her
consideration from you. The business here will be ruined."

"I won't say anything," replied Nelson, "until some of the customers
begin to kick. I have an idea they will not do any reporting without
warning us, though."

The manager's wife sighed.

"It would be a relief, I sometimes think," she said, "to get back to
the city. Pen was busy there and it kept, his mind occupied. I see
there is no hope for him here. The trouble is head office might drop
him from the service altogether. Of course, his relatives in Berlin
are big depositors--"

"That might help some," said Evan, treasonably. Then, "Don't give up,
Mrs. Penton. We may be able to scare him good for another month or so."

She made an effort to smile, but it was a tired one.

"You are my only hope, Mr. Nelson," she said, forcing back her tears.
"I'm going to tell you something more."

He wondered what was coming next.

"Pen," she continued, "is in debt, I'm afraid. How could he help it
when he spends so much on liquor? His salary here is only nine hundred
dollars and rent, you know."

That seemed a great deal to Evan, who got board for $3.25 per week.

"Do you mean he owes money in town?"

"Yes."

The teller recalled what Filter had said Jack Hunter told him. If the
manager owed Hunter money, he probably was in debt elsewhere, too.

"Well, Mrs. Penton," answered Evan, "I don't know what to say. I wish
I had the money myself to lend. Do you know what I get?"

She blushed.

"It is only your advice I ask, Mr. Nelson," she replied, sadly. "As to
your salary, I think they ought to pay you more than Pen."

Evan's chest went out an inch or two, but he found himself still
unequal to the task of advising her. Things would have to take their
course, as they always do.

Now, in the course of things, there came a very busy day. The manager
had been sober for a fortnight; he sat in his office pulling at that
long upper lip of his, and consuming inwardly with the fierce desire
that drunkards know. Perhaps no one sympathized with him sufficiently.
Who, after all, knows anything about hell but those who have been there?

Before the teller's box thronged women and men from all the country
roundabout, smelling strongly of poultry. It was such a cold day that
the bank was chilly and windows could not be raised. The aroma that
arose before the wickets was indescribably potent. Evan felt his head
swim and his stomach sicken. But work was