"You didn't see a foreign rug buyer around the streets this afternoon, did you?" she asked them.
The Hardy boys shook their heads.
"Just came from school," they told her. "We didn't meet anybody on the way." Suddenly Frank glanced at the floor. "Why, you've sold the rug!" he exclaimed, in surprise.
The living-room floor had hitherto been covered by a valuable old Persian rug, as soft as moss. It had been bought by Mr. Hardy when on a trip to the city, but Mrs. Hardy had never cared for it. Fenton Hardy had thought to surprise his wife when he brought the rug home, but in a masculine indifference to color schemes he had neglected to see to it that the rug matched the rest of the room. Its color was not what Mrs. Hardy wanted, and inasmuch as the rug had been purchased at an exclusive sale, they had found it impossible to exchange it at the time.
Mrs. Hardy had always said that if she had an opportunity she would get rid of the rug and purchase something different. However the opportunity was long in coming. Although she had received several offers for it, none of these had been for more than five hundred dollars.
"And," as she said, "I refuse to sell a nine hundred dollar rug for that price."
