"Yes, how soon, Evan?"
"To-night!"
Mrs. Nelson's dinner was luxurious, but to the whole family it tasted flat. Our Banker must leave early Christmas night. His Banfield friends had wished him "A Merry Christmas."
And he left without saying good-bye to Someone.
CHAPTER VIII.
A SPORT GONE TO SEED.
The manager at Banfield sighed in relief when Evan entered the office. An afternoon rush was on.
"Can you take this over, Nelson?" he asked, edging away from a cackling woman-customer.
Without a word the teller threw his overcoat on a stool and entered the cage with his hat on. Before the wicket farm-folk stampeded, struggling to get their noses against the iron railing and to blow their breath on the weary-looking teller. A heap of germ-laden money lay temptingly within reach of the rustics, only separated from those grimy, grasping fingernails by plate glass.