"Black, that is to say, not perhaps exactly black, but it might be called black," said Bob, getting over this question as well as he could.
"Very well. Now for the amount of money in the pocket-book."
"A hundred and fifty dollars, more or less," said Bob, boldly.
"In three bills of fifty dollars each?" asked the superintendent.
"Yes, precisely," said Bob, eagerly. "That was what was paid for the horse I sold."
"Then I regret to say that the pocket-book in my possession cannot be yours. When I find one answering your description as to color and contents, I will hold it at your disposal."
"Sold!" muttered Bob to himself, as he slunk downstairs without another word.
He rejoined his confederate, who was waiting for him at the corner, and informed him in expressive language that it was "no go."
"P'r'aps, if we'd consulted a medium, we might have found out all about the color and amount," suggested Jack.
"Don't you believe it," said Bob. "If the mediums could tell that, they'd be after it themselves. Where's your 'Herald'? We may get or better at some other place."