Wilkeson,
that every Saturday the postman, on his first morning round, delivered
to me a letter, marked 'New York City,' containing two dollars, without
a word of writing inside, and addressed to me in large capitals, each
nearly half an inch long. The object of this singular style of address
was either to make it so plain that the postman could not mistake, or to
disguise some handwriting which otherwise I might recognize. Now, as I
have no relatives living, and no friends that I know of, who would lend
me a dollar except on the best security, I am greatly puzzled, as you
may suppose, to guess the name of my unknown benefactor. Generous man!
For aught I know, he may now be dead, or himself reduced to poverty;
for, last Saturday, the regular weekly remittance failed to come."
"Then I see that I am just in season to help you," said Marcus Wilkeson,
who, during the recital of this brief history, had decided upon his
course of action.
"I thank you most gratefully," returned Mr. Minford, "and fully
appreciate the noble motives of your conduct. Your appearance convinces
me that you are entirely disinterested.
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