“That would satisfy me.  Has Mr. Brandes got another daughter?”

“No, there is only one.”

“Then I shall have to be content with the forty dollars a week.  If I ever get it, I will save half.”

“I wish I could.”

“You can if you try.  Why, you might have two thousand dollars saved up now, if you had only begun to save in time.”

“I have lost more than that at the gaming table.  You will think me very foolish.”

“Yes, I do,” said Carl, frankly.

“You are right.  But here we are almost at the village.”

“Is there a good hotel?”

“Yes—­the Fillmore.  We will take adjoining rooms if you say so.”

“Very well.”

“And in the morning you will pay the bill?”

“Certainly.”

The two travelers had a good supper, and retired early, both being fatigued with the journey.  It was not till eight o’clock the next morning that Carl opened his eyes.  He dressed hastily, and went down to breakfast.  He was rather surprised not to see his companion of the day before.

“Has Mr. Hubbard come down yet?” he asked at the desk.

“Yes; he took an early breakfast, and went off by the first train.”

“That is strange.  I was to pay his bill.”

“He paid it himself.”

Carl did not know what to make of this.  Had Hubbard forgotten that he had five dollars belonging to him?  Fortunately, Carl had his city address, and could refund the money in New York.

“Very well!  I will pay my own bill.  How much is it?”

“A dollar and a quarter.”

Carl took the ten-dollar bill from his wallet and tendered it to the clerk.

Instead of changing it at once, the clerk held it up to the light and examined it critically.

“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?”