rting in this
connection.

Nelson had met bankboys who delighted in what they called "stringing
skirts." Those fellows were despicable to him; they were scarcely
worth despising. And their numbers were altogether too large. He had
met others--very many--who were not in the despicable class, but who
also were guilty of unfaithfulness. Why, he asked himself, were
conditions in the bank conducive to such a state of affairs?

It was, experience answered, because a fellow's mind was unoccupied
after hours, and for many other reasons. He was among the most
attractive people, and was obliged to dress well and be amiable. If
girls were attracted to him it could do business no harm--and business
comes first. When a move came along a fellow was lonely for a while
and longed to be back at the town he had just left. Naturally he wrote
a more or less pathetic letter to the girl who had liked him best, and
she, being also a little lonely, replied with a touch of tenderness. A
fellow came back with another letter, stronger than the first, written
in a particularly dark hour, and the girl left behind began to feel
herself a party to something serious. Letters went back and forth
until a fellow was invited out in the new town, or otherwise met
another fair one. Then his letters dropped off. Probably he liked the
girl left behind and could have fallen in love with her; but he knew he
could not hold out hopes of marriage, and why spoil her chances by
writing any longer than was absolutely necessary? Sometimes the girl
left behind persisted in her writing. Several of them, if he had
worked in a number of towns, usually did. A fellow could not be rude
to them--he must let them down gradually; so he wrote regularly for a
while, praying that the growing frigidity of his tone would finally
discourage.

Thus it went, town after town. The bankman drifted along, taking no
girl seriously, but using them all so, out of necessity. If he was an
unscrupulous person he enjoyed it; if he knew what conscience meant he
periodically took himself to task--but never quite solved the problem.
There was no solution to it. One could not be a hermit or a boor
because girls had hearts and the bank had none. He must play the game.
He was taking a big chance of having his own heart cracked, and thought
of danger for himself fostered recklessness toward the weaker sex.

Something, a solemn voice it seemed, whispered to Evan that a young man
o