“They haven’t,” said Paul briefly.
“Oh, chattel-mortgage?” surmised the other.
“Lease-contract,” Paul corrected. “That doesn’t have to be recorded.”
“What’s the matter with recording it?”
“Afraid of their credit. They don’t want Dunn’s sending all over creation that they’ve put chattel-mortgages on their equipment, do they?”
“No; sure! I see.” The boy grasped instantly, with a quick nod, the other’s meaning. “Well, that’s one way of gettin’ ’round it!” he added admiringly after an instant’s pause.
Lydia had laid down her work and was looking intently at her two companions. At this she gave a stifled exclamation which made the boy turn his head. “Say, Mrs. Hollister, aren’t you looking kind of pale this evening?” he asked. “These first hot nights do take it out of a person, don’t they? Mr. Hollister ought to take you to Put-in-Bay for a holiday. Momma’d take care of the baby for you and welcome. She’s crazy about babies.” He was again the overgrown school-boy that Lydia knew. The conversation drifted to indifferent topics. Lydia did not take her usual share in it, and when their caller had gone Paul inquired if she really were exhausted by the heat.
“Oh, no,” she said; “you know I don’t mind the heat.”
“You didn’t say much when Walter was here, and I—”
“I was thinking,” Lydia broke in. “I was thinking that I couldn’t understand a word you and Walter were saying any more than if you were talking Hebrew. I was thinking that that little boy knows more about your business than I do.”