fifteen were still working.

In one of the banks a young clerk slept, with his head on his hands and his hands on an interest table. The ledger-keeper found him thus.

"Too dang bad," he said to Perry; "I forgot all about him.... Hey, Nelson, it's morning!"

Evan raised his head and opened his eyes. Watson smiled good-naturedly.

"It's a shame to kid you," he said. "This was another bum steer. But the practice in adding won't hurt you, eh?"

Nelson stumbled up the back stairs and fell asleep on his bed to the tune of an adding-machine, run by Porter. In his dreams he stood at the foot of a mighty column—of figures. It reached to the clouds. A ghostly friend of Jack-in-the-Beanstalk's whispered to him that he must climb that column if he would reach Success. Evan began the ascent.

CHAPTER III.

A MAN OF THE WORLD.

Miraculous as it seemed to Evan, the ledgers were finally made to balance. Porter lengthened his stride a foot and walked once more well back on his heels—just as if his bad work had not been responsible for a three days' dizzy mixup. A certain Saturday afternoon came round.

"I guess we can do without you till Monday noon," said the manager, over Nelson's shoulder, as the latter pondered over an unwritten money-order.

It was welcome news to Evan. He had come to feel, however, that his presence was indispensable to the well-being of the collection register and other books of record. It appeared to him that in one afternoon and a forenoon the hand of any other but himself must irrevocably "ball" the junior post.

"You mean you don't want me to drive back Sunday night?" he asked Mr. Robb, doubtingly.

"That's what. You'd better take all the holidays you can get now, Nelson; you'll be tied tighter than wax-end before you're in the business long."

Evan seemed still perplexed.

"Who'll take out the drafts Monday morning, Mr. Robb?" he asked, seriously.

The manager looked at him with an expression half humor and half pity.

"Do you suppose," he said with a grin, "that the merchants will be very badly offended at not getting these bills at the earliest moment?"

Evan smiled. Robb still stood beside him.

"Evan! ....."

He looked up, surprised to hear himself addressed so familiarly by the manager; but the latter was speaking:

".... Remember this: extra holidays never save you labor. The work is always waiting for your return, piling up through every hour of your pleasure."

Mr. Robb sighed and walked into his office, leaving the new junior to absorb another impression. The words spoken did impress Nelson. He sat gazing before him at the wall, wondering why the manager was so friendly toward him and so cynical on matters of business. From looking at nothingness his eyes gradually focused on a calendar, and at an "X" mark in pencil thereon. The mark indicated the day when he would make a trip home to tell about "the world": that day had come.

With a smile he laid aside the money-order he had been examining and began straightening up his desk, whistling as he did so. Castle, out in his cash, was annoyed.

"Will you kindly stop that whistling," he commanded in his high tones.

"Excuse me," said the junior quickly, "I wasn't thinking."

"Well you want to think," returned Castle.

"No you don't," called Watson; "you'll get h—l if you dare to think. As the hymn says, 'Trust and obey'—but for heaven's sake don't think. Now I think—"

"Shut up, Bill," interposed Perry, "I've been up this column twice already."

Bill opened his eyes and leered down on the savings man.

"Look who's here," he said, facetiously. "Why, it's the new ledger keeper; the great-grandson of Burroughs, and inventor of the new system of adding—the system which says: Go up a column three times and if the totals agree there is something wrong; mistrust them; get the other man to add it."

Porter scowled. Castle could scarcely repress a smile, but he dug his nose into a bunch of dirty money, and managed to turn his thoughts to microbes and other sober subjects.

Evan, his grip packed, stood apologetically behind the cage, waiting for the teller to turn around.

"What do you want?" said Castle.

"Cash this cheque, will you, please?"

A smile wavered on Watson's lip. Porter felt in his pockets. The teller grinned.

"Hardly worth while keeping that in an account," he said, with the intention of joking. It was a wonder, too, for he seldom tried to be funny with inferiors.

"I wouldn't have even that," replied Evan, "if it weren't for the account."

Bill haw-hawed.

"You're no humorist, Castle," he said.

The teller was red and white in an instant. The ledger keeper never had shown him any respect; he had called him Mister but a few times, and that was just after Bill had come from another branch. Castle was smaller than Watson and possessed an inferior personality. Bill was big and humorous—and reckless. It was the joy of his life to torment the teller; and yet he was not mean; he was not even obstreperous; he got along splendidly with the manager, and showed him respect.

The teller's anger exhausted itself inwardly. Evan still stood with his grip in his hand looking at the boys working behind their desks. He felt that he ought to bid them good-bye, but he did not like to do it individually, and it was almost as hard to say a general farewell.

"Good-bye," he called faintly from the front door. Castle did not raise his head. Porter and Bill lifted theirs, but only to grin. The manager stepped out of his office and extended his hand with a smile.

"Have a good time," he said, and whispered: "Monday night will do, if your mother kicks very hard."

"Thank you, Mr. Robb, I——"

"That's all right."

On the train Evan rejoiced. He thought of the sad day he had landed at the station of Mt. Alban with lonesomeness and misgivings; of the thrills of discouragement and homesickness that had tortured him for the first two weeks; of the blank explanations of "the porter," and ensuing jumbles of figures and bills; and of his first look at that bed above the vault. It all seemed to have happened at a remote period in his life—probably in the pre-existent land; even balance day, but three days past, was remote.

It was not in these seemingly ancient memories that Evan had his rejoicing, but in the realization that they were memories. As the train carried him buoyantly toward Hometon he recounted the accomplishments he had acquired in four or five weeks. He could add twice as rapidly as any high-school student in the average collegiate; he knew the collection register and diary; he could enter up a savings-bank passbook better than Perry—with a clearer hand and a much clearer comprehension; he could draw a draft, reckon dates of maturity without a calendar; and so on. But, what he prized most, he was familiar with a host of technical terms, used in the banking business the world over. And after buying his ticket and purchasing a hat-pin for his sister, Lou, he had two dollars of his own money in his pocket. That would buy up most of the ice-cream in Hometon, for one evening anyway.

Such thoughts and reflections as these kept Evan interested until the brakeman shouted "Hometon next!" Then a lofty and exulting happiness took the place of interest. He looked on the approaching spires and humble cupolas of his home town with an expression possibly similar to that of an eagle in flight over a settlement of earthy creatures. He felt a sudden loyalty for Mt. Alban, and suspected that it would be part of his professionalism to maintain the honor of his business-town in Hometon.

The bankclerk straightened his back and marched down the aisle of the train. Alfred Castle and the interest table seemed a thousand miles away. Two happy faces smiled at him from the station