"What about 'poor me'?" demanded Chet indignantly. "And they say he carried a roll of brand new bills big enough to choke a cow! The doctor says he thinks the money is good, too. But he passed that hundred-dollar note on me----" "If it is a hundred," interjected Lance. "Now you said a forkful," grumbled Chet, shaking his head. "Let's go in and see what father has to say about it. He was going to see Mr. Monroe at the First National. They say Mr. Monroe knows all about money--knew the fellow who invented it, personally, I guess." The young folks found Mr. Belding in the library, and he welcomed them with his customary smile when the three came in. "The bank-note?" he repeated. "I left it for Mr. Monroe to look at. He was out of town. But he will tell me when he returns--if he knows about it. It is a curious thing. And I hope it will teach you a lesson, Chetwood." "Sure!" grumbled Chet, "Of course, there is nothing so important in this world as learning lessons. Little thing about me being nicked fifty dollars isn't considered." His father laughed at his rueful countenance. "Well, Son, I can't offer you much sympathy. Perhaps the Treasury Department will make it right. And how about that man who gave it to you? He can't get far with a broken leg." "He's gone far enough already," declared Chet. "They say he has lost his memory." "What's that?" cried Mr. Belding. "Looks fishy, doesn't it?" said Lance. "Lots of folks who owe money lose their memories." "No," said Chet, shaking his head. "This chap really got a hard bang on the head, and the doctors say he may never remember who he is." "Lost his identity?" demanded Mr. Belding. "Completely. At least, he doesn't know his name or where he came from. He remembers a part of his life, they say, for he seems to think he has been in Alaska. Asked the nurse, in fact, how long Sitka had had such a hospital as this. Thought he was in Sitka, you see." "Why, isn't it strange?" Laura said. "The poor fellow!" "He's not poor, I tell you," said the literal Chet. "He's got a lot of money. But not a card, or a mark about him--not even on his clothes--to tell who he is." "How about his hat?" questioned Lance. "And his suit? The labels, I mean." "The hat was brand new," said Chet, "and was bought right here in Centerport. Oh, the hospital folks have been trying through the police to find out something about him. Nothing doing, they say." "Why," said Mr. Belding thoughtfully, "there must be some way of discovering who the unfortunate is, even if he cannot remember himself." "Who do you mean, Pa, by 'the unfortunate'?" demanded his son. "I should think I was the unfortunate. Especially if that bank-note is phony." "But you did not get a broken leg--and a broken head--out of it," his father said dryly. "That's all right," muttered Chet "But I am likely to have a broken pocketbook, all right all right!" CHAPTER VII SOMETHING EXCITING