Evan went out and hurried to the town bar. There he was, the tall manager, laughing insanely at the vile talk of Banfield's worst characters; drinking to the health of debauchees who pictured Heaven as an eternal beer-garden surrounded by living fountains and falls of whiskey.
CHAPTER IX.
THE SEED MULTIPLIES.
Henty was accessible by telephone. He answered Evan's excited summons. Between them the boys got Penton home and in bed. It was no simple task, either. The manager was obstreperous, but at the same time he showed the white feather. Drink could not have made him so ridiculous: there must have been something ridiculous in his nature.
"Why don't you let me alone?" he whined.
"Because," said Evan, "you're disgracing the bank. If you don't come home I'll report you to head office."
They were on the street. Penton shuddered and went with them more willingly when the threat had penetrated his clogged brain.
"You won't report me, will you? You won't report me?" he repeated in a fawning manner, fearful and pitiful.
"Not if you cut this out," said the teller.