"I can have a round here any
time--with the cash book and savings."

The ledger keeper spoke up. (Henty's initials were A. P.)

"Say, Ape--I'll bet you lose more good sweat making out a settlement
draft than you would covering a pig-pen with old tin."

"Aw, forget it," said A. P., smiling good-naturedly; "the bank has
worse dubs than me. I mean than I. Take yourself for example----"

"Impossible," replied Filter, the ledger keeper.

Gordon Filter was tall, lean and pale. He was a sedentary person and
loved meddling with figures. He swore continually about his salary and
blasphemed against the bank, but his work was always perfect and he was
always watching over it with pride. Filter was what was known as a
"fusser." He worked slowly, mechanically, and without originality, but
he made few mistakes. He was a good clerk--that was about the best he
would ever be.

There was the strongest contrast between Henty and Filter. One was as
"sloppy," clerically speaking, as the other was neat, and as healthy as
the other was unhealthy. A. P. would seal the last envelope of his
day's mail with a bang and rush out of the office to a game of
baseball; Gordon would hover over his ledger in hope of finding an
account unproved or untransferred. He always closed his book gently
and allowed his hand to rest on it affectionately before consigning it
to the vault. The junior drew $150 a year, and Filter $250.

Evan's salary was, by this time, $350. He had been in the bank almost
two years. No man can be in the business that long without _earning_
at least ten dollars a week. In office dictionaries, however, the
words "earn" and "get" are a long distance apart. Nelson was teller
and accountant in a branch of four. The manager was delicate and could
not do very much work. Evan ran the cash, liability and general
ledgers, looked after most of the loans, wrote nearly all returns, and
superintended every department of the office routine. He worked three
nights a week and every day from 8.30 until 6.30, eating lunch in his
cage while he handed out infectious bank notes.

His was the only bank in Banfield, a village of nine hundred
inhabitants. There was a good farming district around the village; a
big load of stock was shipped every week, and poultry and dairy
products were profitably handled. The bank did an uncommonly large
business, but owing to the size of the town, head office would not
allow H. H. Jones, the m