himself, and told the boys, that when the money he had gained
was spent he would not play any more, because he was beginning to see
that some of the fellows might lose more than their salaries could
afford. This was a special night, and they didn't notice it much, but
as a precedent, and so forth, excuses and arguments _ad infinitum_.

Evan might have been able to stop after losing the sum he had gained,
and he might not. Some bankboys had turned away from the exciting
pastimes of the majority, to find what pleasure they could in walking
the streets and patronizing the picture shows, but whether Evan would
have been able to do it or not is not for this story to decide. He was
not destined to remain in the bank, to suffer through the years its
impositions; he was not going to be saddled with the responsibility of
choosing between hopeless monotony and a life of blind recklessness.
That miserable lot was for others, whom Nelson would some day assist in
throwing off the yoke.

Sid Levison, now thirty years of age and drawing $1,100 a year, had
made resolutions like Evan's, believing himself to be stronger than
circumstances. He had started off in the bank with just as high ideals
as Nelson's, and with a sweetheart just as true as Frankie; but years
of disappointment had crushed both his hopes and his ideals, until now
he lived for the petty and illusive pleasures of the moment; drink,
gambling, and other demoralizing "recreations."

Sid Levison, and other bankclerks like him, were abandoned to a life of
waste because they had never been given a fair chance. Had they been
honestly paid for service in the early years of their banking life they
might have spent, at first, all of their salary and done considerable
mischief to themselves and others, but when they came out of their
youthful nightmare the future would not have been blank and
lustreless--as it often is to Sid Levisons, as matters stand. They
open their eyes for a moment to the impossibilities of their situation,
and close them again with a sigh or an oath, hating the light of common
day, so cold and blinding in comparison with the witching glow of
midnight flame.

Bill Watson and those other young poker-players were following in the
way of their paying-teller, innocently, naturally. Every day they are
following in that way, and the bank is perfectly willing that they
should. Does not a man become dependent upon the bank in proportion as
he loses his ow