"Speak for yourself, squire. I am by no means a millionaire."
"Nor I," rejoined Squire Bates, laughing. "The assessors of Waterford would be glad if I were."
"Still I don't think you are in any danger of going to the poor house," continued the agent.
"Well, no, perhaps not. But I must be getting home. I suppose you will warn the merchants here to look out for any fifty-dollar bills that may be offered them."
"Yes; it is a good suggestion. I don't think, however, that the robber will be apt to spend his money in this neighborhood."
"I presume not. From all I can gather he is a wandering tramp, who possibly only expected to get a few dollars, and will probably be quite bewildered when he finds what a haul he has made."
"I hope for poor Dunham's sake he will be found out."
"Amen to that!" said Squire Bates, with a queer smile.
"What a droll world it is!" soliloquized the lawyer as he turned his horse's head towards Waterford. "How that worthy Marks would have been astonished if he had known that the bold and audacious robber had been holding a conversation with him! I must send away those fifty-dollar notes. Their use in this neighborhood would be suicidal.