Doctor Morton looked carefully at the letter. He examined the red wafer with "T. J." in faded letters upon it.
Accompanying the letter was another from one of the heirs of the celebrated statesman.
"The desk is cheap at any—" Doctor Morton blurted. He caught himself in time.
"I'd like to own it. I'd give your price, but haven't the cash. I have some old books worth lots of money. Perhaps we can arrange a trade."
For two hours the two worked over this momentous transaction. At the end of that time, and in consideration of a rare pamphlet containing scurrilous remarks on William Penn, an old ephemeris printed by Benjamin Franklin and seven hundred and fifty dollars in cash, the mahogany colonial secretary was transferred to Doctor Willis Morton—to have and hold forever.
One evening, about a month later, the eccentric collector of the little Connecticut town sat down in his chair to gloat over and hold communion with his "literary" treasures, for he did not call them articles of virtu or specimens of bric-a-brac, or furniture of the Jacobean period, but gave each piece that was dear to him a name that smacked of books and learning. His mind turned to the evil early life of William Penn, and the wisdom of Poor Richard, while at the same time his eyes were riveted upon a beautiful eighteenth century desk. A bell interrupted his agreeable visions. A telegram had arrived. He opened it hurriedly, and read:
Please look under red wax wafer on Jefferson's letter. Important Information. R. H.
Doctor Morton went to the secretary, and taking the letter in his trembling hands, gingerly lifted the seal of the third President of the United States.
"Damn!" he cried, as he read in minute letters:
"A forgery,—in pleasant memory of my lost 'Anatomy.'