hat's a crime. I hope when I die that they send
me where I can see the torment of bank officials!"

The elder man's face was paler. The alcohol was not yet entirely out
of his system. He trembled slightly after delivering so vehement a
remark. Evan knew then--or thought he knew--how deeply Robb hated the
bank.

"What would board cost me up there, Mr. Robb?" he asked.

The ex-manager thought for a moment.

"I pay seven dollars," he said, "but I can get you in for a month on
about four, I think. By that time you will have found another place."

"That will suit me," said Evan; "I'll still have three dollars a week
to live on."

Robb's lip curled, and he made a blot over an "i" instead of a dot; but
he offered no comment.

"Come up for supper to-night," he invited, "and I'll show you the room.
You might as well move right in, and make a couple of days' hotel
expenses out of the bank."

Hurrying through the ordeal called "lunch," in order to let Robb back
to his liability, Evan took the Sterling book and figured out exchange.

"Where did you learn that?" asked Robb, watching him do the first draft.

"Watson showed me last night," replied Evan; "we never issued them in
the country."

"And they're giving you seven dollars a week. Do you know what this
post is worth, Evan? Fifteen hundred dollars a year!"

The figure dazed Evan. He could not conceive of his being worth such a
fabulous amount to any corporation.

"It's just as difficult as my job," continued Robb. "There's no
difference between one post and another--except in the amount of work
done, of energy wasted. It's all a matter of getting into a rut and
plugging along there, like a plowman. A fellow needs certain
qualifications like accuracy, speed, and a rhinoceros' constitution;
but what is there to it, from the standpoint of prospects?
Nothing--except work. I began in this very office twenty-five years
ago. In two years I was almost as capable of handling the liability as
I am now. All I needed was a little practice. I'm just where I
started. I've been going round in a circle. That's banking! Do you
think for a holy minute that if I was young again I'd give myself
another twenty-five-year sentence? Great Heaven! what wouldn't I give
to be back at your age? You may flatter yourself with the notion that
you're going to have something nice handed to you some day. Well,
you'll get it handed to you, all right, but not in a silver salver