Free Chance of a Lifetime by Grace Livingston Hill Page B

choking over the word and wondering what he could tell, what he ought to tell over the phone.
    “Business? What’s the nature of it?” asked the judge.
    “Somebody’s trying to skin Dad out of everything, Judge!”
    “You don’t say!” said the judge in a startled tone. “We can’t have that, of course. What can I do? Who is it? What is it?”
    “It’s quite a story!”
    “I see. Too long to tell over the phone?”
    “Only a mortgage, and a man who wants his money right away and tells to sell Dad out. I’ve tried everything that Dad told me but can’t make any of them work, and Dad’s too sick to ask about it.”
    “What did your dad suggest?”
    “Said to sell some property in the city, if I could, but the only price I can get in a rush sale is a crime, and wouldn’t be a drop in the bucket.”
    “I see! What about a new mortgage?”
    “That’s what Dad thought was a last resort if it could be done, but two companies I went to in town won’t handle it, and I don’t know where else to try.”
    “H’mmm!” the judge said in a reflective voice. “Well, now, that oughn’t to be a hard proposition. How much time have we?”
    “Only till Monday,” the boy’s tired voice said, “and some tough egg is coming around here at five to make sort of a proposition. I don’t know what.”
    “Well, you must absent yourself, see?” the kindly voice said. “Clear out and don’t have a thing to say. Now you let me handle this. I’ll phone Charlie Ambler right away tonight and arrange things. You take Charlie the papers—have you got the papers?”
    “Oh sure! Somebody broke into the store last night and blew open the safe, but I’d taken the papers all home to check.”
    “You don’t say!” said the judge in a startled tone. “Well, don’t worry. You take the papers around to Charlie at the bank, first thing in the morning, and we’ll have it all fixed up. Do you know how much it is?”
    “Twelve thousand,” said Alan in a worried tone.
    “All right, son,” said the judge. “That’s only a pint cup of trouble. Don’t you worry a minute more. Just get those papers over to Charlie as soon as the bank opens, and we’ll have that tough egg right where he’ll be helpless before he has a chance.”
    “Oh, thank you,” said Alan in a choking voice. “I’m all kinds of grateful. I—”
    “There, there, son! That’s nothing!” the judge said in a cheery voice. “Of course I’d look after things. Your father and I were always the best of pals. And by the way, better just put Bill Atley wise to that tough egg that’s coming. It might save trouble, and you can always trust Bill. All right, son! See you Monday. Call me here if you need me before.”
    Alan hung up the receiver in a daze of astonishment. God had answered. The telephone had rung while he was praying.
“Before they call, I will answer.”
Why, it had been made true for him. And he had never taken it as anything but a sort of a figure of speech before. He hadn’t really expected an answer when he was praying.
    The screen door from the street was suddenly swung open and went shut on its patent hinges with businesslike precision, and Alan remembered it was nearly five o’clock. He looked up with sudden panic, and there stood Bill Atley.
    Was God sending all the answers at once? A humble feeling of joy and relief filled his heart.
    “Just stepped in to see if you found anything more wrong, kid,” said Bill, giving a quick glance around at the safe and desk. “Find all your papers?”
    Alan sprang to his feet and drew the officer in behind the desk, beginning to talk in quick, low tones. He told what Lancey had seen and of his visit to Mrs. Brower, showed the telegram, and gave a brief explanation about the mortgage and what happened.
    Bill’s enigmatic face continued unchanged during the recital. Only his bright keen eyes studied the other’s face, and he nodded intelligently as the story went on.
    “Judge Whiteley is