"Sure," said Evan, "and then some. I'm pro-manager."
"Let's see," said his father, dropping a hot egg, "what are they paying you now?"
"Three fifty," replied Evan humbly.
It was not the diminutiveness of the figure that sounded so mean to him, but its association with the word "pro-manager." He was not ashamed of a low salary, but of a humble position. If he could convince his father that the position he held was responsible and man-worthy, he would not mind about the salary. Bankclerks are constantly fed with promotion when it is money they need, but they are so trained that elevation practically stands for increase, to them.
"I often run the office for days at a time when the manager is in bed," said Evan.
"And the cash—it's in your charge entirely, isn't it?"
"Yes," said the son, proudly.
Mr. Nelson took a deep draught of strong tea. Mrs. Nelson sat silent. Lou passed her brother a piece of fresh toast she had made for herself.
She got her brother alone after breakfast, ostensibly to show him her presents.
"Evan," she said, eyeing him as she used to years before when he had done something to puzzle her, "you don't seem very anxious about somebody."