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My Financial Career by Stephen Leacock

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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