CHAPTER XXXIII.
WHERE IS BIM?
Billy Brackett was in a particularly contented frame of mind, and whistled softly to himself as he tramped through the muddy streets of one of the muddiest cities in the United States, towards the telegraph office. He was well satisfied with the results of his expedition thus far, and with its prospects of a successful termination. He did not notice the curious looks with which several persons regarded him as the bright light from a store window fell on his face, nor would he have cared if he had. His conscience was clear, and he had nothing to fear from observation, curious or otherwise.
As he entered the telegraph office, the operator glanced up with a nod of recognition. A few seconds later, having finished sending the despatch with which he had been busy, he turned his key over to an assistant and said,
"Will you step this way a moment, sir? I wish to speak to you in private." With this he led the way into a room behind the office, where, after the other had entered, he closed the door.
"What's up?" asked the young engineer, wondering at these proceedings.
"Have you or any of your companions any counterfeit money in your possession?" asked the operator, abruptly.
"No—that is, yes. One of my friends has quite a lot of it that was passed on him for genuine this morning, and I have a few samples for purposes of comparison."
"But you haven't passed, or tried to pass, any of it in this place?"
"Certainly not! Why do you ask such a question?"