"I mean that that yer coin--that _all_ the coins in this yer box, that
all the coins in them other boxes--and thar's forty on 'em--is all and
every one of 'em counterfeits!"
The piece dropped unconsciously from Renshaw's hand, and striking
another that lay on the deck gave out a dull, suspicious ring.
"They waz counterfeits got up by them Dutch supercargo sharps for
dealin' with the Injins and cannibals and South Sea heathens ez bows
down to wood and stone. It satisfied them ez well ez them buttons ye
puts in missionary boxes, I reckon, and, 'cepting ez freight, don't
cost nothin'. I found 'em tucked in the ribs o' the old Pontiac when I
bought her, and I nailed 'em up in thar lest they should fall into
dishonest hands. It's a lucky thing, Mr. Renshaw, that they comes into
the honest fingers of a square man like Sleight--ain't it?"
He turned his small, guileless eyes upon Renshaw with such child-like
simplicity that it checked the hysterical laugh that was rising to the
young man's lips.
"But did any one know of this but yourself?"
"I reckon not.
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