“That’s a different matter.”
“At any rate, she won’t go!” said Robert decidedly.
“Won’t? We’ll see about that. How are you going to help it?”
“By paying the mortgage,” answered Robert quietly.
“You can’t do it,” said Mr. Jones, his jaw drooping.
“You are mistaken, Mr. Jones. If you’ll write a receipt, I am ready to pay it now—principal and interest.”
Robert drew out a roll of bills from the pocket of his ragged vest and began to count them.
“Where did you get this money?” ejaculated the landlord.
“I must decline telling you, Mr. Jones. It’s good money, as you can see. I think you’ll have to tell Frank Shelton he can’t have the house unless he wants to hire of my aunt.”
Nahum Jones hated to take the money that was offered him, but there was no loophole to escape. The good bargain was slipping from his grasp. The triumphant look faded from his face, and he looked exceedingly ill at ease.