seemed
partial to Evan himself; both treated him exceedingly well.

"She's a bird, isn't she, Nelson?" observed Watson, when the two
bankclerks were alone for a moment.

"You bet. That dark hair of hers is mighty becoming."

Watson laughed.

"I mean the other, you jackass. Mine."

"Oh," said Nelson, absently.

The following day Julia Watersea came into the bank and deposited some
money with the teller. Evan felt his face fill up when he saw the red
passbook--it meant she would have to face him before the transaction
was finished.

"How are you to-day?" he asked, working hard on the book and trying to
look professional.

"Very well, thank you, Mr. Nelson. By the way, do you like picnics?"

Bill kicked him from behind.

"Yes--yes, indeed," said Evan, quickly.

"Well, we girls are getting one up for Saturday afternoon. Could you
and Mr. Watson come?"

Bill rushed up to the savings wicket.

"Could we?" he cried, smiling at the dark-haired girl. "Can we?"

"All right," said Julia, with color; "we're going to meet at our place."

De Maupassant and the dictionary were doomed. Bill warmed up to the
junior ledgerman now that the latter was growing sociable. He
periodically forgot to put a cheque through during bank hours,
preferring to do his business through Evan.

Miss Watersea's picnic happened, and it was a good one. Evan enjoyed
himself so well he forgot to write Frankie her weekly letter. He would
have had to mention Julia in it, anyway, and perhaps it was as well to
omit writing altogether.

The girl Bill called his was something like Lou Nelson. Evan felt at
home in her company, but she did not attract him in the same way Julia
did. Hazel Morton had more fire in her than either Lou or Julia--that,
Evan said to himself, was how it was she held Bill Watson. Bill was
not at all easy to hold.

In the day when Evan Nelson was a savings ledgerman, bankclerks in
Eastern towns were nicknamed "village idols." The title was quite
appropriate, too. Even yet bankboys are looked for and looked after in
those towns. It is quite natural that they should be, for they are a
good class of fellows. The worst that can be said about them, as a
rule, concerns their prospects; and it is to the credit of young women
that they do not take a man's means into account when they want to
fancy him.

After the picnic Bill and Evan were alone above the vault. The
current-account man was moody.

"Kid," he s