poor to pay any money for him, that's certain."
"Well, now, Betty, I'm rather surprised at you," Mr. Gordon teased her. "For a bright girl, you seem to have been slow on this point. What do these sharpers want of the aunts, anyway?"
"The farm," answered Betty promptly. "They know there is oil there and they want to buy it for almost nothing and make their fortunes."
"At the expense of two innocent old ladies," added Mr. Gordon.
"But, Uncle Dick, Bob doesn't own the farm. Only his mother's share. And the aunts would be his guardians, he says, so his consent isn't necessary for a sale. You see, I do know a lot about business." And Betty glanced triumphantly at her uncle.
He smiled good-humoredly, and let the car out another notch.
"Has it ever occurred to you, my dear," he said casually, "that, if Bob were out of the way, the aunts might be persuaded to sell their farm for an absurdly small sum? A convincing talker might make any argument seem plausible, and neither Miss Hope nor Miss Charity are business women. They are utterly unversed in business methods or terms, and are the type of women who obediently sign any paper without reading it, I intend to see that you grow up with a knowl-
