“With that on your face?”
“Sure.”
With a low whistle, Pant sank down upon the sand.
“Why, what’s wrong?” demanded Johnny.
“Oh! Nothing much. One of those bonds was a counterfeit, that’s all.”
“Counterfeit?”
“I said it.”
“And you sent me to sell it?”
“I suppose I should have told you. You’d have done it just the same. Anyway, you would have, had I told you everything. But if I had told you, that would have made you nervous and spoiled everything. I’m a marked man. I couldn’t go myself. How was I to know that you’d go and get branded in that fashion?
“Ho, well,” he continued after a moment’s reflection, “it’s all right, I’m sure. The bond was perfect except for one trifling detail. It was a shade lighter print than those made by Uncle Sam, and, after all, that’s really nothing. Who knows but the Government printer failed to ink his rollers well some morning? I know it was a counterfeit, though.”