“That same bill!”
“Well—”
Pop held the ten dollar bill up to the light of one of the windows. Then, suddenly, he tore it squarely across the middle, and, before any one could stop him, he tore it again, and again, until all that remained of Gus’s “baby” were ten green strips of paper, all of equal length. These Pop handed to Nick.
“There,” he said with satisfaction. “They’re all tore fer you. Let’s see you do the trick.” The veteran puncher’s eyes were alight with anticipation.
Nick looked dully at the pieces of what was once a certificate entitling the holder to ten dollars in gold at the United States Treasury. He seemed stunned. One of the strips fell from the palm of his hand and floated slowly to the floor. Then Nick awoke.
“You crazy old coot!” he yelled. “You tore Gus’s ten-spot all up! You ruined it! What was the idea, hey? What was the idea?”
“Ain’t that what you wanted done?” Pop asked innocently, a frown of perplexity coming over his face. “You said you were goin’ to tear it up, Nick—you know you did! Didn’t he, fellers? You all heard him—didn’t he say he was goin’ to rip it up?”
“Yea, but I had to do it!” Nick raved. “Not you! Snakes, I can’t do nothin’ now! The bill’s ripped, Gus! She’s spoiled!”
“You mean to say you can’t do the trick?” Gus asked incredulously, staring at the remains of his bill. “Roll ’em in the handkerchief, Nick, an’ make ’em come together again! You got to! That’s all the jack I got in the world an’ pay-day a week off! Roll ’em up, Nick!”
“Jumpin’ lizards, what good’ll rollin’ ’em do?” demanded Nick, a look of disgust on his face. “Course I can’t do the trick now! Ask Pop to do it—maybe he knows how! He tore it up on you!”