My brother, Henry, has an excellent job at a bank. I couldn't believe him when he told me that he had decided to give it up. Though I tried to make him change his mind, I failed completely.



"You should reconsider your decision," I said. "You have already spent 5 years in the bank and you could have a wonderful career. You might become a bank manager by the time you're thirty-five."



"I know," Henry answered. "I've got no complaints with the bank. It's a pleasant job in pleasant surroundings and we keep civilized hours. The bank manager told me that my prospects were excellent."



"Then why do you want to leave?" I asked.



"It's the money." henry answered.



"But you're getting a good salary." I said.



"I don't mean that," Henry said. "What do i do at the bank? Well, at the monment all I do is to count money. I find it very depressing."



"What's depressing about counting money?" I asked, unable to follow the logic of Henry's argument.



"You don't understand," Henry answered. "Ienjoy counting my own money, but I hate counting other people's!"
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