"Fine," he replied, "if it wouldn't cost too much."
"How much salary do you draw?"
"Three fifty."
Robb turned and gazed at his young friend.
"By G—!" he cried, "that's a crime. I hope when I die that they send me where I can see the torment of bank officials!"
The elder man's face was paler. The alcohol was not yet entirely out of his system. He trembled slightly after delivering so vehement a remark. Evan knew then—or thought he knew—how deeply Robb hated the bank.
"What would board cost me up there, Mr. Robb?" he asked.
The ex-manager thought for a moment.
"I pay seven dollars," he said, "but I can get you in for a month on about four, I think. By that time you will have found another place."
"That will suit me," said Evan; "I'll still have three dollars a week to live on."