“That depends on several conditions,” explained the other. “First of all do you remember what that receipt made out by Mr. Culpepper looked like, Carl?”
“Do I? Why, it seems to me it must have been burned on my memory as though you’d take a red hot poker and make marks on the clean kitchen floor. When I shut my eyes nights and try to go to sleep it keeps dancing in front of me. Before I know what I’m doing I find myself grabbing out for it, and then I want to kick myself for being so foolish, when I know it’s all just a silly bit of imagination.”
“I’m glad you remember so well how it looked,” remarked Tom, somewhat to the mystification of his companion.
“What has that got to do with your scheme?” he demanded, in perplexity.
“A whole lot,” came the swift answer; “because I want you to get me up as close a copy of that receipt as you possibly can!”
“Whew! do you mean even to signing Mr. Culpepper’s name at the end?” asked Carl, whose breath had very nearly been taken away.
“Yes, even to that,” he was told; “in fact the paper wouldn’t be worth a pinch of salt in my little game if that signature were omitted. Do you think you could duplicate the receipt, Carl?”
“I am sure I could; but even now I’m groping in the dark, because for the life of me I can’t see what you expect to do with it, Tom.”
“Don’t forget to crease it, to make it look as though it had been folded and opened ever so many times; yes, and soil the outside a little too, as if it had been carried in a boy’s pocket along with a lot of other things like marbles or a top or something like that.”
“But please explain what all this means,” Carl pleaded.