“Good!” he muttered. “You got them all right. Now look at them all. Snowball. See any difference in ’em?” He held a lighted match above the bonds.

Snowball studied them as intently as his roving eyes would allow.

“No, no, sir, I don’t.”

“These two. Look different, don’t they?”

“No, no, sir; I can’t say dat.”

“You’re blind,” grunted Pant. “Two of them are paler than the others; ink is not so dark. See? Not quite.”

“Oh, yas, ya-as, sir.”

“Now those two pale face bonds were folded up with one other. Remember where you got them?” Pant’s eyes flashed through his thick glasses.

“No, no, Oh, ya-as, ya-as, sir, I do. It were dat ’ere white man; sellin’ tickets, he was.”

“Good! Now here’s a dollar. That’s for you. You’ll get another when you come back. You take these two pale face bonds to the ticket seller and ask him where he got them.”

“Ya-as, sir.”

Full of wonder at the strange doings of this odd fellow with the black glasses, Snowball hurried back to the ticket seller.

“Say, Mister,” he demanded, “whar’d y’ git these pale face bonds?”

“What?” The man stared at him.

“Whar y’ git ’em?” Snowball held them up for inspection.

“Let’s see.” The man made a grab for them.

“Nem’ min’.” The boy darted away.

“Who wants to know?” the man demanded gruffly.

“Me, myself.”

 Prev. P 24/98 next