My Financial Career by Stephen Leacock
My Financial Career by Stephen Leacock When I go into a bank I get rattled. The clerks rattle me; the wickets rattle me; the sight of the money rattles me; everything rattles me. The moment I cross the threshold of a bank and attempt to transact business there, I become an irresponsible idiot. I knew this beforehand, but my salary had been raised to fifty dollars a month and I felt that the bank was the only place for it. So I shambled in and looked timidly round at the clerks. I had an idea that a person about to open an account must consult the manager. I went up to a wicket marked 'Accountant'. The accountant was a tall, cool devil. The very sight of him rattled me. My voice was sepulchral. '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 crumpled ball in my