One night he called the teller before him for review.
"Now, Mr. Nelson," he said, assuming an imperious tone, the absurdity of which amused the steady-eyed listener, "as you know, I am appointed manager here. This is my first branch, and I want to make it a success. Needless to say, I need your help, since you are my teller. I want you to see that the junior men perform their duties properly."
The flattery intended to be conveyed in "junior men" did not appeal to Evan. He sat silent, observing, never taking his eyes from the manager's.