The mirror. (Stillwater, Minn.) 1894-1925, 1914-05-28

The pocketbook was a worn, yell
low-brown affair, about as long as a
bar of laundry soap, and almost as
fat. An old rubber band fitted
snugly round it.
A moment before, Larry Wickes
had picked up the pocketbook from
the dusty floor of the wide rotunda
in the post-office building, where his
foot had kicked against il. OF
course he opened it; and now, even
before be had turned the flap entirely
back. thrills were running through
him. For in the pocketbook was
money! large sum.
Larry was not accustomed to see
ing money in large amounts, still
less to having it in his hands; he
had never owned more than fifty
dollars at one time in his life. The
discovery of his treasure stirred him
deeply.
He looked up from the thick
package of bills; he was suddenly
afraid that someone might have seen
him find the wallet. Of course he
did not intend to keep the money;
he wanted to restore it to it's right
full owner. Just the same, he did
not want to be seen examining the
contents of the pocketbook.
Larry found no eyes upon him.
He turned and walked away to a
quite corner of the post office. He
could stand here until he saw
someone looking for the lost article.
Then he could make sure that that
person was the rightful owner, and
return the wallet. Meanwhile, he
was very curious to know how much
there was in that folded package of
bills.
Counts the Money
1t would be only a precaution to
count the money, and then require
any claimant to say how much he
had lost. Besides, he ought to see
whether there were any identifying
marks or cards in the pocketbook.
So, behind a pillar, he turned over
the crisp enGs of the notes, and
found that thew were nearly all
hundred-dollar gold certificates.
There were forty-two of them, and
one five and three one-dollar bills.
Forty-two hundred and eight dol
lars in all!
What a sum! Larry Wickes
earned seven hundred and twenty
eight dollars a year. He held in
his hands the equivalent of his in
come for nearly six years! How
much it would mean to him if such
great sum were his. He could
could see visions of some of the
things he had always coveted that
money would give him. Why, that
money could do extraordinary things
in helping him to get a start in
business. What wonderful thing
it must be to have money!
As he came back to the realiza-
ton that it was not his money he
felt sudden qualm. OF course he
was not covetine the money, but
there was distinct heaviness of his
heart when he thought that he was
no better off in any respect for
having come upon the1 pocketbook.
He looked into the little pocket
under the outer flap of the wallet
and found card. 1t bore the name
of J. A. Orrington, and suburban
street and number; it was unmistak-
ably the owners name and address,
for it was the Identification card of
an insurance policy. AS Larry read
it, he noticed that his heart was
beating rather hard; the definiteness
of the information was strangely dis
appointing.
He pulled himself up with jerk.
He had not suspected that he was
being tempted. He did not admit
it now. He began to wonder what
sort of man the person was who
had lost this money. Was he big,
jolly, hearty stockman? A shrewd,
keen-eyed banker? A shriveled,
suspicious pawnbroker? A rich,
careless, selfish spend thrift? Those,
in his Imagination, were the kinds
of men who carried large sums of
money. He imagined himself dealing
with each in turn. And then, pre-
sently, he found himself thinking
that he was foolish to wait here at
all. The owner might have no idea
where he had lost his money, and
might never come back here to look.
The card furnished address. Why
net write to Mr.. Orrington?
Larry slipped the fat pocketbook
into his inner coat pocket, and went
out into the street. It was noon
hour on1 ho ho1 hoon on his WaV