“So would you be, Mrs. Jones,” said Robert bluntly, “if you were as poor as my aunt.”
“Folks needn’t be poor if they are smart,” said the landlord’s wife.
“I suppose you know where my uncle’s money goes?” said Robert pointedly.
Mrs. Jones did know, and, though she had not much of a conscience, she felt the thrust and it made her uncomfortable and therefore angry. But it also gave her an idea.
“Wait a minute,” she said and left Robert standing in the doorway.
When she returned, which was in a short time, her thin lips were wreathed with satisfaction.
“You can tell your aunt there won’t be any money coming to her,” she said.
“Why not?” demanded Robert in great surprise.
“Mr. Jones tells me that your uncle is indebted to him, and he will credit him with twenty-five cents on account.”
“What does my uncle owe him for?” demanded the boy with flashing eyes.