When I go into a bank I get frightened. The clerks frighten me; the desks frighten me; the sight of the money frightens me; everything frightens me. The moment I pass through the doors of a bank and attempt to do business there, I become an irresponsible fool.
　　I knew this before, but my salary had been raised to fifty dollars a month and I felt that the bank was the only place for it.
　　I went up to a desk marked “Accountant”. The accountant was a tall, confident devil3. The very sight of him frightened me. My voice sounded as if it came from the grave.
　　“Can I see the manager?” I said, and added, “Alone.” I don't know why I said “alone”.
　　“Certainly,” said the accountant, and brought him.
　　The manager was a calm, serious man. I held my fifty-six dollars, pressed together in a ball, in my pocket.
　　“Are you the manager?” I said. God knows, I didn't doubt.
　　“Yes,” he said.　   “Can I see you,” I asked, “alone?” I didn't want to say “alone” again, but without this word it seemed senseless4.
　　The manager looked at me with some anxiety. He felt that I had a terrible secret to tell.
　　“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 here5,” he said. “Sit down.”
　　We both sat down and looked at each other. I was speechless. I did not know what to say next.
　　“You are one of Pinkerton's detectives6, I suppose,” he said.
　　My mysterious manner had made him think 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 mean that I was a detective but was not from Pinkerton's.
　　“To tell the truth,” I went on, as if someone had urged me to tell lies about it, “I am not a detective at all. I have come to open an account7. I intend to keep all my money in this bank.”
　　The manager looked relieved8 but still serious; he felt sure now that I was a very rich man, perhaps a member of the Rothschild9 family.
　　“A large account, I suppose,” he said.
　　“Fairly large,”I whispered10.“I intend to place in this bank the sum of fifty-six dollars now and fifty dollars a month regularly.”
　　He got up, opened the door and called to the accountant.
　　“Mr Montgomery,” he said, in an unkindly loud voice, “this gentleman is opening an account. He will place fifty-six dollars in it. Good morning.”
　　I stood up.
　　A big iron doors stood open at the side of the room.
　　“Good morning,” I said, and I walked straight into the safe11.
　　“Not  that  way,” said the manager. “This is the way,” and he pointed to the door through which we had entered.
　　I went up to the accountant's desk and pushed my money to him with a quick, sudden movement, as if the money were too hot for me to hold12. My face was white and my voice shook as I said, “Put this into my account.”
　　Without saying anything, the accountant took the money and handed it to another clerk. He made me write my name on a piece of paper and sign my name in a book. By this time I no longer knew what I was doing. The bank seemed to swim before my eyes13.
　　“Is it in the account?” I asked in a shaking voice.
　　“It is,” said the accountant.
　　“Then I want to write a cheque14.”
　　My idea was to take out six dollars of it for my present use. Someone gave me a cheque book and someone else began telling me how to write it out. The people in the bank treated me like a man who owned millions of dollars, but clearly I was not feeling very well. I wrote something on the cheque and pushed it towards the clerk. He looked at it.
　　“What! Are you taking it all out again?” he asked in surprise. Then I realized that I had written fifty-six dollars instead of six. I was too upset to explain my mistake. All the clerks had had stopped writing to look at me.
　　I had to make a decision.
　　“Yes, the whole thing.”
　  “You    wish   to  take   your money out of the bank?”
　　“Every cent of it.15”
　　“Are you not going to put any more in the account?” said the clerk, surprised.
　　“Never.”
　　A foolish hope came to me that they might think something had offended me while I was writing the cheque and that I had changed my mind. I made a useless attempt to look like a man with an extremely quick temper16.
　　The clerk prepared to pay the money.
　　“How will you have it?” he said.
　　“What?”
　　“How will you have it?”
　　“Oh”—I 　understood his meaning and answered without even thinking about it—”in fifty-dollar notes17.
　　He gave me a fifty-dollar note.
　　“And the six?” he asked coldly.
　　“In six-dollar notes,” I said.
　　He gave me six dollars and I rushed out.
　　As the big door swung18 behind me I heard the sound of laughter rising to the ceiling of the bank. Since then I no longer use a bank. I keep my money in my trouser pocket and my savings in silver dollars in a sock.

1． bank account   n． ＜美＞银行存款， 银行帐户  account   n．  户头， 帐目
2． Stephen Leacock : (1869—1944)加拿大作家、大学讲师，以短篇讽刺文章著名。
3． 此句意为：银行会计个儿高高的，是个自信的家伙。 accountant  n． 会计，出纳   devil [?謖devl] n．  (用以加强语气) 家伙，人
4． 此句意为：若无“单独”一词， 这个提问毫无意义。senseless  adj．  (词语等)无意义的
5． 此句意为： 这儿没人打扰我们。 interruption  n． 中断，打断
6． Pinkerton＇s   美国知名侦探事务所    detective [di?謖tektiv]  n． 侦探
7． open an account 开一往来户头
8． relieved   adj． 放心的
9． Rothschilds   n． 罗斯恰尔兹贴现公司
10． 此句意为：巨额账户，我小声嘀咕道。

11． safe [seif]  n． 金库
12． 此句意为：这钱拿在手上好像烫手的山芋。　13．此句意为：我感觉银行在我眼前打转。  swim [swim]  v． 感到眩晕
14． write a cheque  开支票
15． 此句意为：一个子儿也不留。
16． 此句意为：我试图表现出极端暴躁的样子，但没有用。
17． fifty－dollar notes  50元的纸币
18． swing  (swung, swung)  v．  摇摆，摆动