ere did
you get all that gristle?"

"In the back pasture," interpolated Filter, in jovial spirits now that
he was balanced.

"Wrong there," said Henty. "I put on this stock of beef in the rear
end of a mow one hot summer when the sow-thistles were bad."

While the boys were in good tune Nelson broke to them the news of
Jones' resignation.

"The deuce!" exclaimed Filter, who rarely went higher.

"We don't need a manager," observed the junior, grinning, "when we've
got a man who can remember deposit slips for two weeks."

Evan said nothing, but naturally he liked Henty for the flattering
speech, the more so since Henty usually meant more than half of what he
said. Praise is apt to be dangerous to one who draws Evan's salary; he
felt himself growing more and more dissatisfied. Evan was awakening to
a realization of his superiority as a bankclerk. He was a successful
clerk, and he knew it; but he also knew, by now, that his success was
due to labor rather than to special aptitude for that kind of work. He
could not banish Jones' words from his mind; if he had expended the
same amount of energy on some other business he would probably have
achieved far greater efficiency than would ever be possible in banking.
He doubted more and more that climbing steps into the bank was equal to
shinning it up a beanstalk.

For a few days after Jones' conversation with him he was silent and
thoughtful at his work. Instead of making poetic memos, like Service,
in his cage, he made note of the work he waded through, and tried to
picture himself in a private office. That was going one further than
Jones' imaginary desk with the telephone at one's elbow, but the
imagination is fertile territory.

It is difficult to say where Evan's speculations would have landed
him--it is difficult to say, although the probability is he would have
arrived where dissatisfied bank-boys usually do, Nowhere--had not W. W.
Penton, the new manager, put in a sudden appearance.

It took Penton quite a while to get in the bank door, as he had with
him a wife and two poodle-dogs, the latter property especially
requiring much attention and considerable coaching before they would
condescend to enter the office. Possibly their pampered puppy noses
sniffed some of the trouble that was to come. Dogs are prophetic when
there is something undesirable to be foretold.

Mr. Jones had gone out on the morning train and would not be back for a
day or two. Con