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Updated: May 14, 2025
The fine art of concealment is thus formulated by Carolyn Wells, writing in Life: Once upon a time there lived an elderly millionaire who had four nephews. Desiring to make one of these his heir, he tested their cleverness. He gave to each a one-hundred-dollar bill, with the request that they hide the bills for a year in the city of New York.
"Keep your clothes on," said Mr. Bloom. "I'm only going down to the bank." He drew eight one-hundred-dollar bills from his money belt and planked them down on the counter. Mr. Cooly showed signs of future promise, for he already had the deed spread out, and was reaching across the counter for the ink bottle. Never before or since was such quick action had in Cold Branch.
The housekeeper searched the drawer, and produced, triumphantly, a memorandum to the effect that she had purchased the bonds of a well-known house in Wall Street. "So far, so good!" said the broker. "It appears that besides the bonds sold you had four one-hundred-dollar bonds?" "Yes, sir." "You had not parted with them?" "No, sir."
Now, as a matter of fact, a sportsman with a one-hundred-dollar Fox gun in his hands, a two-hundred-dollar dog at his heels and five one-hundred-dollar bills in his pocket has no more "right" to kill a covey of quail on Long Island than my milkman has to elect that it shall be let alone for the pleasure of his children!
It appeared that the defendant was the postmaster and general merchant of the country. Two or three weeks back, the son of the plaintiff had entered his shop to purchase his provision of coffee, sugar, and flour, and had given him to change a good one-hundred-dollar bill of one of the New Orleans banks. The merchant had returned to him a fifty-dollar note and another of ten.
He was desirous of effecting a loan, and after a time succeeded in having transferred to him two of the one-hundred-dollar bonds. He tried hard to obtain the five hundred, but Mrs. Estabrook was too prudent and too much attached to her savings to consent to this. Ford had to be satisfied with considerably less. "Ought I to stay with Mr.
I stood blankly miserable while it was counted out five one-hundred-dollar bills, six twenties, and some fives and ones that brought the total to six hundred and fifty dollars. The little man with the note-book insisted on taking the numbers of the notes, to the conductor's annoyance. It was immaterial to me: small things had lost their power to irritate.
He didn't seem to care about winning, and he cashed in each time with a new one-hundred-dollar bill. Of course he didn't care about winning. He cared about the change that was his winning. The bill on the table is one of the original ten, though since then scores have been put into circulation. I made up my mind that it was the same Englishman in both cases.
He waited until they were well into the stretch of wood between the camp and the lower shanty, then he hurriedly extracted the envelope and glanced within. It contained a new one-hundred-dollar bill. That night Bergstein put up at the best hotel in Troy. Three days after Bergstein's departure Holcomb sat in his cabin going over his accounts.
He just naturally laid his hooks on ten thousand dollars' worth of one-hundred-dollar notes and flew the coop, waitin' to sign 'em and dispose of 'em at leisure, thus payin' his own claim. But here comes a hitch; after he done it his conscience bit him; the notes was good; he passed a lot of 'em with no trouble, but he quit on the play.
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