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.

"I'm tired," said Jones, "of being worried by unreasonable asses on the
one hand and head office on the other. I'm sick of being a servant."

"How long have you been in the bank?" asked Evan, pensively.

"Twenty years, and my salary is $1,100 with free rent. I was pushed
into the business when about sixteen. At that time banking was a
profession that all young fellows envied. I was the proudest man alive
when they accepted me. And my folk, they didn't do a thing but plume
themselves on it."

The teller was silent a while.

"Things change fast in the bank, don't they?" he observed,
reflectively, thinking of himself and his career.

"You bet they do," replied Jones. "Banking