"Why Stumpfield, what do you mean?"
"Perhaps the boy means to pay the note of seven hundred dollars," sneered Squire Moses. "But I don't want any nonsense about this business."
"That's just what I'm going to do, grandpa," shouted Stumpy, drawing the wallet from his pocket, and taking from it the roll of bills.
Squire Moses turned round, amazed at the announcement of his grandson, and for the first time discovered the presence of Mr. Hamilton.
"I'm glad to see you, Mr. Hamilton," said he, extending his withered hand to the merchant. "This is disagreeable business."
"I should think it was—to turn your son's widow out of house and home," replied the ex-congressman, dryly.
"The mortgage note has been due for years," pleaded the squire. "Of course the widow can't pay it, and—"
"Yes, she can!" yelled Stumpy. "She never did get any favors from you, and she don't ask for any now. Here's the seven hundred dollars. My mother wants the note, and a release of the mortgage."
Squire Moses actually turned pale, as much from anger as from the failure of a profitable operation for the future.
"I don't understand this," said he.