Democratic Sentinel, Volume 19, Number 46, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 November 1895 — OPENING AN ACCOUNT. [ARTICLE]

OPENING AN ACCOUNT.

Clever Little Story of Ono Men’s Flnencial Career. •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 I am a hesitating jay. If I attempt to transact business there I become an irresponsible idiot. I knew this beforehand, but my salary had' been raised #SO a month, and I felt that the bank was the only place for it. So I shambled in and looked timidly around me at the clerks. I had an idea that a person about to open an account must needs 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 #SO clutched in a crumpled 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, bat without It the thing seemed selfevident. The manager looked at me in some alarm. He felt that I had an awful 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 one another. I found no voice to speak. ‘‘You are one of Pinkerton’s men, I presume,” he said. He had gathered from my mysterious manner that I was a detective. I know what he was thinking, and it. made me worse. “No, not from Pihkerton’s," I said, seemingly to Imply that I came from a rival agency. “To tell the truth,” I went on, as If I had boon prompted to lie about it, “I’m not a detective at all. I’ve come to open an account. I Intend to keep all my money In the bank.” The man then looked relieved, but still serious; ho concluded now that I was a son of Baron Rothsohlld, or a young Gould. “Alarge account, I suppose,” he said. “Fairly large,” I whispered. “I propolo 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. Montgomeryhe said, unkindly loud, “this gent'eman is opening an account; he will deposit #s(l. Good morning. ” I roso . A big iron door stood open at the side of the room. “Good morning,” I said, and stepped into the safe. “Gome out,” said the manager coldly.and showed me the otherway. I went up to the accountant’s wicket and poked the ball of money at him with a quick, conclusive movement, ns if I were doing a conjuring trick. My face was ghastly paie. “Here,” I said, “deposltit.” The tone of tho words seemed to mean ‘‘let ns do this painful thing whllo the fit is on us.” He took the money and gave It to another clerk. He made ino write the sum on a slip of paper and sign my name in the hook. Ino longer knew what I was doing. The bank swam before my eyes “Is it deposited ?” I asked in a hollow, vibrating voice. "It Is,” said the accountant.

‘ ‘Then T want to draw a check. ” My idea was to draw out #fi of It for present use. Some one gave me a check book through n wicket, and some one else began telling me how to write it out. The people In the bank had the impression that I was an Invalid millionaire. T wrote something on the oheck and thrust it In at the clerk. He looked at It. “What! Are you drawing Itall out again?” he asked, in surprise. Then 1 realized that I had written fifty-six instead of six. T 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 a plunge. ‘‘Yes, the whole thing.” “You withdraw your money from the bank?” “Every cent of it. ” “Are you not going to deposit any more?” asked the clerk, astonished. ‘‘Never.” An Idiotic hope struck me that they might think something had insulted mo while I was writing the check 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?” “What?” “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 doors swung behind me I caught the echo of a roar of laughter that went tip to the ceiling of the bank. Sinoe then I bank no more. I keep my money In cash in my trousers pocket and my savings In silver dollars In a sock.