to settle her monthly account.

The old cashier was out to lunch.

His assistant, Lester Armstrong, stepped forward and attended to the matter for the pretty young girl, surely the sweetest and daintiest that he had ever beheld.
That night he dreamed of the lovely, dimpled rosebud face, framed in a mass of golden curls; a pair of bewildering violet eyes, and a gay, musical voice like a chiming of silver bells, and lo! the mischief was done.

The next day the assistant cashier made the first mistake of his life over his accounts.

The old cashier, Mr.Conway, looked at him grimly from over the tops of his gold-rimmed glasses.
"I hope you have not taken to playing cards nights, Mr.Armstrong," he said.