On the morrow he entered on his new duties with some trepidation, but Kisari Babu took him under his wing and spared no pains to “teach him the ropes”.  Pulin spent his evenings in furbishing up his English and arithmetic, mastered the whole art of book-keeping, and, being naturally intelligent, he soon had the office routine at his fingers’ ends.  He grasped the fact that a young man who wishes to succeed in life must make himself indispensable.  In course of time Pulin’s industry and trustworthiness attracted the attention of Mr. Henderson, who confirmed him as clerk, with a salary of Rs. 35.

But every cup has its bitter drop; and Pulin’s was the persistent enmity of the head clerk, who bore him a grudge for ousting his wife’s nephew and seized every opportunity of annoying him.  Leagued with the arch-enemy were two subordinate clerks, Gyanendra and Lakshminarain by name, who belonged to Debnath Babu’s gusti (family).  This trio so managed matters that all the hardest and most thankless work fell to Pulin’s lot.  He bore their pin-pricks with equanimity, secure in the constant support of Kisari Babu.

One muggy morning in August he awoke with a splitting headache, the harbinger of an attack of fever, and was obliged to inform the head clerk, by means of a note, of his inability to attend office.  An answer was brought by Gyanendra to the effect that three days’ leave of absence was granted, but that his work must be carried on by some other clerk.  He was, therefore, ordered to send the key of his desk by the bearer.  For three days the patient endured alternations of heat and cold; but his malady yielded to quinine, and on the fourth he was able to resume work.

Soon after reaching the office, he was accosted by one of the bearers, named Ramtonu, who told him that the Bara Sahebwished to see him at once.  The moment he entered the manager’s sanctum he saw that something unpleasant had occurred.  Without wishing him good morning, as usual, Mr. Henderson handed him a cheque and asked sternly whether he had filled it up.  Pulin examined the document, which turned out to be an order on the Standard Bank to pay Tarak Ghose & Co.  Rs. 200, signed by Mr. Henderson.  He was obliged to admit that the payee’s name, as also the amount in words and figures, seemed to be in his handwriting.

“Yes,” rejoined the manager, “and the signature is very like my own; but it is a forgery.  Do you hear me, Babu, a forgery!”

To Pulin’s disordered senses the room, with its furniture and Mr. Henderson’s angry face, seemed to be turning round.  He gasped out, “I’m ill, sir!” and sank into a chair.  The manager mistook the remains of fever for a tacit admission of guilt.  He waited till Pulin had regained a share of his wits and said gravely:  “I did not think that one whom I trusted with my cheque-book would act thus.  Now you will search your books, to see whether they contain a record of any payment of the kind, and return with them in half an hour.  But I must warn you that if this forgery is traced to you, I shall have to call in the police.”