"Well," said Watson, like one who had been waiting in suspense for the news, "does he want to move you?"
The ledger keeper laughed very hard and called it a good joke.
"But it will mean more money for me, won't it?" asked Evan, anxiously.
"Sure, your salary will probably be doubled. They may put you on the cash there. It's an out-of-the-way place, you know, and you're practically an experienced man by now."
A few minutes later two of the boys from another Mt. Alban bank came to the front door and were admitted by Watson. They formed a semicircle around the latest man of the hour in bank moves, and plied him with questions. They appeared to enjoy the thought of his being moved to a remote quarter of the province. The thing finally struck Evan himself as funny, and they all indulged in a very satisfactory laugh. It developed later, but not before Evan had telegraphed the exciting news home to his mother, that only three out of the four had known what they were laughing at.
Soon after a boy enters the bank he begins to look for something exciting, in the form of promotion, or a move. He is given to understand that many interesting and profitable changes await every bankclerk; he knows not the day nor the hour when he may be transferred to far-off green fields, filled with strange girls and other "things" to make life pleasant. It is this ever-growing expectancy which gives banking a fascination for young men, especially country boys. They cannot see the day of weariness and monotony that is coming, the day of poverty and celibacy, because between that time and the present there is a golden glamor, a flame of luring light. This flame is fanned by the windy tongues of reckless clerks and fed with the "oxygen" that escapes from head office envelopes.
Evan believed it possible for his reputation to reach the ears of the inspector after three weeks' service, and, although he was surprised for the moment, he considered it reasonable enough that one of the high-up officials should communicate with him over the telephone. All night he counted cash in a nightmare and saw himself signing letters to head office as "pro-accountant." Early the following morning he packed his trunk and mentally bade his room good-bye. On his way to the telegraph office, before eight o'clock, he was surprised to meet Mr. Castle, the teller.
"I heard about it, Nelson," said Castle, stopping him on the street, "and came down to inform you. This funny work has got to stop."
The teller-accountant was partial to verbs of command.
"What's that?" said Evan, bewilderedly.