Dan handed it to the storekeeper who filled it from a barrel in one corner of the store.
“Where’s the money?” demanded Mr. Lee. “I ain’t goin’ to trust Peter Savage any more. He owes me money now, an’ when I sue him for the damage the bull done to me he’ll owe me more. I’ve got to have cash for things, an’ you can tell him so.”
Perhaps Mrs. Savage had anticipated that something like this might come to pass, for, contrary to her usual custom, she had given Dan the money to pay for the molasses.
“Here’s the quarter,” spoke the boy, tossing the coin on the counter.
It fell with a curious, dull thud, and not with a ring, such as silver gives out. Mr. Lee took up the money, looked at it closely, threw it down on the counter again to listen to the sound it made, and then announced:
“Don’t try none of your tricks on me, Dan Hardy.”
“Tricks? What do you mean? I’m not playing any tricks.”
“Then what do you mean by giving me bad money? That’s a counterfeit twenty-five cent piece, an’ you knowed it.”
“I didn’t know anything of the kind, and I don’t believe it’s bad.”
“You don’t, eh? Listen to that sound!”