He made another count, hastily, but taking greater care.

The wonder grew.
Again he counted, slowly this time, so that there could be no doubt.

And now he knew! He possessed thirty-three dollars more than he had thought.
Knowing this was right, he counted again for the luxury of it.

Two hundred and forty-five obvious dollars! How had he lost count?
He tried to recall.

He could remember taking out the money he had paid Lowell Hardy for the last batch of Clifford Armytage stills--for Lowell, although making professional rates to Merton, still believed the artist to be worth his hire--and he could remember taking some more out to send to the mail-order house in Chicago for the cowboy things; but it was plain that he had twice, at least, crowded a week's salary into the pouch and forgotten it.
It was a pleasurable experience; it was like finding thirty-three dollars.