But Paul had vanished mysteriously some minutes before.
“I don’t know what to do, sir,” she stammered, almost weeping, “I cannot pay the mortgage now. Will you not wait?”
“Not another day, madam——”
“You don’t need to,” came a quiet voice from behind them. It was Paul. With him were the three Boy Scouts.
“I’ll pay off that mortgage now, Mr. Hunt,” he went on as Rob, Tubby and Merritt broke into broad smiles at the expression of baffled fury on Hunt’s face.
“Why—what—I don’t——” he began.
“You don’t need to,” said Paul. “Mother, we are rich. Mr. Merrill has disposed of the Motor-Scooter idea to the government. He sent me a check for five thousand dollars yesterday.”
“Oh, Paul, you never told me!” cried his mother.
“I didn’t want to till I could be sure I wasn’t dreaming,” laughed Paul, happily. “Now, then, Mr. Hunt, how much is that mortgage for, and we’ll go before a notary and I’ll pay it up—every penny.”
Hunt’s hands quivered so that he could hardly control them. In his agitation and rage he let fall to the ground one of his papers. It was Tubby who picked it up. On it Mr. Hunt’s not overclean thumb had left a large imprint. The fat boy’s eyes lit up as he gazed at it.