FEELING that he had no time to lose watching the movements of the stranger and the poorly dressed man, though he vaguely wondered what their objects might be. Dan hurried on to Hank Lee’s store. He saw the proprietor behind the counter.
“Oh, it’s you, is it?” exclaimed Mr. Lee, in rather a surly tone, as he saw Dan. “I hope you haven’t got any wild bulls outside.”
“No, sir,” answered Dan, unable to repress a smile at the thought of Mr. Lee up a tree.
“What you grinnin’ at?” demanded the storekeeper sourly. “I s’pose you think it’s funny to see men chased by a bull.”
“No, sir; I’m sorry you had to run.”
“Had to run? I didn’t have to run. I could a’ stood still, and fought that bull, if I’d a minded to, but I had some money in my pocket, from collectin’ a bill, and I didn’t want to lose it. I wasn’t afraid of that bull, and I don’t want you to git that notion into your head, either.”
Dan thought it wisest to say nothing on this score, though he was very certain Mr. Lee had been very much frightened by the angry beast.
“I’ll tell you what it is,” went on the storekeeper, “if you ever play a trick like that on me again I’ll have you arrested, that’s what I’ll do.”
“It wasn’t a trick, Mr. Lee.”
“Don’t tell me. I know better. What do you want?”
“I want a quarter’s worth of molasses.”
“Well, give me the jug.”
Dan handed it to the storekeeper who filled it from a barrel in one corner of the store.
“Where’s the money?” demanded Mr. Lee. “I ain’t goin’ to trust Peter Savage any more. He owes me money now, an’ when I sue him for the damage the bull done to me he’ll owe me more. I’ve got to have cash for things, an’ you can tell him so.”
Perhaps Mrs. Savage had anticipated that something like this might come to pass, for, contrary to her usual custom, she had given Dan the money to pay for the molasses.
“Here’s the quarter,” spoke the boy, tossing the coin on the counter.
It fell with a curious, dull thud, and not with a ring, such as silver gives out. Mr. Lee took up the money, looked at it closely, threw it down on the counter again to listen to the sound it made, and then announced:
“Don’t try none of your tricks on me, Dan Hardy.”
“Tricks? What do you mean? I’m not playing any tricks.”
“Then what do you mean by giving me bad money? That’s a counterfeit twenty-five cent piece, an’ you knowed it.”
“I didn’t know anything of the kind, and I don’t believe it’s bad.”
“You don’t, eh? Listen to that sound!”
Again Mr. Lee rang the coin on the counter. It gave forth a dull tinkle. Dan had to acknowledge the coin did not have the right sound.
“I’m not goin’ to give molasses for bad money,” went on Mr. Lee.
“I haven’t any other.”
“Then you will have to go back fer more. Made me draw a gallon of molasses fer nothin’. I’ll keep the jug until its paid for.”
“Mrs. Savage will be angry if I don’t bring her back the molasses.”
“What do I care?”
“If you let me take the molasses back with me, I’ll tell Mr. Savage that the money he gave me, or, rather which Mrs. Savage gave me, was no good. I’ll bring you another quarter as soon as I can.”
Dan determined to do the best he could to fulfill his errand, even if it was not his fault that the storekeeper would not trust the old farmer.
“Wa’ll, I s’pose that’ll have to do.”
The truth was Mr. Lee did not like to lose trade, and, though Mr. Savage owed him quite a bill, he knew he would be paid in time. If he did not accommodate the farmer’s wife they might take their trade elsewhere.
“You tell Peter Savage he’d better be careful how he circulates counterfeit money,” went on Mr. Lee, as he gave Dan back the quarter, and passed over the jug of molasses. “An’ be sure an’ bring me a good quarter as soon as ye kin.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Dan. “I wonder where that bad money came from?” he thought as he started for home.
Though he had done the errand in much less time than usual, because of the ride Mr. Harrison had given him, Dan was scolded by Mrs. Savage when he got in.
“I never see such a lazy boy!” she exclaimed. “Did ye stop t’ make th’ molasses?”
“I came pretty near not getting it,” said Dan, and he told her of the incident of the bad quarter. As he had anticipated, that caused Mrs. Savage more astonishment than did the reported refusal of Mr. Lee to extend any more credit, for though Mr. Savage was wealthy he delayed as long as he could the paying of debts.
“That quarter bad!” she exclaimed, as Dan handed it to her. “I don’t believe it!”
But when she tested it carefully she had to admit that it was.
“Wa’al, of all things!” she cried. “That’s a swindle, and I’ll have th’ law on that man!”
“Who gave it to Mr. Savage?” asked Dan.
“Who? Why that pesky book agent that was askin’ ye so many questions. Pa—which was what she called her husband—give it to me fer grocery money. Now it’s bad! Wa’ll ye’ll have t’ make it up, that’s all. It was your fault that we got it.”
“I don’t see how you can say that.”
“Ye don’t, eh? well I say it, jest th’ same, an’ I tell ye what, ye’ve got t’ pay us back in some way.”
“What’s th’ matter?” inquired Mr. Savage, coming in from the barn. “Hey, Dan! Ain’t ye back at shellin’ corn yet? Land sakes! I never see sech a lazy boy!”
“Look a-here!” exclaimed Mrs. Savage. “This quarter’s a counterfeit,” and she quickly told the story of it.
“Land o’ Tunket!” cried Mr. Savage. “I’ve been swindled, that’s what I have. That was a slick feller, what was talkin’ t’ ye that day, Dan. It’s all your fault, too. Ef ye hadn’t been so ready t’ answer his questions he’d a gone on about his business, an’ I wouldn’t be out a quarter. It’s all your fault.”
As the quarter had been given for a few minutes of Dan’s not very valuable time, it was hard to understand where Mr. Lee was out of pocket. But, like most unreasonable men, if he once believed a thing, he seldom changed his mind.
“Shall I take a good quarter back to Mr. Lee?” asked Dan. “I promised him I would.”
“Wa’al, I guess not. Ye’ve loafed enough fer one day. I’ll take him a quarter when I git good an’ ready. Now ye’d better start t’ weedin’ th’ onion patch. It needs it, an’ don’t be all day about it, nuther. Step lively, I never see sech a lazy boy!”
Dan did not reply, but, as he went to the big onion patch, which he hated almost as much as he did the corn sheller, he could not help thinking of the man who had given his employer the counterfeit money.
“There’s something queer about that man,” thought Dan. “He isn’t what he seems to be, a book agent. I wonder if he can be a counterfeiter?”