The teller opened the door of his cage and rushed into the manager's room.
"Mr. Robb," he cried, in his tenor tones, "I'm not going to stand for the insults of Watson any longer."
"What's the matter now?" asked Robb, not encouragingly.
"Watson's talking of favoritism and that sort of rot. He knows I earn all I get from head office."
"That's right enough, Alf," said Robb, calmly. "You earn what you get, but you also get what you earn. The rest of us don't."
The teller was dumfounded. The way the manager spoke would have halted him even had he considered the words unjust—which he could not. But Castle's sense of dignity was too great to endure argument at that moment; he flushed with humiliation and withdrew unceremoniously from Robb's office.
Robb would not give his teller the satisfaction of calling Watson on the carpet, but when Castle had quit work for the day, the manager accosted Bill.
"Were you rubbing it into Alf to-day?" he asked, leaning against the ledger desk.
"Just a little," said Bill, smiling.
"You want to go easy, Watson. Some day Alf will be an inspector or something, and then he'll remember thee."