"I want my branch to pay, and I want my town to appreciate the fact that a trained banker is running things here now. I am a friend of Mr. Jones, but I tell you he did things in an unprofessional way. I want things done according to the standard rules of banking. I am a disciplinarian, and the sooner my staff realizes that the better it will be for them."
The teller reddened with anger. Penton probably thought it was timidity. But as Nelson did not speak the other was not enlightened.
"Now," continued Penton, "I want you to be my mouthpiece to the junior men. Make them understand I am here to do things my own way. No more private banking methods—"
"Excuse me, Mr. Penton," interrupted Nelson, vibrantly, in spite of a desire to ignore with silence, "Mr. Jones had twenty years' banking experience."
Penton altered his tone.
"Don't misunderstand me, Mr. Nelson," he said, smiling a smile of defiance and diplomacy, "I am not knocking Mr. Jones. But you will soon see the results of my more professional methods. I got my training in the oldest and most aristocratic banking house in the country."
The lecture eventually came to an end. It was on a par with anything Penton was liable to say or do. Exhausted after the effort, he withdrew to his apartments behind the bank. Evan entered his box and slammed the door. Two faces flattened themselves against the sides of the cage.
"Boys," said the teller coolly, but in a tone they were not used to from him, "there's going to be —— to pay around here."
"What's wrong?" asked Filter.
"Nothing," said Evan, "but this new manager is going to get in wrong. I for one won't stand for his bluffing."