The old woman and I have had a sort of falling out about
the young one, you see. These little difficulties will occur in the
best-regulated families. Come, take the letter. I'm in a hurry."
Bog allowed the letter to be thrust into his hand. He looked at it, and
saw, as he expected, that it was addressed to "Miss Minford, Present."
The direction was in a beautiful commercial hand, which was at once
more hateful in his eyes than the most crabbed of writing.
"All right," said he. "I'll deliver it. Poh! never mind the quarter. I
won't take it." Bog moved toward the house as he spoke.
"You're a queer fellow, but a good one. Well, you'll accept my thanks,
at any rate."
He waited at the hydrant until Bog had delivered the letter.
Bog walked straight to the house, and up the steps, although his face
was pale, and his knees trembled.
He rang the bell with a decisive pull, and, as he did so, glanced at the
strange man, who nodded approvingly at him.
He suddenly turned his back on the strange man. With a quick movement of
the fingers of his right hand, he thrust the letter up his coat sleeve:
The next instant he whipped a handkerchief out of an inside breast
pocket, and, with it, a stray copy of a new "Dentifrice" circular, which
he had been distributing the night before.
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