The Mystery of the Millionaire

Mrs. Belden announced the following morning that the kitchen was on a one-day vacation schedule. “We’ll have a big brunch at eleven o’clock,” she said. “Before and after that, everyone’s on their own.”
    “Everyone?” Trixie asked pointedly, with a sidelong glance at Bobby, who was waiting expectantly next to the refrigerator.
    Mrs. Belden laughed. “As I said, this is a day of rest. For that reason, I’ll see to it that Bobby is fed—I don’t want to spend my vacation cleaning up the kitchen!”
    The entire family seized on the day-off idea as if it were a week-long trip to an exotic land. Brian and Mart, with a minimum of quarreling, worked out a schedule for use of the backyard hammock. Trixie volunteered to give up a couple of hours of her vacation so that her parents could go for a drive unhampered by their youngest son.
    In a holiday mood, the family gathered around the table for their combination breakfast and lunch. Mart asked permission to change places with Trixie, so that he could watch out the kitchen window for the mail carrier during the meal. “In anticipation of the arrival of auspicious information,” he explained long-windedly.
    When the mail carrier’s truck did pull up, Mart dropped his fork with a clatter and raced out the door.
    “What’s the matter with that boy?” Peter Belden wondered aloud.
    “The only ones who seem to know the answer to that are Mart and Trixie, and neither one of them is telling,” Helen Belden said, with a meaningful glance at her only daughter.
    Trixie concentrated very hard on her plate. This was the first hint her mother had given that she knew Trixie was in on Mart’s secret.
    Trixie was saved from having to say anything by the return of Mart, who was waving a legalsized envelope over his head. “It’s here!” he shouted. He stood at the table and ripped open the envelope. He took out a folded letter, unfolded it, and looked in the envelope as if something was missing. Eyebrows drawn together in a frown, he read the letter. Then, without a word, he sank into his chair.
    “What is it, Mart?” Trixie asked.
    Mart handed her the letter. “Read it,” he said.
    “ ‘Dear Mr. Belden,’ ” Trixie read aloud. “ ‘As you can understand, Carlson Crafts must maintain the highest possible quality in our products in order to compete in the marketplace. We regret to inform you that the products you assembled do not meet our standards; therefore, we are unable to remit your fifty dollars.’ ” Trixie looked up from the letter to Mart, who was sitting with his face hidden in his hands.
    ‘It is not unusual for our suppliers’ first efforts to be unsatisfactory,’ ” the letter continued. “ ‘Generally, more practice is sufficient to correct the initial errors in assembly. If you will send us ten dollars immediately, we will gladly maintain your place on our list of home assemblers and send you an additional five kits. We will also be happy to return your initial product, C.O.D., at your request.’ ”
    Trixie folded the letter carefully, although her impulse was to tear it into a hundred pieces. “I thought the plaques looked fine, Mart,” she said. “Are you going to try another five?”
    Mart lowered his hands and raised his head to look at Trixie. His face was flaming red, but he spoke with as much dignity as he could muster. “I am possessed of a modicum of intelligence,” he said. “At least enough to be cognizant of the fact that, in the current patois, I’ve been ripped off.”
    “Suppose you explain what this is all about,” Peter Belden requested softly.
    Mart turned to his father. “I answered an ad in the back of a magazine. They said they wanted home assemblers for craft products. I sent them ten dollars, and this is what I got,” Mart concluded, waving one hand at the letter.
    “I’m glad it was only ten dollars,” Peter Belden told him. “Most of these get-rich-quick schemes require a bigger investment, although the results are always about the same.”
    “But the ad said your money was guaranteed,” Trixie said. “They have to give you fifty dollars for those plaques.”
    Mart shook his head. “If you’ll recall, the exact wording of the ad said the profit was guaranteed for proper assembly. If they claim the kits weren’t properly assembled, they don’t have to pay.”
    “That’s right,” Peter Belden said. “I’m sure that if you protest, you’ll get another letter, detailing all the