Having arrived in town, she went at once to a small drygoods store where she bought a dozen handkerchiefs and one or two inexpensive articles of underwear.
When she tendered the storekeeper a ten dollar bill he returned her a five dollar bill and some odd pieces of silver.
Billie was about to stuff the change into her pocketbook when something about the five dollar bill arrested her attention.
She looked at it more closely and a stifled exclamation escaped her.
“Anything wrong, Miss?” asked the storekeeper anxiously.
“No, no,” Billie answered hastily. “There’s nothing wrong. Only—would you mind very much telling me where you got this five dollar bill?”
The storekeeper took the bill, turned it over, screwed up his features in a grimace evidently meant to intimate deep thought and scratched his head doubtfully.
Billie held her breath and watched him. Everything—simply everything—depended upon this man’s memory!
“Well, you know, Miss, it’s not so easy to remember who gave you a certain bill when you’re busy waiting on customers and making change all day long,” he drawled. “Now, there’s been quite a lot of customers in here to-day, and how could I know who gave me that particular five dollar bill?”
“Oh, certainly,” Billie breathed, “you must remember who gave you that bill!”