“You’ll do it, Slocum, won’t you?”
“Yes, if you want me to. But, first, a word in your ear.”
He rose from his seat, and withdrew to a place where he would not be heard.
“They’re flimsies,” he said, briefly.
“Oh!” ejaculated Barclay, looking a trifle disappointed.
He understood that they were not genuine bills, but counterfeit.
“Well, and what if they are?” said Slocum, reading his expression.
“There’s a risk about it.”
“Nothin’ venture, nothin’ have, as my old grandmother used to say. Just be foxy, and you won’t get caught. I’m making a good living off of it, myself.”
“What commission do you get for passing them?”