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168 "Shall I—shall I tell him, Emma?"

"I've already told you, Joe, that that's for you to say. It's not for me to speak."

Plainly Joe hesitated, then arrived at a sudden decision.

"Well, sir, this is what we've heard."

He took a sheet of paper out of his pocket, which he gave to me.

"I can't see what's on this, man, without a light! Mine are not cat's eyes; it's dark as pitch in here."

"Before I light up, sir, I'll lower the blind. There's no need for folks to see what's going on in here."

He not only lowered the blind, he drew the curtains, too, leaving a darkness which might have been felt; then started groping for a match upon the mantelshelf. When he had found one he lit the gas—a single burner. By its radiance I examined the paper he had given me. In shape, size, appearance, it was own brother to the sheet which had come to me. On it was a typewritten letter; which, however, in this case, was not anonymous.

To Joseph Morley, ",

"I'm in a bad scrape. I can't come home. And I've no clothes, and no money. I