The Store Boy

Ben conducted Dinsmore into the kitchen opening out of the sitting room, and gave him a chair.

At five minute to twelve there was a knock at the outer door, and Ben admitted Squire Davenport.

"So you are home again, Benjamin," said the squire. "Had enough of the city?"

"I am taking a vacation. I thought mother would need me to-day."

"She will—to help her move."

"Step in, sir."

Squire Davenport, with the air of a master, followed Ben into the sitting room. Mrs. Barclay sat quietly at the table with her sewing in hand.

"Good-day, widow," said the squire patronizingly.

He was rather surprised at her quiet, unruffled, demeanor. He expected to find her tearful and sad.

"Good-day, Squire Davenport," she said quietly. "Is your family well?"

"Zounds! she takes it coolly," thought the squire.

"Very well," he said dryly. "I suppose you know my business?"

"You come about the mortgage?"

"Yes; have you decided where to move?"

"My mother does not propose to move," said Ben calmly.

"Oho! that's your opinion, is it? I apprehend it is not for you to say."

"That's where we differ. We intend to stay."

"Without consulting me, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"You are impudent, boy!" said the squire, waxing wrathful. "I shall give you just three days to find another home, though I could force you to leave at once."

"This house belongs to my mother."

"You are mistaken. It belongs to me."

"When did you buy it?"

"You are talking foolishly. I hold a mortgage for seven hundred dollars on the property, and you can't pay it. I am willing to cancel the mortgage and pay your mother three hundred dollars cash for the place."

"It is worth a good deal more."

"Who will pay more?" demanded the quire, throwing himself back in his chair.

"I will," answered Ben.

"Ho, ho! that's a good joke," said the squire. "Why, you are not worth five dollars in the world."

"It doesn't matter whether I am or not. My mother won't sell."

"Then pay the mortgage," said the squire angrily.

"I am prepared to do so. Have you a release with you?"

Squire Davenport stared at Ben in amazement.

"Enough of this folly!" he said sternly. I am not in the humor for jokes."

"Squire Davenport, I am not joking. I have here money enough to pay the mortgage," and Ben drew from his pocket a thick roll of bills.

"Where did you get that money?" asked Squire Davenport, in evident discomfiture.

"I don't think it necessary to answer that question; but there is another matter I wish to speak to you about. When will you be ready to pay the sum you owe my father's estate?"

Squire Davenport started violently.

"What do you mean?" he demanded hoarsely.

Harvey Dinsmore entered the room from the kitchen at that point.

"I will answer that question," he said. "Ben refers to a note for a thousand dollars signed by you, which was found on his father's person at the time of his death."

"No such note is in existence," said the squire triumphantly. He remembered that he had burned it.

"You are mistaken. That note you burned was only a copy! I have the original with me."

"You treacherous rascal!" exclaimed the squire, in great excitement.

"When I have dealings with a knave I am not very scrupulous," said Dinsmore coolly.

"I won't pay the note you have trumped up. This is a conspiracy."

"Then," said Ben, "the note will be placed in the hands of a lawyer."

"This is a conspiracy to prevent my foreclosing the mortgage. But it won't work," said the squire angrily.

"There you are mistaken. I will pay the mortgage now in the presence of Mr. Dinsmore, and let the other matter be settled hereafter. Please prepare the necessary papers."

Suddenly the squire did as requested. The money was paid over, and Ben, turning to his mother, said:

"Mother, the house is ours once more without incumbrance."