So he perspires, and out comes the cruel admission. He needs just one dollar and eighty cents! As a matter of fact, he has stopped at Riverbank because his uncle had so often spoken of Judge Orley Morvis—and really, one dollar and eighty cents would see him through nicely.
“But, my dear boy!” says the Judge kindly. “The fare is six dollars. And your meals?”
“A dollar-eighty is enough,” insists the Bald Impostor. “I have enough to make up the fare, with one-eighty added. And I couldn’t ask you to pay for my meals. I’ll—I have a few cents and can buy a sandwich.”
“My dear boy!” says Judge Orley Morvis, of Riverbank (and it is what he did say), “I couldn’t think of the nephew of a Chief Justice of the United States existing for that length of time on a sandwich. Here! Here are twenty dollars! Take them—I insist! I must insist!”
Some give him more than that. We usually give him five dollars.
HE PERSPIRES, AND OUT COMES THE CRUEL ADMISSION
I admit that when the Bald Impostor visited me and asked for one dollar and eighty cents I gave him five dollars and an autographed copy of one of my books. He was to send the five back by money-order the next day. Unfortunately he seems to have no idea of the flight of time. For him to-morrow never seems to arrive. For me it is the five that does not arrive. The great body of us consider those who give him more than five to be purse-proud plutocrats. But then we sometimes give him autographed copies of our books or other touching souvenirs. And write in them, “In memory of a pleasant visit.” I do wonder what he did with my book!