embarrassment Nelson felt at being sub-associated with Perry, and worse
still, the compulsory recipient of loudly bawled pointers. In
proportion as Nelson felt humiliated did Perry feel dignified and
important.

The Bonehead had a wonderful faculty for calling people by their first
names on the street. This, he doubtless argued, would impress the new
"swipe" with a sense of his (Porter's) popularity. It does not take
long for boys in a bank to conceive a high and mighty regard for
position.

Back to the office from their morning round, Perry took it upon himself
to teach Evan the mysteries of the Collection Register. After half an
hour's faithful instruction the teller came along and inspected the
work. Two dozen drafts had been entered wrong; "Drawer" was mixed up
with "Endorser," dates of issue were confused with dates of maturity,
and everything but the amounts was topsy-turvy.

"You are, without a doubt," said Castle, turning away, as was his
habit, without trying to pull the boys through their trouble, "the
worst mess I ever came across." His remarks were addressed to Perry,
particularly.

Evan went flat. It is thrillingly unpleasant to find yourself an
incompetent in the routine of an office when you could with ease recite
Hugo's verses in French and write a long treatise on the Punic Wars.
Evan inwardly shuddered. Perry stood beside him grinning and muttering
imprecations on the teller.

"What difference does it make how you enter them?" he said, and
grabbing a handful of drafts, stamped them at random with the bank's
endorsement stamp and the "C" stamp.

Evan stood looking out of the back window. A robin, digging for food
on a grassy plot, raised his bright little eyes to the bankclerk, as
much as to say:

"Come on out, old chap. You'll never find anything to eat in that
dark, musty place!"

As he gazed on the gay bird Evan remembered lessons from his childhood
reader. His mind persisted in flying back to school-days. Why? Did
he still crave knowledge? Was he hungry for something he knew the bank
would never give him?

Years later Evan knew why his mind had dwelt upon the dear days of
school life. At school he had had scope for his imagination and his
genius, in the writings of poet and historian, inventor and novelist.
He could drink as deeply as he would of the fountain of learning, and
still the springs would be there for him, soothing, refreshing.

Not so in the bank. Although