THE PAYING-TELLER'S STORY. — "'I think you have given me a thousand dollars too much,' she said, as she laid the roll down before me, with artless simplicity."

FRENCH, PYM & CO. had just before this employed a new clerk. Not in the place of any one they had discharged, but as an addition to their force. His name was Smeadon. He was said to be a connection of the wife of Mr. French, the senior partner.

      At that time I was the paying-teller of the Bank of the New World.

      Do you know what it is to be a paying-teller of one of our New York City banks? It is almost impossible to make you understand unless you are somewhat familiar with business. From ten to three he is like a fortress under assault of the enemy. Checks and notes are constantly presented to be paid in cash, or certified — that is, marked with the teller's name, which means they are good, and by which the bank is bound — whilst the teller must act with unremitting celerity and dispatch, or he never will be able to get through the day.

      He must not pay the note or check of a "doubtful" person, unless the money is actually on deposit, and he must exercise a responsible care in protecting the paper of valuable depositors who are, nevertheless, late in "making up their accounts." To not offend a good customer without risking too much in honoring his checks is sometimes a difficult task.

      It is easy enough to get along with the old-fashioned, solid folks, whose money is always in the bank, and also with the doubtful ones, whose account must be good, or "no payment"; but for the third class, who deal heavily, and who generally leave large balances over, while they draw hard during the day — all I can say is, they are the perpetual torment of the paying-teller.

      There are, besides, various exceptional characters, who are continually trying us. We keep the account of a literary gentleman, for example, who is constantly making mistakes, and wondering that the teller don't pay his checks. Another is a man of elegant leisure, who, because he is wealthy, is amazed the teller is not willing he should overdraw.

      A third individual begs us, three or four times a week, to take a deposit, at ten in the morning, to protect a draft of the day before.

      You see, we have an odd life of it. Our very vocabulary is not adapted to any common parlance. "Good" has not the least reference to any moral quality, but only to financial ability. "Strong" is not predicated of anything Samson-like, but of the amount of capital you control. "Respectable" has not the slightest connection with your social position, but refers to the character of your "paper." "First-class" does not mean that you belong to the best society, but that you have your hundreds of thousands in dollar marks.

      Yes, it is an odd sort of life, and for us — hard, very hard. How would you feel to be subjected for five hours daily to the risk of simple ruination, place lost, character shattered, your bondsmen forced to pay up, and for yourself a long vacation, with little chance to recuperate? You have to keep the daily run of millions of cash which are in constant circulation, and which must come out right every afternoon.

      I don't wonder I am thin — nearly all paying-tellers are thin. There may be exceptions, but I know of none in any of our large banks. I say thin — I mean careworn as well. Why! Leroy, when he used to be in my place, did not weigh over a hundred and thirty pounds; since he quitted the bank he has got up to a hundred and eighty.

      Furthermore, it is not particularly pleasant to feel, if you should happen some evening to go to the theatre on the invitation of a friend who has received a present of tickets, that one of the directors has an eye on you, and, as a result, a detective is requested to report on "that young man's habits."

      I don't know why I have indulged in this long digression, except that people are apt to consider a paying-teller as a disagreeable, morose, reticent fellow, always inclined to be disobliging, and very apt to put on airs. Airs, indeed! But, never mind.

      I was saying French, Pym & Co. had, just before this, employed a new clerk. French, Pym & Co. were an old-established house — solid men, large capital, and large means outside of their business. No trouble with them. Always four figures to their account, and oftener five. French, the senior partner, was one of our directors — an old-fashioned man, sixty years of age, active, though, and managed his concern himself. He had been a widower several years.

      A little before the time I am telling you of, he had visited St. Louis, and brought back with him a young wife. He had three children, all of whom were married and settled away from him, and suppose he began to feel lonesome by himself.

      When an old man marries a young woman, people will talk, and this was no exception. The young fellows in the bank gossiped about it, and folks in society discussed it, and the upshot was, it was generally admitted that no one knew anything about her. Nothing, you understand, can be much more severe than that. It is next to saying a woman is no better than she should be! His friends — I mean his female friends — pitied Mr. French exceedingly. I think the gentlemen rather pitied the young woman, for it was said she was only four-and-twenty, a pretty little widow — so the story went — when Mr. French married her.

      Well, to come back where I began, about three months after Mr. French's marriage, the new clerk was employed. As I have said, he was a connection of the young wife. It was supposed he had obtained his place through her influence. His position in the firm was a confidential one, for the relief of the senior partner. I recollect the first time I saw him. I did not know who he was. He came to the counter with a check for ten thousand dollars, payable to bearer, and asked for the bills. It was such an unusual thing for that house to do — check to bearer for a large sum — that I looked in the person's face — generally I don't take the trouble. I saw a fine-appearing, sedate individual of six or seven-and-twenty standing calmly before me.

      I hesitated, and cast my eyes carefully on the signatures, and then on the filling-in of the check. The former were certainly genuine; the latter had not been altered. There it was — ten thousand dollars, to bearer. Had a money-broker drawn such a check, I should have thought nothing of it; but why should French, Pym & Co. do it?

      The man saw that I hesitated.

      "Any difficulty?" he asked, in a calm, firm tone.

      "I should prefer to know who you are before paying this check."

      "I approve your caution," he replied; "but this is to bearer."

      At that moment I saw Mr. French himself pass in and go toward the directors' room. The man also saw him, and, to my surprise, went up and spoke familiarly with him. The result was, he came over to my counter.

      "Mr. Simcox," he said, "this is Mr. Henry Smeadon, now in our employ as confidential clerk. I thought you had been made acquainted with him."

      Nothing could be more satisfactory. Mr. Smeadon bowed in the same quiet manner, and I proceeded to count out ten one thousand dollar-bills to him. I observed he did not show the check to Mr. French; but that was no affair of mine. About an hour after that I saw one of French, Pym & Co.'s clerks making a deposit. I stepped along to the receiving-teller, and noticed, among other things, the ten bills I had, a little before, paid to Mr. Smeadon. There could easily be found explanations for this, but it left a curious impression on me. Still I cannot say I was disagreeably impressed with Smeadon. Only this, he did not create, as some do, a feeling of confidence.

      Not long after, I overtook Smeadon walking up-town. He was proceeding at a slow pace. I always take a fast one. As I was passing him the way was obstructed, and we came close together. He was the first to speak.

      "Do you walk always?" he asked.

      I answered in the affirmative.

      "So do I," he said; "but not at your rapid rate. I like company, and will increase my speed if you will consent to slacken yours."

      This was spoken in his calm, placid way, which produced a rather pleasant effect on me. We walked along together.

      "I thought," said he, "after I went in the bank the other day, it was scarcely fair to you for me to ask for so large a sum, though it was to bearer, without being identified. The fact is, the check was drawn in a hurry, to meet a possible emergency, which, by-the-by, did not present itself, and I sent the very bills back in less than an hour."

      Here was the whole thing explained. I no longer permitted myself to feel the least want of confidence in French, Pym & Co.'s new clerk. We soon were chatting familiarly. Why not? He was not a person I had to be on my guard against, but quite the contrary, every way.

      I was at that time living at home with my mother, who occupied a small house far up-town, over by the Tenth Avenue. Our whole family consisted of my mother, myself, and a little sister twelve years old. Smeadon told me he had come from Cleveland, and knew nobody in New York, and went nowhere, except once in a while to call on his cousin, Mrs. French. It was natural I should ask him to come and see me. He promised to do so, and we parted, mutually pleased with each other. So much for my first acquaintance with Smeadon.

      I will tell you how I first saw Mr. French's young wife. It was just after Smeadon and I walked up-town together. In the busiest part of the day — quite a line at my counter — a very small white hand, with a large solitare diamond sparkling on the forefinger, was extended with a check for one thousand dollars — French, Pym & Co.'s check. This, too, was to bearer. There were so few feminine hands extended toward us, that I stopped to see if the lady was as pretty as the hand gave token of. So I looked at her, saying, politely, "Large or small bills, madam?"

      I declare, it was one of the sweetest, most innocent faces I ever beheld. She appeared very young — at that moment not more than twenty; graceful figure, black hair and eyes, beautiful expression, and so innocent. She was dressed in excellent taste, but inexpensively. She exhibited a little natural confusion at my question, but replied, "Two or three hundred dollars in fives and tens, the rest large." I counted the money, and placed it before her. As she took it she raised her eyes to mine, as it would seem, quite accidentally. I cannot describe their effect on me. There are women's eyes which are like the eyes of the basilisk — they charm and subdue, and lead you captive by a single glance. Here was an instance. I cannot tell how or wherefore. Nothing could be more modest than was their expression. They rested on me only as if to withdraw, but when withdrawn, I felt as if I was ready to do that woman's will for evermore — that I would rejoice to be her slave, and perform whatever she should bid. I am not surprised you stare at me — strange extravagance of speech for a bank-teller, is it not? It is the simple truth, though.

      As she turned to leave the bank, I looked after her. Everybody outside the counters looked after her; two or three clerks inside, who happened to see her standing there, looked after her. No wonder — the handsomest form you ever beheld, and the most perfect foot and ankle; her motions all modesty and grace.

      "Don't you know who that is?" asked young Platt of me — his turn was next.

      "I am sure I don't."

      "Well, you ought to. It is the wife of one of your directors."

      "Mrs. French?"

      "Yes."

      "Nobody knew where she came from," said the women. Who would care to know? Not I. To see her was enough. If Mr. French thought so, why, he thought right.

      About a week after that, Smeadon called one evening to see me. My mother was knitting by the fire. I was reading, and my little sister attempting to study her French lesson without assistance. I welcomed Smeadon cordially, introduced him to my mother and Laura, and we were soon chatting away as if we had always been intimately acquainted.

      It was not long before he asked Laura about her studies, and finding she was at French, volunteered to assist her. She was delighted. Smeadon appeared to understand the language perfectly, and he kept on till the lesson was completed. My mother was pleased, too. We engaged in general conversation; then Smeadon spoke of himself — of life in the West, and of New York, which he said he knew almost nothing about. We were all sorry when, a little after ten, he rose to depart.

      "I cannot tell you," he said, addressing my mother, "how much I envy your son his happy, domestic home. If I were not such a stranger to you, I would ask you if you could not persuade yourself to make room for me. It has been several times this evening on my lips to do so, but I was afraid to venture. Now, as I leave here, the cheerlessness of my boarding-house presents itself, and it makes me bold."

      My mother was much surprised, but she was pleased, I may say flattered, by Smeadon's manner, as well as by what he said. She looked a little doubtingly at me, and responded:

      "We have never thought of such a thing as taking any one into our house. As you are a friend of Charles, I shall leave the matter entirely to him."

      "Thanks, my dear madam; your son and I will talk it over. Don't think me impertinent for making the request. Good-evening."

      After he left, the affair we discussed in all its bearings. Smeadon was certainly every way unobjectionable. Laura was not old enough to raise a question about her. The only difficulty was, it broke in on the happy privacy of home. On the other hand, it was admitted the additional income we should receive was by no means unimportant. The result was, it was decided to admit him on terms which I was to arrange.

      These were speedily settled, and the following Monday he took up his abode with us. Smeadon proved to be not only perfectly unobjectionable, but his stay with us was a source of much pleasure. He was very quiet, and spent enough of his time in his room to allow the family to be alone together. He was a great help to Laura, whose progress in French was rapid under the instruction he seemed to take pleasure in giving her. He was strict in the observance of the Sabbath, and always accompanied my mother to church, even when, feeling the need of rest, I would myself stay at home.

      As you may naturally suppose, we became very intimate. He gave me an account of his life — how, by the death of his father, he was thrown out of a lucrative business, and scarcely knew which way to turn, when, through the influence of his cousin, he secured his present situation. Of her he spoke in the most exalted terms. If ever there was an angel here below, it was she. Mr. French he considered one of the excellent of the earth; he represented the felicity of the two as complete.

      I cannot well express how much I enjoyed the six months which Smeadon spent with us. During that time he had done us a great many little favors. I do not mean precisely of a pecuniary nature, but still incidentally valuable. Once, on a holiday, he took Laura with him to call on his cousin. The girl came back perfectly delighted with Mrs. French, who had given her a pretty gold bracelet, and invited her to come again. The result was, Laura used to go almost every Saturday to spend an hour with her kind friend, and always had some little thing to bring home. Not, you understand, of any great value, but quite appropriate for a child.

      Meantime, Mrs. French occasionally came to the bank to draw money — always in pretty large sums, but no larger, certainly, than a rich, indulgent husband like Mr. French would grant. You may ask if it did not strike me as a little odd that she should come herself, instead of sending. I cannot tell you why, but it never seemed in the least out of place. Whatever she did appeared so natural, and just as it should be.

      She did not come often, but I confess I looked forward to her arrival with impatience. Her very presence produced a strange joy in my heart, and I took as long a time as possible to count the bills before giving them to her. There was something delicious in the idea that I had the power to keep her standing before me even for so brief a time. When she took the money, she would look timidly in my face, as if to say, "I suppose this is right?" and when she turned away, I was left always under the same spell. I never spoke with her, of course — she never recognized me — but I knew she knew I was little Laura's brother, and her cousin's friend.

      During those six months French, Pym & Co.'s business was very large, and Smeadon was busily occupied. He was in the habit of coming often to the bank to draw large sums on the checks of the house, but I no longer thought anything of this, as Smeadon had explained to me that they were now buying extensively, in consequence of the depreciated prices, and as it was an object for them to conceal their operations, their purchases were made through brokers, and paid for in the bills.

      So affairs progressed until one Wednesday morning, the seventeenth day of October.

      On that morning Smeadon asked to have his breakfast a little earlier than usual, as he had to be at the counting-room in good season, and had a hard day's work before him.

      I wished him good luck, and he left the house.

      It wanted about twenty minutes to eleven when Smeadon came into the bank in a hurry — his manner was never hasty, in fact, always calm, but he stepped quicker than usual, as if he was about accomplishing something important. He placed two checks of French, Pym & Co. before me — one to his order for thirty-seven thousand dollars, the other to bearer, for twenty-seven thousand — in all, sixty-four thousand dollars.

      "Certify the thirty-seven, and give me large bills for the twenty-seven," he said, "I have to step to the president a moment; please have them ready, as I have no time to lose."

      I confess I did not indulge the slightest suspicions. Who would, under similar circumstances? I scarcely looked at the checks, but certified one and proceeded to count out the money for the other.

      Smeadon was back almost before I had finished. I handed him the check and bills.

      "I had a fool's errand," he said, with a slight air of vexation. "I started to give the president some 'receivables,' and found I had forgotten to take them from the safe. Must go back for them. Now I am here, will go to South Street first; will be back in less than an hour, sharp. There will be no more checks in, unless one of fifteen hundred to Edgerton & Co., till late in the afternoon."

      "All right," I replied; but, somehow, I do not know why, I could not help feeling a little fidgety. A paying-teller always feels nervous before twelve o'clock; then he begins to warm to his work. Besides, checks which are presented early never seem exactly right.

      "Ridiculous," I said to myself. "Simcox, don't be a fool!"

      At that moment the form of Mrs. French appeared at the door, and all doubts and fears vanished. She came directly to my window — there was no one before her — and held out the same pretty, ungloved hand, with a check.

      "This is Mr. Simcox, I believe," she said, in a low, modest voice. "Your little sister has become a great favorite with me. You must thank your mother for letting her come to see me."

      I had not the power of speech, I was so overcome. I blushed and stammered, and tried to count the money for the check. It was for six thousand dollars! I swear to you, it never occurred to me that it was a very large sum for the lady to draw. Had it been for six millions, I think I should have paid it if I could have scraped up the money in the bank.

      She walked away with the cash, but, after a moment, came tripping back.

      "I think you have given me a thousand dollars too much," she said, as she laid the roll down before me, with artless simplicity.

      It was a fact. There were seven thousand dollars instead of six thousand.

      "I am greatly obliged to you, madam," I said; "I thank you much."

      "For what?" she replied. "For restoring what does not belong to me!"

      She bowed sweetly and departed. I was in the seventh heaven. I could think of nothing but the incident of the thousand dollars. Would Mrs. French tell her husband how careless I had been? I did not believe she would.

      People coming to present checks now brought me to my senses. Time passed. Glancing at the clock, I perceived it was half-past twelve. It occurred to me Smeadon had not yet come in, but I thought little of it. In fact, he might have passed without my seeing him. Before three several checks of French, Pym & Co. came in to be certified, which I honored as usual. After three o'clock my assistant called my attention to them. I looked at French, Pym & Co.'s accounts. They were largely overdrawn.

      "Pshaw," I said to myself, "that is nothing — those receivables have been passed to their credit."

      The discount-clerk had gone home. In fact, even then, I had no suspicions, and did not look at the entries.

      That evening Smeadon was not at dinner. He did not come back that night. He never came back at all!

      There was a hubbub next day, you may well believe, especially when it was discovered that Mrs. French had also vanished. But where? Three steamers had left the day previous for various foreign parts. The telegraph wires were employed, and it was confidently anticipated the parties would be arrested. Of the checks presented, the thirty-seven thousand, which I certified, proved to be a forgery, and the loss fell on the banking-house, who received it for a sale of gold. The twenty-seven thousand had been altered from seven thousand, while the six thousand had been an abstracted signature, and filled in. A pretty fair division of losses.

      I escaped without serious censure, considering it might have been so much worse — but Mr. French never held up his head after that. His wife had robbed him very extensively: so had Smeadon. They must have carried off considerably more than a hundred thousand dollars.

      Quite a year after that I received a letter with a foreign post-mark. It was from Smeadon. Here it is. I will read it to you:

      At the bottom was written, in a neat Italian hand: