ofits are so high they couldn't begin to share them in
dividends; the public wouldn't stand for it. So they buy property,
build buildings, and pile up capital. At the same time they are
starving their clerks."

"But," said Evan, feeling obliged to stand up for the institution that
gave him employment, whether that employment was respectably paid for
or not, "isn't it up to the clerk? If he is willing to work for a
certain salary the bank isn't going to throw money at him."

Robb, to Evan's surprise, laughed heartily, then sneered.

"My dear Boob," he said, "they've got you by the whiskers all
right..... Now look here: the bank hangs a great big bluff from
beginning to end. It tells juniors they _will be_ well paid after a
while--as soon as they are experienced. But it doesn't fulfil that
promise. When the junior becomes a senior he is told that he _would
have_ succeeded if he had done certain things. Isn't that what they
told me?"

They were at the bank. The day before a holiday is no time for
distracting thoughts. Evan went in and concentrated on his work, and
Robb on his. The conversation they had had must come up for future
consideration. That is the way with bankclerk "consideration": it is
always future.

Four weeks had made Evan fairly familiar with the ways of a city
office. On the cash book he had a good opportunity to see the workings
of the entire system, for the cash book is a concentration of all
business; it is an itemized general ledger. Evan was rushed from
morning till night, and worked many a night. Yet he did not find that
in the routine which satisfied his intellect. He knew himself to be a
machine; not a creative machine--there is no such thing--but a
reconstructive instrument. He was a meat-grinder, a fanning-mill,
after that a phonograph--nothing more. Yet, from sheer physical and
superficially mental activity he was, in a measure, satisfied with his
lot. He derived satisfaction from a comparison of his working ability
with that of other clerks. He should have compared himself with a star
in the sky instead of a knot-hole in the fence. There is a ridiculous,
childish satisfaction in measuring one's self by an inferior, or even a
peer. It is an ignoble source of content. But, aside from flattering
himself into a species of content, in that way, Evan sated his natural
ambitions in continuous work. The laborer is reconciled to his place
because he really gets something do