"Aw, shut up," growled the fourth teller; "you'd think your clearing amounted to something."
Ten minutes later the two current-account ledger-keepers were howling for "more stuff." They looked like a couple of hungry wolves, and kept up their yowling as persistently as those wild rovers.
"See here," bawled Marks, "you guys got to wait till we get it. What in —— do you think we are—jugglers or magicians? It's rather hard to balance it, you know, Brower, till we get it out of the envelopes. Get me?"
"No, but I will get you," retorted Brower, "if you don't grease that adding machine."
Cantel grinned, and kicked his desk-mate, Marks.
"Say, Ankles," he said, "we'll get him in the basement at noon and I'll suggest gloves, eh?"
He with the tapering figure made no reply; he was chasing nine cents up and down a long adding-machine strip.
"They must have a brilliant bunch over at the S——," he said, grinding his teeth; "I never knew one of their slips to balance."
Key had done so much checking in his day he looked upon the calling of the cash book as a morning recreation. The rest of the day he had little time to talk, so he got a large number of stray sentences into the totals that made up the cash book.
"Debit nine eighty-five drafts issued," he called—"tell Banfield to come over here—get it?—credit head office branch account six hundred even—how long has he been here?—I called that once—exchange on money orders fifteen cents—Well, Mr.—er—No! I said fifteen. What's the matter with you, Watson, were you drunk again last night?"