“Er—you don’t happen to know where you got this, do you?” asked Toby, holding the bill out. Lingard retraced his steps slowly and looked at it. There was a full moment of silence. Then:
“N-no, I don’t,” Lingard said slowly. “You see, I—” He stopped. “Why, of course I do!” he exclaimed triumphantly then. “I’d forgotten. Frank Lamson gave it to me this morning. I owed him a dollar and he asked me for it and I gave him a two-dollar bill. Is—isn’t it all right?”
“Oh, yes, I—I just wondered. It’s been torn, you see, and mended with a strip of court-plaster. It struck me that the court-plaster was a—a funny thing to patch a bill with. Maybe Frank did it, eh?”
“He might have. I—I guess it’s just as good, isn’t it?”
“Oh, certainly. You’re sure he gave it to you, eh?”
“Yes, I remember quite well now,” replied Lingard promptly. “I borrowed a dollar of him last term to pay for having my trunk mended, and I forgot all about it until this morning—”
“You and Frank are friends, then?”
“Oh, yes. We live in the same street in New York, you know. Sometimes he borrows from me—when I have it.” Lingard paused. Then: “If you don’t mind, Tucker, I’d rather you didn’t mention it to any one. I guess he wouldn’t want it known.”
“Why not?”
“Why—why, you see, other fellows might want to borrow from him. I—I’d rather you didn’t, please.”