“Then I’ll call the police,” she threatened. “I won’t let you cheat me out of all the money I have.”
“Do you think the police will believe you?” the man inquired in a lower tone.
“I don’t know!” cried the girl. “I don’t know what happened to my twenty dollars if I didn’t give it to you.”
“There!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “You’ve admitted you lost it before you came into this restaurant.”
“I did nothing of the kind. Doesn’t anybody in New York care about the truth?” The girl seemed to be asking this question of the other people in the restaurant. “Please, mister,” she began to plead, “give me back my change so I can go home.”
“I’m sorry.” The cashier seemed almost sympathetic. Yet he remained firm in his refusal to give the girl any money, insisting that she must have lost the bill she thought she gave him.
“Come, sit with us and tell us all about it.” Judy offered on impulse. “We care about the truth.”
“Then you’ll look in that man’s pockets,” declared the nearly hysterical girl. “He took it—”
“We would report him to the manager,” Florence Garner suggested.
“And make him lose his job? Mistakes happen,” declared Pauline Faulkner. “We have no way of knowing which of you is in the right.”