Isn't that what you're going to use them for?"
Mildly he answered "Yes," but he did not tell her which suit they were
to help.
As he was leaving she spoke to him without looking up from her writing.
"Mother and I will be at home this evening, if you'd like to look the
house over."
"Thanks. I'd be delighted to come. I'm really awfully interested."
"I see you are," she answered dryly.
Followed by his brown shadows at a respectful distance, Dick walked back
to the hotel whistling gaily.
"Some one die and leave you a million dollars, son?" inquired the old
miner, with amiable sarcasm.
"Me, I'm just happy because I'm not a Chink," explained his friend, and
passed to the hotel writing-room.
He sat down, equipped himself with stationery, and selected a new point
for a pen. Half a dozen times he made a start and as often threw a
crumpled sheet into the waste-paper basket. It took him nearly an hour
to compose an epistle that suited him. What he had finally to content
himself with was as follows:
"DEAR MADAM:--Please find inclosed a bundle of letters that
apparently belong to you. They have just come into my possession. I
therefore send them to you without delay. Your attention is
particularly called to the one marked 'Exhibit A.'
"Very truly yours, RICHARD MUIR GORDON."
He wrapped up the letters, including his own, sealed the package
carefully, and walked downtown to the post office.
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