"Here you, get me ten three-dollar bills."
The teller handed him six fives. Evan was, for a moment, doubtful of the existence of the denomination asked for, but he reasoned that Castle would not give him the thirty dollars and look so serious if it were only a joke. He went around among the banks on a wild-goose-chase for the second time that day. A sympathizing junior from another bank met him on the street.
"Say, Bo," he said, grinning; "don't let 'em kid you any more."
Evan's eyes suddenly opened. He made a confidant of this fellow and asked him about the initiation tricks of bankclerks. He was warned against winding combinations, ringing up fictitious numbers on the telephone, and other misleaders.
Evan did not smile when he handed the six fives back to the teller. He said nothing in reply to Castle's question, until the teller grew intolerable; then he growled:
"Go to hell!"
Evan was not a profane individual, as a rule, but there were times when drastic measures seemed justifiable.
Castle looked at him with real anger, and came out of his cage.
"You darn young pup!" he exclaimed menacingly.
Watson raised his voice in a loud laugh, and drew the teller's attention to the new man. Mr. Robb came back to the cage for some change,—and the storm did not mature.