A Canadian Bankclerk Part 22

Evan hesitated before answering.

"A flask of brandy."

"That's what is the matter with him, then," she said, looking sadly toward the groaning unfortunate on the couch.

Penton was in a peculiar shade of mind. He made weird remarks at times, spoke sanely occasionally, and groaned continually. He kept his hand to his cheek and swore at the tooth and the doctor alternately.

Mrs. Penton did not allow his oaths to embarra.s.s her.

"I hope you won't mind," she apologized; "I won't ask you to remain more than a few minutes."

"I'm ready to stay as long as you wish, Mrs. Penton," he said.

"Thank you very much. It is so good of you. It's awfully nice to have a teller like you, Mr. Nelson. Mr. Penton was afraid--we were afraid we mightn't--you know, like the staff. I am so glad to find you so kind; I'm sure you will get along splendidly with Pen."

Again Evan was flattered. Here was a manager hoping he would not have to quarrel with his teller! That was, virtually, Mrs. Penton's admission.

Evan did not need this additional evidence of Penton's weakness. The toothache episode had satisfied him. He heard for days the manager's squawking, and saw before him the manager's cravenness.

Jones had come and gone: the new manager had taken over the bills and the cash. Penton's tooth was better, but he was in a bullying humor.

One night he called the teller before him for review.

"Now, Mr. Nelson," he said, a.s.suming an imperious tone, the absurdity of which amused the steady-eyed listener, "as you know, I am appointed manager here. This is my first branch, and I want to make it a success. Needless to say, I need your help, since you are my teller.

I want you to see that the junior men perform their duties properly."

The flattery intended to be conveyed in "junior men" did not appeal to Evan. He sat silent, observing, never taking his eyes from the manager's.

"I want my branch to pay, and I want my town to appreciate the fact that a trained banker is running things here now. I am a friend of Mr.

Jones, but I tell you he did things in an unprofessional way. I want things done according to the standard rules of banking. I am a disciplinarian, and the sooner my staff realizes that the better it will be for them."

The teller reddened with anger. Penton probably thought it was timidity. But as Nelson did not speak the other was not enlightened.

"Now," continued Penton, "I want you to be my mouthpiece to the junior men. Make them understand I am here to do things my own way. No more private banking methods--"

"Excuse me, Mr. Penton," interrupted Nelson, vibrantly, in spite of a desire to ignore with silence, "Mr. Jones had twenty years' banking experience."

Penton altered his tone.

"Don't misunderstand me, Mr. Nelson," he said, smiling a smile of defiance and diplomacy, "I am not knocking Mr. Jones. But you will soon see the results of my more professional methods. I got my training in the oldest and most aristocratic banking house in the country."

The lecture eventually came to an end. It was on a par with anything Penton was liable to say or do. Exhausted after the effort, he withdrew to his apartments behind the bank. Evan entered his box and slammed the door. Two faces flattened themselves against the sides of the cage.

"Boys," said the teller coolly, but in a tone they were not used to from him, "there's going to be ---- to pay around here."

"What's wrong?" asked Filter.

"Nothing," said Evan, "but this new manager is going to get in wrong.

I for one won't stand for his bluffing."

The teller went on to deliver the message given him. He scarcely fulfilled Penton's wishes in the delivery, however.

"I'm with you, Nelson," said Henty, very red in the face and ludicrously serious.

"You bet," said Filter, forgetting his ledger for the moment.

After locking up, that afternoon, Nelson went for a walk around the pond. He was sick at heart. He wondered what would happen under Penton's regime, he was certain something disastrous would. After supper he went to the post office, hoping to hear from home. He wanted to forget the bank and its worries for a while. Two letters were in the mail for him, one from Julia and the other from Lily. He dropped into the bank to read them and sat in the manager's office. A rap came to the office door.

"Come in," he cried. Mrs. Penton entered, wretched-looking.

"Oh, Mr. Nelson," she cried, softly, "I need your help."

He arose from his chair and stood gazing at her.

"He's drinking again," she said; and the tears flowed when Evan's interest was apparent.

"Where is he?"

"At the hotel," she sobbed.

Evan went out and hurried to the town bar. There he was, the tall manager, laughing insanely at the vile talk of Banfield's worst characters; drinking to the health of debauchees who pictured Heaven as an eternal beer-garden surrounded by living fountains and falls of whiskey.

CHAPTER IX.

_THE SEED MULTIPLIES._

Henty was accessible by telephone. He answered Evan's excited summons.

Between them the boys got Penton home and in bed. It was no simple task, either. The manager was obstreperous, but at the same time he showed the white feather. Drink could not have made him so ridiculous: there must have been something ridiculous in his nature.

"Why don't you let me alone?" he whined.

"Because," said Evan, "you're disgracing the bank. If you don't come home I'll report you to head office."

They were on the street. Penton shuddered and went with them more willingly when the threat had penetrated his clogged brain.

"You won't report me, will you? You won't report me?" he repeated in a fawning manner, fearful and pitiful.

"Not if you cut this out," said the teller.

"I'll c-cut it out, old c-c.o.c.k," laughed Penton raspingly, swaying to the poison in his blood, "me f-for the water wagon after this."

He raved about himself until they had him in bed, then he raved about everything.

"Do you want me to stay a while, Mrs. Penton?" asked the teller.

"No thank you, Mr. Nelson," she replied, wearily; "he will be all right now. Oh, I'm so afraid this will be talked of all over town. Do you think so?"