The other took it, and began to examine it; he smoothed it between his fingers, and he held it up to the light; he turned it over, and upside down, and edgeways. It was new and rather stiff, and that made him dubious. Jurgis was watching him like a cat all the time.

“Humph,” he said, finally, and gazed at the stranger, sizing him up⁠—a ragged, ill-smelling tramp, with no overcoat and one arm in a sling⁠—and a hundred-dollar bill! “Want to buy anything?” he demanded.

“Yes,” said Jurgis, “I’ll take a glass of beer.”

“All right,” said the other, “I’ll change it.” And he put the bill in his pocket, and poured Jurgis out a glass of beer, and set it on the counter. Then he turned to the cash-register, and punched up five cents, and began to pull money out of the drawer. Finally, he faced Jurgis, counting it out⁠—two dimes, a quarter, and fifty cents. “There,” he said.

For a second Jurgis waited, expecting to see him turn again. “My ninety-nine dollars,” he said.