The smiling face of a curbside bankteller in front of the Cambridge Trust Company is but an illusion perpetrated with the aid of two mirrors, a seven foot tunnel, and a genial Mr. Gooding. The deception began in 1952 when the bank in stalled the drive-in teller as a convenience for its mobile patrons.

Construction, after winning approval of the Cambridge Council, proceeded downward some four feet, at which point the Square's main power line was uncharted. After a shuffling of blueprints and a cautions detour, the digging continued a few note feet, where it met a subterranean chamber extending beneath the sidewalk from the bank's lowest level. On the street they built a five foot five inch metal box housing a mirror, microphone, loudspeaker, window, and a slot for currently. A further adornment is the policeman who directs traffic and advises depositors on the mechanics of the box.

While the gentleman in blue waves customers in and out at the rate of one every three and one-third minutes, bank teller Gooding peers up through his oversized periscope and discourses on the hazards of his job. "Women are always a problem," he notes while tapping the little metal basket that rides up and down with its cargo of currency. He thumbs through a pile of tens and remembers, "some guy this morning deposited three letters. I told him this wasn't a mail box."

His surrounding are cheerful, although what appears to be a concrete beam across the ceiling is the power line. "I feel as if the place were built around me," he commented while waving to a friend who rode by. Mr. Gooding has an especially friendly greeting for "the boys" who might otherwise sabotage the system.

He shifted to a pile of twenties and suggested, "Next time you go by, say hello."