“O, I don’t want a loan,” said Barclay. “Bless you, I’ve got money enough. But I see you’ve got a number of bills. Couldn’t you change a ten for me?”
The countryman saw no harm in this, and counted out ten dollars in small bills, for which he accepted a nice crisp ten dollar bill, which looked handsome, but, as we know, was not worth the paper it was printed upon.
“Won’t you take another drink in acknowledgment of the favor?” asked Barclay. “It has saved my going to the bank.”
The countryman was already so dizzy, that he had the good sense to refuse, after trying to balance himself on his feet without success.
“Then I’ll bid you good day,” said Barclay, who, for obvious reasons, desired now to terminate the acquaintance.
“Goo’ day,” said the other, in a husky voice.
“That was very well done!” soliloquized Barclay, as he counted the good money and put it by itself in an upper vest pocket. “The fellow’s so drunk that he’ll never know where he got the bad tenner. That’ll do for one day’s work.”
The next morning, a little before the time agreed upon with Paul, he was crossing the City Hall Park, when he unexpectedly met the telegraph boy.
“Good morning, Number 91,” he said. “I was just coming up to the office to look for you.”
“Then you are saved the trouble.”