WHERE IS BIM?
Billy Brackett was in a particularly contented frame of mind, and
whistled softly to himself as he tramped through the muddy streets of
one of the muddiest cities in the United States, towards the telegraph
office. He was well satisfied with the results of his expedition thus
far, and with its prospects of a successful termination. He did not
notice the curious looks with which several persons regarded him as the
bright light from a store window fell on his face, nor would he have
cared if he had. His conscience was clear, and he had nothing to fear
from observation, curious or otherwise.
As he entered the telegraph office, the operator glanced up with a nod
of recognition. A few seconds later, having finished sending the
despatch with which he had been busy, he turned his key over to an
assistant and said,
"Will you step this way a moment, sir? I wish to speak to you in
private." With this he led the way into a room behind the office,
where, after the other had entered, he closed the door.
"What's up?" asked the young engineer, wondering at these proceedings.
"Have you or any of your companions any counterfeit money in your
possession?" asked the operator, abruptly.
"No--that is, yes. One of my friends has quite a lot of it that was
passed on him for genuine this morning, and I have a few samples for
purposes of comparison.
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