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A Real Fake

It had actually been quite a good racket, and practically foolproof.

Had Barbara ever dipped her well-manicured hands into the till for as little as $25, the bank examiners would have caught her in a flash. Instead, she decided to go for the small change - and not to steal it from the bank but from its customers.

In a rich town like Yardley, PA, very few people bother to count the dimes and nickles a bank teller hands them and Barbara's method reduced even that small number to a bare minimum.

She would simply plop the change onto the counter, say, "that's one" and then start counting the bills. Most people watched as she counted out the notes. Some even counted them afterwards themselves - almost no one bothered to look at the coins.

Some of the men, of course, never bothered to count anything; they were too busy looking into Barbara's blue eyes or imagining running their hands through her very natural blonde hair. Still, even with these customers, Barbara never took more than 20 or 25 cents. There was no sense in getting greedy, not when the small change was giving her almost $30 each day.

It was her change money - over $33,000 in six years - which had financed her trip to Europe and placed her in the first class train compartment running from Verona to Nice.

"I hope you don't mind if I start up a conversation with you," said the man sitting opposite her. "I've been trying to think up a good opening since we pulled out, but I'm afraid that I couldn't come up with anything more imaginative."

Barbara smiled. She had expected him to try to talk to her; men usually did. He was far from what she considered her type - thin, with glasses, balding and mid-40ish - but there was no one else in the cabin and it promised to be a dull trip if she remained silent.

"No," she said, "actually I was hoping we would talk. My name is Barbara, I'm an American."

"Only an American identifies himself by his country," laughed the man, "but I like it. I'm Micah - and I live in the Galilee."

She gave him a puzzled look and he added, "Israel."

"Really?" she said, "That's fascinating. What are you doing here?"

"Work," Micah answered, "and yourself?"

"Oh, just a vacation," she said.

"A vacation?" Micah replied. "That calls for a celebration. How about if I call the porter and have him bring some wine in for us?"

"Well," said Barbara, "I don't really know..."

"Don't be silly," Micah told her. "What kind of damage can happen from one bottle of wine - especially shared between

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