"I—I thought I was balanced. It seems to be one cent out."
The reaction struck Bill as funny, because it duplicated experiences he had had and seen, but he made an effort to suppress his mirth. He laughed silently upon his own unbalanced return-sheet until his nervous system was satisfied, then he spoke.
"Evan."
"What do you want?" sourly.
"Did you ever hear the story about the maid who counted her chickens before they were?"
Evan scowled and raced up and down his columns in search of the stray cent. He did not find it. Bill took pity, seeing that he would not have to go past the units column, and proved Evan's totals. But the cent still hid.
"I'll bet it's in the calling," he said, grinning. "Do you know what that means?"
"No."
"It means you will have to tick off a whole month's work. And remember, we've got the interest to make up, too. No parties this week, kiddo. No more Julias for yours. She'll have another fancier by the time you're unearthed from this junk-heap."
Nelson wondered how Watson could make light of so gloomy a matter. He took his own work very seriously, as most bankboys have to. Bill often worried, but not about his work. When he changed pillows it was a question of finance.