His sense of greatness waned, though, toward midnight on balance day. The savings ledger was out an ugly amount. Bill was also in straits.
"It's a wonder to me," he growled, as the two plodded along alone in the semi-darkness, "that bankclerks don't go nutty."
Evan was scaling a column and did not answer. Watson continued, keeping time with the adding machine.
"Work, work, work; doggone them, it's a wonder they wouldn't ask for a few more particulars on this ledger-sheet. Why, in heaven's name, do they want the names of customers down at head office? They don't know these ginks here, and never will. If they don't believe our totals, why don't they come and look over the books? Oh, ——!"
"Hurrah!" shouted Nelson, cavorting around his desk.
Bill knew the savings man must have struck a balance, but he was too sorely irritated to show enthusiasm.
"Why don't you pat me on the back, Bill?"
"Shut up. Anybody could balance that passbook of a ledger."
Evan cooled down and remained quiet a while. Bill, thinking he had offended his companion, soon looked across with an apologetic smile. Nelson was staring wildly at his totals.
"What's the matter?" asked Watson, well acquainted with vacant looks in bankclerk faces on balance night.