“Maybe I did.” I said, “but what’s the big idea, kind sir?”
“Well, then,” he said, “I came up here to get your two bucks for you, didn’t I? And you remember I told you there was a breeze blowing? Now what did I do—in the dark?”
“Search me,” I said.
“Why, you big galook, I felt around in the dark and lifted the oar-lock off the bill and then felt there for it, but the breeze was too quick for me. It blew the page over and I slapped my hand down on—what?”
“Another page,” I said; “good night!”
“Good-bye two dollar bill,” he said, “it was between those two other pages. That’s why there was a stain on the right page in the book. There was a stain on the bill made by the oar-lock and when the page and the bill blew over, the fresh oil on the bill kind of stamped itself on the left hand page. You didn’t damage the book. You only damaged the bill. It was the breeze that damaged the book—see?”
“Believe me! I’ll be responsible,” I told him.
“That breeze was a thief,” he said.
“It’ll come to grief some day,” I told him.
Then we both began to laugh.