the gigantic bank vault door with polished steel handles and big dials and thick brass hinges. This makes Banker Berniece look tinier still.
“Activate yer abacus, Miss Mathematicus!” says Toad as we enter the bank. Honestly, sometimes it’d be nice if he could just say hello like a normal person. Banker Berniece doesn’t smile or frown, she just looks up and in a flat voice that is neither friendly nor unfriendly, says, “Good morning, Mr. Hopper,” then reaches out to take the wad of BarterBucks slips Toad has dug out of his pocket.
One by one she smooths the crumpled papers and arranges them neatly on the desktop. Then she opens a desk drawer and takes out a fountain pen, a bottle of ink, an envelope, and a giant book that says “LEDGER” on the cover. She arranges them all on the desk, each in its place, as carefully as she arranged the BarterBucks slips. Then she goes through the slips one by one, entering them in the ledger with the fountain pen. After the last one is written in, she reaches into another drawer and pulls out a wooden rack that holds a bunch of colored beads mounted on slim iron rods. The first time I saw it, I thought it was some kind of weird rattle-toy, but Toad wasn’t being completely goofy when he mentioned the abacus, because that’s exactly what it is.
While the index finger of one hand moves slowly down through the numbers she just wrote in the ledger, the index finger of Banker Berniece’s other hand dances over the abacus, flicking beads back and forth. I can hear soft little click-clack sounds as she works her way down the page. When she adds in the last number, she writes it in the ledger and circles it. Then she adds everything up again, puts a check beside the number in the ledger, and turns the heavy book so Toad can sign it. Then she writes the same number on a piece of paper, signs and dates it, and hands it to Toad along with an envelope. He initials the piece of paper, seals it in the envelope, and writes his name and today’s date across the seal.
Now I hand her my slips. When she smooths out the piece of paper that shows how many BarterBucks I got for Porky Pig, I watch for her reaction, because for me, it’s a pretty big number, but Banker Berniece’s expression doesn’t change. She just goes straight to flicking the abacus. Toad says that’s part of why he trusts Banker Berniece. She treats everybody and every number just the same. You don’t want somebody who’s oohing and aahing over the details, Toad says, because that’s the kind of person that will be just dying to tell someone else. Actually he said “deceasing to yammerize the populace,” but sometimes it’s easier just to say things my way.
After I sign and date my envelope, Banker Berniece turns to the safe and, standing so we can’t see, spins the dials, flips the handles, and swings open the safe door. Following her inside, I take a key from a string around my neck and insert it in the lock on a safety deposit box. Banker Berniece puts a key in the other slot, and we both turn until the door springs open. I put my envelope inside with the envelopes from previous trips, close the door, then we both turn our keys again and the box is locked. At the end of the day Berniece will lock the ledger in the safe also, but the “envelope system,” as we call it, is Berniece’s way of making sure there’s a backup record of how many BarterBucks each person has.
After Toad locks his envelope away, Banker Berniece places the ledger on a shelf inside the safe, then closes and locks the heavy door. On our way out of the bank, Toad turns and says, “Thank you, Berniece,” just as plain as you please.
“Yes,” says Banker Berniece.
Back on the street, Toby has fed and watered all the animals. While he goes in to settle up with Banker Berniece for the fish he sold, Toad reaches into a compartment on the Scary Pruner , pulls out a small canvas bag, and tosses it to me. It jingles when I catch it.
“Activate yer abacus, Miss Mathematicus!” says Toad as we enter the bank. Honestly, sometimes it’d be nice if he could just say hello like a normal person. Banker Berniece doesn’t smile or frown, she just looks up and in a flat voice that is neither friendly nor unfriendly, says, “Good morning, Mr. Hopper,” then reaches out to take the wad of BarterBucks slips Toad has dug out of his pocket.
One by one she smooths the crumpled papers and arranges them neatly on the desktop. Then she opens a desk drawer and takes out a fountain pen, a bottle of ink, an envelope, and a giant book that says “LEDGER” on the cover. She arranges them all on the desk, each in its place, as carefully as she arranged the BarterBucks slips. Then she goes through the slips one by one, entering them in the ledger with the fountain pen. After the last one is written in, she reaches into another drawer and pulls out a wooden rack that holds a bunch of colored beads mounted on slim iron rods. The first time I saw it, I thought it was some kind of weird rattle-toy, but Toad wasn’t being completely goofy when he mentioned the abacus, because that’s exactly what it is.
While the index finger of one hand moves slowly down through the numbers she just wrote in the ledger, the index finger of Banker Berniece’s other hand dances over the abacus, flicking beads back and forth. I can hear soft little click-clack sounds as she works her way down the page. When she adds in the last number, she writes it in the ledger and circles it. Then she adds everything up again, puts a check beside the number in the ledger, and turns the heavy book so Toad can sign it. Then she writes the same number on a piece of paper, signs and dates it, and hands it to Toad along with an envelope. He initials the piece of paper, seals it in the envelope, and writes his name and today’s date across the seal.
Now I hand her my slips. When she smooths out the piece of paper that shows how many BarterBucks I got for Porky Pig, I watch for her reaction, because for me, it’s a pretty big number, but Banker Berniece’s expression doesn’t change. She just goes straight to flicking the abacus. Toad says that’s part of why he trusts Banker Berniece. She treats everybody and every number just the same. You don’t want somebody who’s oohing and aahing over the details, Toad says, because that’s the kind of person that will be just dying to tell someone else. Actually he said “deceasing to yammerize the populace,” but sometimes it’s easier just to say things my way.
After I sign and date my envelope, Banker Berniece turns to the safe and, standing so we can’t see, spins the dials, flips the handles, and swings open the safe door. Following her inside, I take a key from a string around my neck and insert it in the lock on a safety deposit box. Banker Berniece puts a key in the other slot, and we both turn until the door springs open. I put my envelope inside with the envelopes from previous trips, close the door, then we both turn our keys again and the box is locked. At the end of the day Berniece will lock the ledger in the safe also, but the “envelope system,” as we call it, is Berniece’s way of making sure there’s a backup record of how many BarterBucks each person has.
After Toad locks his envelope away, Banker Berniece places the ledger on a shelf inside the safe, then closes and locks the heavy door. On our way out of the bank, Toad turns and says, “Thank you, Berniece,” just as plain as you please.
“Yes,” says Banker Berniece.
Back on the street, Toby has fed and watered all the animals. While he goes in to settle up with Banker Berniece for the fish he sold, Toad reaches into a compartment on the Scary Pruner , pulls out a small canvas bag, and tosses it to me. It jingles when I catch it.
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