“It was of crocodile skin, or what is sold for that, very likely it is an imitation, and about so large indicating the size.”
“What had it in it?”
“Various things. Some specimens of mica; some bank checks, some money.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, a photograph. And, oh, something that I presume is not in another pocket-book in North Carolina,—in an envelope, a lock of the hair of George Washington, the Father of his Country.” Sensation mixed with incredulity. Washington's hair did seem such an odd part of an outfit for a journey of this kind.
“How much money was in it?”
“That I cannot say, exactly. I happen to remember four twenty-dollar United States notes, and a roll of small bills, perhaps something over a hundred dollars.”
“Is that the pocket-book?” asked David Thomas, slowly pulling the loved and lost out of his trousers pocket.
“It is.”
“You'd be willing to take your oath on it?”