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 The hotel grew quiet. Mr. Marcy had not read the evening mail through, so busy had he been kept during the regatta. He sat in the office with his night-clerk, concluding the letters hastily.

"Holloa!" he exclaimed, breaking a seal, "Nova Scotia post-mark? Saxton's hand? I guess I'd better look at it before I go to bed." He glanced at the first lines. His face grew attentive. He read on and turned the page. It wasn't a long letter, but it was plainly about an important matter.

He laid it down. Then, folding his arms, he stared in consideration at the uninteresting picture of a North German Lloyds steamship over his desk. Then he said, half aloud, "Certainly he'll do! He's just the person." He rose quickly. "I'll go up and read it to them at once. No! On second thoughts, they would neither of them sleep a wink if I did. To-morrow will do."

Mr. Marcy put the letter in the desk, turned out the gas, bade Mr. Keller good-night, and walked away to his room.

In that letter were involved the fortunes of the two lads, the big and the little one, who