“Your simple duty,” said Phœbe positively. “Why, Phil, no harm can possibly come to an honest fellow who does his duty! Don’t worry about Eric and his deeds. He could not injure you if he tried, and really, I don’t believe he will try. Eric has a kindly heart, and his main fault is that he has become a bit wild and reckless.”
“He’s changed a good deal lately, Phœbe,” was the quiet answer.
Phil promptly returned to the bank, let himself in by the side door, opened the safe and took out the books. For two hours he worked under the glare of the electric light, before his task was finished. No one came near to interrupt him. As he slid the big books into the compartment of the safe reserved for them he glanced at the neat piles of bills and bags of gold and an involuntary shiver of fear swept over him.
Saturday morning the bank was very busy. Eric sat in Mr. Boothe’s cage and waited upon the customers in a very business-like manner. He was so quick and accurate in handling the money, with a pleasant word for each one who approached his wicket, that when Mr. Spaythe came in now and then to see that everything was progressing properly the boy won his father’s gratified praise.
At one o’clock they closed the doors, as was usual on Saturdays, and it did not take Eric long to arrange his cash, pile it away in the safe and turn his statement of the day’s transactions over to Phil.
“What, through already?” asked his father, coming in at that moment.
“Yes, sir. Here’s the balance sheet you asked for, all made out correctly. I’m in a bit of a hurry, as I’ve arranged to go to St. Louis for over Sunday.”
Mr. Spaythe frowned.
“I did not know of this plan,” he said curtly. “Why are you making the trip, Eric?”
“To visit Ned Thurber. He has invited me to stay with him, so it will only cost me railroad fares. I’ll be back in time for work on Monday, sir,” he added carelessly.