“Well, and what has that to do with it?” snapped the pawnshop owner. “Maybe the boys was drinking sassafras sodys at the drug store and spilled some on it. What does that prove, if you’re so smart?”
But Joan would not give up. “Did you?” she turned to the boys.
They both shook their heads. “I don’t like sassafras,” Eric said.
Joan opened the office door and called Chub. He came right in, for he had been standing outside, listening and watching their shadows on the frosted door window. “Chub,” she demanded, “where did you hide that magic ink?”
Chub blushed until his face was almost as red as his hair. “I—I suppose I shouldn’t of, but I hid it behind those books on the General Mag.’s desk.”
The general manager was Uncle John, of course. “I did use the ink behind the books,” he stated. “I thought it was a misplaced supply bottle, and well, I must have signed the check with the vanishing ink? Here, give it to me, and I’ll sign it again—” he started to dip his pen into the filled inkwell.
“No, Uncle John, please! Let us prove it!” Joan begged. “Chub, do your stuff. Let’s see you magic the signature back again.”
Tim produced the match Chub asked for, and he cupped his hands while the younger boy held the tiny flame near the check. Breathlessly, the others watched. Abie’s brown eyes were bulging. He did not know what to expect. Eric and Jimmy were frankly interested. Uncle John was amused. Joan and Chub were the only ones watching with real assurance.
The match went out in spite of Tim’s shielding hands. Three times matches were lighted and three times they went out. Chub began to get red in the face and beads of perspiration stood out on his cheeks. Even Joan got a little worried. Maybe Chub’s magic wasn’t any good. Then they couldn’t prove that this check had been signed and that Eric was all right. She had to prove it!
“We have to have a steady, even heat,” Chub decided. “I did it over the kitchen stove at home. But there’re no gas jets here.”