s have a look," said the teller. "This is against the rules, I
know--"

"Aw, bury the rules," cried Watson.

While the teller looked Evan's difference loomed up as big as a
mountain. The tired savings clerk had stumbled over it many times.

"By Jove!" he shouted, "give us another cigarette!"

A moment later he was sorry he had asked for it, but he was obliged to
smoke it. It brought him such pleasant sensations he decided it would
be a good medicine to take in crises of hard work.

Immediately after Nelson's difference was found, the boys planned a
dance. They had been treated well by the girls of Mt. Alban, and it
was up to them to reciprocate.

"Don't you think so?" asked the semi-drunk.

"Sure," said Evan, choking on an inhale.

"Who'll start the fund?" asked Bill.

"I will," responded Nelson, producing a five-dollar bill--all he had.

"That's the kind of a sport," said the foreign teller. "Gee! I
haven't seen a real five outside my cage for a month."

"I wish I was on the cash like you, Jack," grinned Watson.

"What would you do?"

"Why, borrow a little occasionally. You didn't get me wrong, I hope?"

"No chance, Bill; we know you're honest."

The dance given by the bankboys of Mt. Alban was a success--in all but
a financial way. The thing did not pay for itself, and there was an
extra draft on each banker for two dollars. Even wrote home for a loan
of five dollars. He also hinted that he needed a new suit, that he
felt shabby at parties beside the private banker's son and the
haberdasher's nephew. A cheque came signed "George Nelson"; it was
twenty-five dollars high. Evan sighed. Then he slowly folded the
cheque into his wallet.

He ordered a suit from one of the town tailors and paid ten dollars
down.

Bill Watson usually wrote the cash book and the cash items. He saw the
cheque from Hometon and made mental note of it. A day or two later he
asked Evan for a loan to pay the bank guarantee premium, and got five
dollars.

When his suit was finished Nelson was a few dollars short. He went on
the tailor's books. The same night Julia Watersea called him up and
asked him down. He felt obliged to take some candy along.

"How much should I spend for a box of chocolates, Bill?" he asked.

"Nothing less than a buck, kid," replied Bill, almost rendering his
speech ambiguous.

Evan's salary was still two hundred a year--dollars, not pounds. The
box of candy he bought consumed almos