My Financial Career

(Stephen Leacock)


       When I go into a bank I get nervous. The clerks make me nervous; the little windows at the counters make me nervous; the sight of the money makes me nervous; everything makes me nervous.
       The moment I go through the door of a bank and attempt to do business there, I become an irresponsible fool. I knew this before I went in, but my salary had been raised to fifty six dollars a month and I felt that the bank was the only place for it.
       So I walked in with dragging feet and looked shyly round at the clerks. I had an idea that a person about to open an account was obliged to consult the manager.
       I went up to a counter marked 'Accountant'. The Accountant was a tall, cool fellow. The very sight of him made me nervous. My voice was deep and hollow.
       'Can I see the manager?' I said, and added solemnly, 'alone.' I don't know why I said 'alone.'
       'Certainly,' said the accountant, and fetched him.
       The manager was a grave, calm man. I held my fifty-six dollars clutched in a screwed-up ball in my pocket.
       'Are you the manager?' I said. god knows I didn't doubt it.
       'Yes,' he said.
       'Can I see you,' I asked, 'alone?' I didn't want to say 'alone' again, but without it the thing seemed obvious.
       The manager looked at me in some alarm. He felt that I had a terrible secret to reveal.
       'Come in here,' he said, and led the way to a private room He turned the key in the lock.
       'We are safe from interruption here,' he said: 'sit down.'
       We both sat down and looked at each other. I found no voice to speak.
       'You are one of Pinkerton's me, I suppose,' he said.
       He had gathered from my mysterious manner that I was a detective. I knew what he was thinking, and it made me worse.
       'No, not from Pinkerton's,' I s aid, seeming to suggest that I came from a rival agency.
       'To tell the truth,' I went on, as if I had been tempted to lie about it, 'I am not a detective at all. I have come to open an account. I intend to keep all my money in this bank.'
       The manager looked relieved but still serious; he concluded now that I was a son of Baron Roths-Child or a young Gould.
       'A large account, I suppose,' he said.
       'Fairly large, I whispered. 'I propose to deposit fifty-six dollars now and fifty dollars a month regularly.
       The manager got up and opened the door. He called to the accountant.
       'Mr. Montgomery,' he said unkindly loud, 'this gentleman is opening an account. He will deposit fifty-six dollars. Good morning.'
       I rose.
       A big iron door stood open at the side of the room.
       'Good morning,' I said, and stepped into the safe.
       'Come out,' said the manager coldly, and showed me the other way.
       I went up to the accountant's counter and pushed the ball of money at him with a sudden, quick movement as if I were doing a conjuring trick.
       My face was pale as death.
       'Here,' I said, 'deposit it.' The tone of the words seemed to mean, 'Let us do this painful thing while we are in mood for it.'
       He took the money and gave it to another clerk.
       He made me write the sum on a piece of paper and sign my name in a book. I no longer knew what I was doing. The bank was going round and round before my eyes.
      'Is it deposited?' I asked in a hollow, vibrating voice.
       'It is,' said the accountant.
       'The I want to draw a cheque.
       My idea was to draw out six dollars of it for present use. Someone gave me a cheque-book through a little window and someone else began telling me how to write it out. The people in the bank k\had the impression that I was a millionaire who had something wrong with him. I wrote something on the cheque and thrust it in at the clerk. He looked at it.
       'What! are you drawing it all out again?' he asked in surprise. Then I realized that I had written fifty six instead of six. I was too far gone to reason now. I had a feeling that it was impossible to explain the thing. All the clerks had stopped writing to look at me.
       Reckless with misery, I made up my mind.
       'Yes the whole thing.'
       'You withdraw your money from the bank?'
       'Every cent of it.'
       'Are you not going to deposit any more?' said the clerk, astonished.
       A foolish hope struck me that they might think something had insulted me while I was writing the cheque and that I had changed my mind. I made a wretched attempt to look like a man with a fearfully quick temper.
       The clerk prepared to pay the money.
       'How will you have it? he said.
       'How will you have it?
       'Oh' -- I caught his meaning and answered without even trying to think -- 'in fifties.'
       He gave me a fifty-dollar bill.
       'And the six?' he asked dryly.
       'In sixes,' I said.
       He gave it to me and I rushed out.
       As the big door swung behind me I caught the echo of a roar of laughter that went up to the ceiling of the bank. Since then I bank no more. I keep my money in cash in my trousers pocket and my savings in silver dollars in a sock.
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