THE ARCHERY PRIZE.
Situated as he was, it seemed, on second thought, rather a joke to Carl to be attacked by a robber. He had but twenty-five cents in good money about him, and that he had just picked up by the merest chance.
“Do I look like a banker?” he asked, humorously. “Why do you want to rob a boy?”
“The way you’re togged out, you must have something,” growled the tramp, “and I haven’t got a penny.”
“Your business doesn’t seem to pay, then?”
“Don’t you make fun of me, or I’ll wring your neck! Just hand over your money and be quick about it! I haven’t time to stand fooling here all day.”
A bright idea came to Carl. He couldn’t spare the silver coin, which constituted all his available wealth, but he still had the counterfeit note.
“You won’t take all my money, will you?” he said, earnestly.
“How much have you got?” asked the tramp, pricking up his ears.
Carl, with apparent reluctance, drew out the ten-dollar bill.