"I guess I shall have to get the money for that room in advance," he
said, regarding the bag very critically. However he might have been
wounded by the doubt of his honesty or his solvency implied in this
speech, Lemuel said nothing, but took out his ten-dollar note and
handed it to the clerk. The latter said apologetically, "It's one of
our rules, where there isn't baggage," and then glancing at the note
he flung it quickly across the counter to Lemuel. "That won't do!"

"Won't do?" repeated Lemuel, taking up the bill.

"Counterfeit," said the clerk.




V.


Lemuel stretched the note between his hands, and pored so long upon
it that the clerk began to tap impatiently with his finger-tips on
the register. "It won't go?" faltered the boy, looking up at the
clerk's sharp face.

"It won't go here," replied the clerk. "Got anything else?"

Lemuel's head whirled; the air seemed to darken around him, as he
pored again upon the note, and turned it over and over. Two tears
scalded their way down his cheeks, and his lips twitched, when the
clerk added, "Some beats been workin' you?" but he made no answer.