He was about to toss the letter aside, when the name of
Fletcher caught his eye, and he opened it.
It was a brief note, written on an office memorandum, which simply asked
Mr. Delancy to call at the office as soon as it was convenient, as the
writer wished to talk with him on a matter of business, and it was signed
"Gilbert Fletcher."
"Why don't he say what his business is?" said Jack, throwing the letter
down impatiently. "I am not going to be hauled over the coals by any of
the Fletchers." And he tumbled into bed in an injured and yet
independent frame of mind.
But the next morning he reread the formal little letter in a new light.
To be sure, it was from Edith's cousin. He knew him very well; he was
not a person to go out of his way to interfere with anybody, and more
than likely it was in relation to Edith's affairs that he was asked to
call. That thought put a new aspect on the matter. Of course if it
concerned her interests he ought to go. He dressed with unusual care for
him in these days, breakfasted at the cheap restaurant which he
frequented, and before noon was in the Fletcher warehouse in Pearl
Street.
He had never been there before, and he was somewhat curious to see what
sort of a place it was where Gilbert carried on the string business,
as he used to call it when speaking to Edith of her cousin's occupation.
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