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Show Tenth of a Dollar By WILLIAM MURDOCH McClure Newsnaper Syndicate. WNU Features. HP HE high school kid who took over behind the cigar counter while the druggist went to supper winked as he brushed past the soda fountain girl, then he paused. "That's the old skinflint who lives down the street," he whispered, jerking his head in the direction of the old man who stood near the phone booth. "He asked for . . ." The old skinflint was Guy Baxter, and while the term didn't exactly describe him, it did in a vague way epitomize his reputation for keeping a close tab on money. He was a bookkeeper a mighty good one who had a deep respect for money; his own, and his employer's, the wholesale grocery firm of Farrell & Sons Company. In fact, that abiding regard for money had only that morning his fiftieth anniversary at Farrell's led him to commit the one deliberately delib-erately dishonest act of his maturity. ma-turity. He had passed a counterfeit dime. That dime menaced his peace of mind a few minutes later as he peeled off his coat and vest and He had passed a counterfeit dime. climbed up on the high stool at his desk. Nervously he smoot.ied his thin thatch of gleaming white hair, and there was trouble in his pale blue eyes as he carefully removed his glasses from the case. For the first time in seventy-odd years he knew himself as , a cheat, and he found the intimacy repugnant. And then, in mid-morning, Farrell Far-rell called Guy into the office. "Sit down, Guy," Farrell said cordially, lacing his white fingers into a double dou-ble fist atop his desk and smiling at the old man. "I suppose you know it was just fifty years ago today to-day that you started to work for my father? You've been a good man, Guy," said Farrell matten-of-factly. "You're honest, you're reliable." re-liable." He smiled. "'But let's save all that for tonight. We've planned a litle celebration for you at the Jefferson Hotel. A fellow like you deserves a pat on the back." "Yes, sir." Guy went back to his desk, but he couldn't work. He couldn't focus on figures and sums. He thought of Farrell's praise and he thought of the lead dime, and he squirmed. He wasn't honest. And he wasn't reliable, for even in so minor a matter as a counterfeit dime he had failed himself. He had sold a record of honesty for a dime a lead one. How could he go to the banquet tonight and listen to all those nice things people always said at banquets, when down in his heart he knew -just how mean and petty he had been that morning? He couldn't. He had to get that dime back. Mere restitution handing hand-ing over another dime, a good one, to the Bedford Lunch, where he passed it off wouldn't be enough. He had to get that coin back to keep it out of circulation so it couldn't go on cheating people for the rest of Guy's life. So he hurried from the office at quitting time and went directly to Bedford's Lunch. There was a chance that the dime hadn't been passed on. If Bedford would only show him the contents of the partition parti-tion in the cash register, Guy could pick it out. But the night cashier was in no mood to listen to Guy's halting attempts at-tempts to explain. "I got no time to monkey with dimes now. mister." mis-ter." he said irritably. "If you got a squawk with Bedford, see him in the morning." Tomorrow would be too late, of course. Baxter was due at the banquet ban-quet tonight, in just an hour or two. The lead dime stood squarely in his way. He couldn't go. He started for the drugstore at the corner. He'd have to call Mr. Farrell and make some excuse. There was no use trying to explain, because Mr. Farrell Far-rell would only laugh and tell Guy not to be silly. But it wasn't silly. All this because he had pocketed his change yesterday without first studying it. ". . . he asked for change for a quarter so he could make a phone call." the high school kid whispered to the soda fountain girl. "Remember "Remem-ber that lead dime Bedford showed us this afternoon? Bedford gave it to me and I've been savin' it up at the cash register juM waitin' for the right guy. I'm goin' to try to pass it ofT on that old skinflint over thee. Watch me spoil his day." |