Stephen Leacock - My Financial Career

我的理財之道

斯蒂芬·利科克

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 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 fifty-six dollars 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, but without it the thing seemed self-evident.

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 each other. 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 knew what he was thinking, and it made me worse.

“No, not from Pinkerton's,” I said, seeming to imply that I came from a rival agency.

“To tell the truth,” I went on, as if I had been prompted 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 Rothschild 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 wicket and poked the ball of money at him with a quick convulsive movement as if I were doing a conjuring trick.

My face was ghastly pale.

“Here,” I said, “deposit it.” The tone of the words seemed to mean, “Let us do this painful thing while the fit is on us.”

He took the money and gave it to another clerk.

He made me write the sum on a slip and sign my name in a book. I no 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 I want to draw a cheque.”

My idea was to draw out six dollars of it for present use. Someone gave me a chequebook through a wicket and someone else began telling me how to write it out. The people in the bank had the impression that I was an invalid millionaire. 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 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?” said the clerk, astonished.

“Never.”

An idiot 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.

“What?”

“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 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.

我走進銀行就心裡發慌。辦事員使我心慌；櫃檯窗口使我心慌；我看到錢也心慌；一切都使我心慌。

我一跨過銀行的門檻，想去辦事，就成了一個靠不住的大傻子。

我事先對此心中有數，但我的月薪已經增加到50元，我覺得銀行是我唯一可存放這筆錢的地方。

於是我一步一拖地走進銀行，縮頭縮腦地向周圍的辦事員看了一眼。我認為凡是打算在銀行開戶頭的人就應該先找經理諮詢一下。我走向一個標明“會計”的窗口。會計是個身材高大、態度冷淡的傢伙一見到他我就心慌。我的聲音很低沉。

“我能見經理嗎？”我說，又鄭重其事加了一個詞兒，“單獨見。”我不知道為什麼要說“單獨見”。

“當然可以，”會計說，就去把經理請來。

經理這人很嚴肅、鎮靜。我口袋裡的56元鈔票已經在我手中捏作一團。

“你是經理嗎？”我說。其實這話多餘。

“是的，”他說。

“我能見你嗎，”我問，“單獨見？”我並不想再說“單獨見”，可是不說吧，人不是明擺著見到了嗎。

經理帶著幾分緊張看著我。他覺得我要向他透露什麼絕密。

“進來吧，”他說，把我帶到一間密室。他把鎖眼裡的鑰匙轉上。

“在這裡就不怕有人來打擾，”他說，“坐下。”

我們都做了下來，互相看著對方。我說不出話來。

“您大概是平克頓那兒的人吧，”他說。

他看我舉止神祕，就猜想我是個偵探。我明白他的想法，因此更感到不自在。

“不，不是平克頓的人，”我說，彷彿在暗示我是對立的一家偵探事務所的人。

“老實說吧，”我接下去說，好像我原來不得不說假話似的，“我根本不是偵探。我是來開戶頭的。我打算把所有的錢都存進貴行。”

經理顯然鬆了口氣，但仍然一本正經。他現在又斷定我是羅特希爾德男爵的兒子，或者是古爾德少爺了。

“想必是一大筆款吧，”他說。

“相當大，”我低聲說，“我打算現在存56元，以後每月存50元。”

經理站起來把門打開，招呼會計。

“蒙哥馬利先生，”他很不客氣地喊道，“這位先生要開個戶頭，他要存56元。再見。”

我站了起來。

房間的一邊正開著一扇大鐵門。

“再見，”我說，就走進了保險庫。

“出來，”經理冷冷地說，又對我指指另外一個方向。

我走到會計的窗口，把那團鈔票猛地往會計面前一推，好像在變戲法。

我的臉色蒼白。

“拿去，”我說，“把它存了。”聽口氣好像是說：趁咱們興致好的時候把這麻煩事兒辦了吧。

會計收下錢遞給另一個辦事員。

他叫我把錢數寫在一張紙條上，又把名字簽在一個本子上。我這時已不知在幹什麼。只見銀行在我眼前晃晃悠悠。

“錢存好了嗎？”我問道，聲音空洞，發著顫。

“存好了，”會計說。

“我要開一張支票。”

我想提取6 元，眼下要派用場。有人從窗口遞給我一本支票簿。還有個人教我怎麼開支票。銀行裡的人都把我看做一個百萬病翁。我在支票上寫了幾個字就把它塞給辦事員。辦事員看了看支票。

“怎麼，你又要把全部存款取出來？”他驚奇的問道。這時我才明白自己寫的是56元，而不是6元。我已經無可救藥，腦子不管用了。我感覺怎麼也說不清道不明瞭。所有的辦事員都放下筆看著我。

我苦不堪言，豁出去了，於是孤注一擲。

“對，全部。”

把錢都從銀行取走？”

“一分也不留。”

“難道不準備再存了嗎？”那辦事員驚奇地問。

“不存了。”

我突然痴人說夢似的希望他們以為我在寫支票時有人冒犯了我，致使我改變了主意。我想裝出一副脾氣極壞的樣子，但又裝不像。

辦事員在準備付款。

“您想要多大票面的？”

“什麼？”

“您想要多大票面的？”

“哦，”——我明白他的意思，不假思索地回答——“50元一張的。”

他付我一張50元票面的鈔票。

“還有6元呢？”他冷冷地問。

“6元一張。”

他付了我6元，我拔腿就跑了出去。

那扇大門在我身邊轉動，我聽到裡面一陣鬨然大笑，連天花板都震動了。從此以後，我再也不把錢存銀行了。我把現金都存放在褲子兜裡，把積攢的銀元存放在儲蓄罐哩。