"Sure," said Bill, "I could handle an easy chair myself for that matter. There are at least ten clerks in this office who could manage a branch, but everybody can't have one, you know. Managerships are sugar-plums to be handed out carefully by head office."
"I see," said the new man. "But," he added, "the banks claim they are very hard up for managers."
"That's because the job isn't up to much when you do get it; a good many fellows get out when they find what they're up against. A lot of this talk about the great opportunities of banking originates in head office and is peddled around the country for a purpose. The bank has the greatest advertising system in the country and the least expensive. It carries the biggest bluff on earth. The bank's on a par with political flag-wavers when it comes to handing the people the bunco."
About five o'clock Mr. Willis, the old general-ledger clerk and ex-manager, edged over toward the cash book, with his hat on and a pipe in his mouth.
"Well, Watson," he said, lighting a match, "how's your successor coming along?" The match was burning down, but Willis held it tantalizingly away from the pipe while he added: "Why don't you introduce him?"
While the match threatened to burn the old clerk's fingers he slowly greeted Evan, and puffing a last flickering flame into his bowl, in a way that showed how closely he had, during years of smoking, studied the science of combustion, asked:
"How do you think you are going to like city work, Mr. Nelson?"
"It doesn't look very good to me," said Evan. "I'm off color to-day; my head is bursting."
"Why don't you go home?"
"Yes, go on," said Bill; "I didn't know you were all in. You certainly don't look any too frisky."