Watson looked at him comically.
"Never worry about the other fellow," he said; "not here. It's each man for himself in a city office and God help the hindermost. Don't forget that, Evan, or you'll be imposed on right and left. Now, come here and get a bird's-eye view of your new friend. You'll find him a nasty brute to handle; he rears, bites, bucks and balks. The time you think he is going to take you over the river he turns tail, and you hit a balance about 1 a.m. You not only have to balance your friend the cash book, you've got four tellers to balance, and they have everything beat for bulls. Our old friend 'the porter' wasn't in it for a minute with these mutts here."
"Are you ready?" shouted a resonant voice.
"Yes," said Bill. "Mr. Key, meet Mr. Nelson, from Banfield. Now, Nelsy, beat it to the basement till we get through calling. You'll need a cigarette to fix you up for the day's work."
"Yes," said Key, "take all the constitutionals you can get;" then in a loud voice: "Credit clearing house—come on, come on!"
Away they went, while Evan stood by in hope of learning something. He lost the trend of things looking at Key's white hair and faded face. He wondered how many years the little man had been a bankclerk. Besides Key there was another clerk with grey hair.
"Who's that?" Nelson asked the oldest and most talkative junior.
"Mr. Willis. He was a manager once, but head office didn't like his policy, so they cut his salary down from $2,400 to $1,400 and sent him here to this sweat-shop to finish it out."
"To finish what out?"
"Why, his career. Some career, eh?"