“Thought you said you was goin’ to rip it in ten pieces?” came from Nat Raymond, in a curious tone. “How about that, Nick?”
“Sufferin’ snakes, but you waddies are dumb! That’s part of the trick—then I make the pieces come together again and the bill is as good as new! Hoppin’ lizards, if I was as thick as you guys—”
“You have to have a one dollar bill?” Gus Tripp interrupted. “I got a ten here, but I sure hate to part with it. If anything should happen—”
“Nothin’ will happen,” Nick growled. “Sure, the ten is all right. Let’s have it, Gus. I’ll give it back in a minute.”
Slowly Gus passed the bill over. With a sudden motion he brought it to his lips, and sighed deeply.
“Come back to yore papa,” he murmured. “An’ don’t do no wanderin’ around! Nick, take care of my baby!”
“This’ll be good,” Teddy whispered to his brother. “Look at Pop! He’s sure interested.”
Nick nonchalantly took the proffered bill. He looked at it carefully. Then he took a handkerchief from his pocket and held it up.
“This, ladies an’—I mean gents, is the handkerchief. An’ here we have the bill, which I shall proceed to rip into ten pieces, each of equal length an’—an’ something. I wish for you to examine both.”
He passed the bill to Pop Burns and the cloth to Nat Raymond. “Look at ’em, boys, to see that there is no fake. Pop, note the serial numbers on to that there bill, so you will see that no substitution is to take place nowheres. Take yore time, gents, take yore time!”