the new junior.

"Out with the drafts, sir," replied Evan, weakly.

The manager was worthy of description also. He was short, heavy of
shoulders and slightly knock-kneed. He was perhaps forty years old,
his hair was getting thin, and his dark eyes snapped behind a pair of
glasses. Just now, instead of snapping, his eyes twinkled.

"What in thunder have you been trying to do?" he exclaimed.

As he leafed over the pages of the copying-book his mirth came nearer
and nearer the surface, until at last he was laughing aloud and with
much enjoyment.

"Cheer up," he said, seeing the expression of Evan's face, "we'll let
them go this time without re-writing."

Then he showed the young clerk how to copy a letter without spoiling
both the letter and the tissue-paper pages.

"Thank you, Mr. Robb," said Evan, earnestly.

While the dainty teller fretted in his cage, like a rare species of
wild animal, the manager dug Nelson out of his mess and tried to make
light of the disaster.

"We all have to learn," he said kindly.

Sam Robb might have been either a diplomat or merely a good-hearted
human being. At any rate, Evan Nelson resolved, after the tone of
Robb's words had penetrated, that he would always do his utmost to
please the manager.

The return of Porter Perry, alias the "Bonehead," was heralded by loud
scuffling over by the ledgers. A string of oaths escaped ("escaped" is
hardly the way to express it) the ledger-keeper, William Watson, as
Porter approached.

"You ----! why didn't you get back here sooner?"

The teller raised his blonde head.

"Enough of that profanity, Watson," he said, peremptorily.

Perry, also called "the porter," dodged Watson, and, muttering a savage
growl, shot across the office to the collection desk.

"Here, you," said Mr. Robb, "get busy on this mail. Where have you
been--playing checkers in the library or shooting craps on the
sidewalk?"

Porter still had his hat on. He took the hint when the manager said,
half-mischievously, "Judging by the size of the mail, don't you think
you had better stay a while?"

The remainder of the day's work meant confusion and headaches for Evan.
Before going to his boarding-house for supper he took a walk by himself
along one of the back streets of Mt. Alban. A song his sister used to
sing seemed to dwell in the very air about him. It associated itself
with home memories and sent a thrill through him.

Mt. Alban was only thirty miles fro