“I got it in a peculiar way,” replied Larry’s mother. “Yesterday one of the men on the floor below us asked me for some change. He said he had a large bill and wanted very much to get it broken. I had no spare change and I told him so.
“Then the man asked me to give him what I had, and he gave me a ten-dollar bill as security. He asked me to go out and get that changed, which I did. When I came back he said he had got the change in the meanwhile from someone else in the house. So there was no necessity for me giving him any. He paid me what money was due me, and, among the other pieces, was this half-dollar.”
“I’ll soon see if it’s good,” said Larry, taking the coin. “I’ll go around with it to some big place, and they’ll soon let me know whether it is counterfeit or not.”
Larry took the money and went to a near-by pawnshop, the proprietor of which he had done a favor for some time since. The man was a German Hebrew, and was well acquainted with gold and silver.
“Is that good?” asked Larry, laying the coin down on the counter.
“For why you vant to know?” asked the pawnbroker with a smile. He was always careful what he said and nearly always asked a question before he answered one.
“Someone gave it to my mother, and the storekeeper said it was a bad piece,” replied Larry anxiously.
“Vich storekeeper?”
“Mr. Smith on the corner.”
“And he said it vas bad?”