Pud took the remains of the ten-dollar bill, which had been provided for current expenses and which had been broken at the gasoline station at Livermore, from its hiding-place, and they returned to the business street of the town, Harmon once more being left in charge of the launch. They purchased fresh meat and bacon and bread and a dozen bananas and a box of cookies, and then Pud, reflecting on the advantage of having small bills handy, proffered a five-dollar note. It was a surprisingly new and crisp note to have been through the pocket of a gasoline supply man. The grocer who accepted it seemed to be thinking something of the sort, for he turned it over and peered at it closely for several seconds. Then he fixed Pud with a stern look and asked: ‘Where’d you get this bill, hey?’ Pud told him. The grocer again turned it over, again studied it. Then, with no further words, he walked from behind the counter and laid a firm hand on Pud’s shoulder. ‘You come along with me,’ he said. ‘This bill may be all right, but it don’t look it, and I’ve been stung twice already.’ Pud hung back. ‘Where do you want me to go?’ he asked. ‘To the bank, young man. It ain’t but four doors from here. I don’t like the slick look of this bill, and I’m going to have Jim Knowles pass on it afore I take it.’ ‘Oh, all right,’ said Pud, ‘but there isn’t anything wrong with it, I tell you.’ Nevertheless, he was beginning to have doubts of the bill himself. It _was_ awfully neat and crisp, while most of the paper currency that circulated thereabouts was quite the contrary. And he recalled Mr. Ephraim Billings’s statement of a week before. A counterfeit bill, Mr. Billings had stated, looked just like a good one. And that was just what this bill looked like! Pud, as he walked docilely beside the grocer to the door of the Corbin National Bank, wondered if the penalty for trying to pass counterfeit money was very heavy. Tim accompanied them, looking greatly worried. They had to stand in line for a minute before the wicket. Finally, though, the man behind it was looking inquiringly from the bill to the grocer. ‘Well,’ he snapped impatiently, ‘what you want I should do with this, Henry?’ ‘Want you to look at it.’ ‘I am a-looking at it. What’s wrong with it?’ ‘Looks sort of funny to me, Jim. Thought maybe it was phoney. I got stung twice just recent, like you know, and――’ ‘Pshaw!’ The man behind the wicket thrust the bill back irritably. ‘I told you twenty times how to tell those counterfeit notes, Henry. Use your brains! I told you――’ ‘All right, all right! This is O.K., is it? Then suppose you give me five ones for it, Jim.’ Jim did so, sourly, and the three returned to the store, the grocer apologetic, Pud and Tim much relieved.