Storming, the big farmer strode from the bank. Henty, the husky junior, was red in the face. Evan looked at him and smiled.
"What's the matter, A. P.?"
"I was just spoiling for the fray," said Henty, comically; "another minute and I'd have thrown that yap out."
After office hours Evan discovered that the cash had not been balanced for Saturday the 24th. He had, therefore, two days' balances on his hands—hands that were weary already. It is always hard work to balance after Christmas; but when your head aches, the office air is bad, there has been an upheaval with a customer, and you have two balances to find—well, it is no fun. Added to his other troubles, there were the returns for the 23rd; they had not yet been written. Head office would be sending a memo.
Even a winter's day, in a Canadian bank, is not all gloomy, however. Nelson's boarding mistress soothed him at suppertime with a cup of her good tea. Mrs. Terry was a kind soul and a good housekeeper. She was the oasis in Banfield's dusty desert. Notwithstanding, no cup of tea on the most welcome of oases could have prepared Evan for the intelligence awaiting him at the office when he got back to work in the evening. The manager sent for him.
"Nelson," he said, "I'm going to resign. My health won't stand this business. I'm going on a farm."
The young bankclerk was dumfounded. To think of a man giving up a $1,100 position for a farm! Evan was not old enough to appreciate the value of health. He thought Jones must have had something organically wrong with him before ever entering a bank, and that now he acted on the promptings of a sour stomach.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Jones," he said quietly; "I've had great experience under you."
"Yes," returned the manager, "you're a wonder for your age, Nelson. Do you know how much you are worth to the bank?—just about what I'm getting."
Evan felt his head swim. He forgave Jones the unbalanced "blotter," and had a sudden notion that he could dig up, at that moment, any difference that ever happened.