DEAR UNCLE ADOLF,
You remember my friend Jimmy Staples—the one I told you about, who was engaged and I lent that money to? Well, he’s been killed, or rather he has just died of wounds. He has done splendidly. Our Brigadier had sent in his name for a V.C. I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. But what I wanted to say is that it’s all right about the money. I’ve got lots in the bank now, and in another couple of months I shall be able to pay you back. One can’t spend anything much out here. I’m quite fit, but I’m rather in the blues about Jimmy. Mother will give you all my news.
Your affectionate Nephew.
P.S.—By the way, I gave your name as nearest relative in case of accidents, to save mother.
Mr. Reiss has a curious and unaccustomed feeling of flatness as he re-reads the letter. Somehow or other he does not want Percy to pay him back that fifty pounds. He thinks he’ll write and tell him so at once.
He sits down at the writing-table—the same one at which he had written the cheque the last time he saw Percy. The scene comes back to him with a strange vividness as he dips his pen in the ink. He hesitates a moment before beginning the letter. Was there anything he could say that would please Percy? He has a curious and at the same time a strong desire to do something now—at once. He has never felt like this before. Supposing he were to—A knock on the door. His servant brings in a telegram. Why do Mr. Reiss’s fingers tremble so? Why does Mr. Reiss begin cleaning his glasses before he opens the envelope?
He holds the pink paper under the lamp.
Deeply regret to inform you....
Mr. Adolf Reiss does not need to read farther, and now he has a final grievance against Life.