He might have meant that Penton's resolution would disappear. However, his words were consolation to the nerveless manager, who, from that time on, was quite servile. He ingratiated himself with the teller at every opportunity. His mock humility was loathsome to Evan and made him fear indefinitely. He worried over it. But he could not decide what to do or how to treat Penton.
Business was rushing. The work in the box had gradually increased, and other work had piled up since the new manager's arrival. Jones, though sick half the time and half sick the rest of the time, had done more than Penton would do. Penton, despite his criticism on the former manager's system, made no real effort to establish anything better. He often pointed out "how we used to do it in the M—— Bank," and sometimes Evan agreed with him but he never took off his coat and dug out the submerged junior or ledger-keeper as Jones had done, He seemed to be engaged forever in a mental calculation. Frequently he did not hear questions addressed to him. What little work he undertook was haggled at in spasms and usually left for the accountant to finish.
All the boys were loaded down with routine. They never thought of leaving the office until six o'clock, and night-work was now the rule. Evan began to have headaches.
The people of Banfield kindly let Penton's first offence pass, as it had been prophesied they would. Everyone knew about it, of course—what village of nine hundred population ever lost sight entirely of such a piece of news?
Mrs. Penton was delighted to know that she and her husband had not been disgraced. Penton pretended, now the danger was past, that he would not have cared.
"It's a funny thing," he said, with an adjective, "if a man can't take a social drink without insulting the town."
This remark was addressed to the whole staff. At times Penton was absurdly pompous and uncommunicative before the boys; at other times he entered into a mysterious intimacy with them, a relationship distasteful to them. They preferred his professional tactics to those others.
"By heck," said Henty one afternoon, after one of Penton's good-fellow demonstrations, "I naturally hate that devil!"
Nelson laughed immoderately, in the way one laughs who has been under a strain too long. Filter, even, thought the remark funny.
"I understand," he said, "that Penton has bought all his furniture on credit from Hunter's."