She handed it over to her mother, who took it eagerly.
“Hurry up and open it, Momsey!” cried Clara, fairly dancing with eagerness. “I’m just dying to know what Joe has to say.”
Mr. Matson laid aside his pipe and came over to his wife. She tore open the letter with fingers that trembled.
Something crisp and yellow fluttered out and fell on the table. Clara’s nimble fingers swooped down upon it.
“Why, it’s a bankbill!” she exclaimed as she unfolded it. “A ten dollar bill it looks like. No,” as her eyes grew larger, “it’s more than that. It’s a hundred—[Why, why,” she stammered, “it’s a thousand dollar bill!]”
[“WHY, WHY,” SHE STAMMERED, “IT’S A THOUSAND DOLLAR BILL!”]
“Goodness sakes!” exclaimed her mother. “It can’t be. There aren’t any bills as big as that.”
Mr. Matson took it and scrutinized it closely.