“What did he give you?”
“A five-dollar bill.”
“It was my five-dollar bill,” said Carl, bitterly.
“Your story doesn’t seem very probable,” said the clerk, suspiciously. “How did he happen to get your money, and you his?”
“He told me that he would get to gambling, and wished me to take money enough to pay his bill here. He handed me the ten-dollar bill which you say is bad, and I gave him five in return. I think now he only wanted to get good money for bad.”
“Your story may be true, or it may not,” said the clerk, whose manner indicated incredulity. “That is nothing to me. All you have to do is to pay your hotel bill, and you can settle with Mr. Hubbard when you see him.”
“But I have no other money,” said Carl, desperately.
“Then I shall feel justified in ordering your arrest on a charge of passing, or trying to pass, counterfeit money.”
“Don’t do that, sir! I will see that you are paid out of the first money I earn.”
“You must think I am soft,” said the clerk, contemptuously. “I have seen persons of your stripe before. I dare say, if you were searched, more counterfeit money would be found in your pockets.”