"I can't take that bill," he said, abruptly.
"Why not?"
"Because it is counterfeit."
Carl turned pale, and the room seemed to
whirl round. It was all the money he had.
CHAPTER X.
THE COUNTERFEIT BILL.
"Are you sure it is counterfeit?" asked Carl,
very much disturbed.
"I am certain of it. I haven't been handling
bank bills for ten years without being able
to tell good money from bad. I'll trouble
you for another bill."
"That's all the money I have," faltered Carl.
"Look here, young man," said the clerk, sternly,
"you are trying a bold game, but it won't succeed."
"I am trying no game at all," said Carl,
plucking up spirit. "I thought the bill
was good."
"Where did you get it?"
"From the man who came with me last evening--
Mr. Hubbard."
"The money he gave me was good."
"What did he give you?"
"A five-dollar bill."
"It was my five-dollar bill," said Carl, bitterly.
"Your story doesn't seem very probable,"
said the clerk, suspiciously. "How did he
happen to get your money, and you his?"
"He told me that he would get to gambling,
and wished me to take money enough to pay
his bill here. He handed me the ten-dollar
bill which you say is bad, and I gave him five
in return. I think now he only wanted to
get good money for bad."
"Your story may be true, or it may not,"
said the clerk, whose manner indicated incredulity.
"That is nothing to me. All you have to do
is to pay your hotel bill, and you can settle
with Mr. Hubbard when you see him.
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