“Oh, sir—it is from home, from my mother,” he said, “and I haven’t a dollar, not a cent in the world. I lost every thing in the fire yesterday.”
Even the post-office clerk in the hurry of business looked interested, for the tears were rolling down the poor boy’s face.
“You look as if you’d nearly lost yourself in the bargain,” the gentleman said. “Here, give the boy his letter,”—and he threw down a gold piece carelessly. “Any thing for Frank Hadley? I don’t expect to empty a steamer’s mail.”
The manner and the voice sounded very familiar to Sam; he noticed it even in his thankful joy at having the letter in his possession. He had never heard the name before—no, he had known Frank Hadley,—but only as “the Major.” His outward man had altered almost as much as his name, since they parted that morning at the mines. His hair and beard were shorn of their immoderate length, though still several inches longer than he would have worn them in Broadway. Pantaloons made a difference too.—Sam thought them a decided improvement on the red flannel drawers, and his teeth were whiter than ever.
“Oh, sir, I can’t thank you,” he began to say, grasping the letter as if he was afraid some one would claim it back.
“Well, then, I wouldn’t try—I’d read the news. Hurry up there, if there’s any thing for me—this sun’s as hot as a furnace.”
“But I thank you so much, and I’m so glad to see you again”—Sam went on eagerly.
“Wasn’t aware you ever had that pleasure before”—returned Hadley, facing around suddenly. “Well, if it isn’t you, what business have you here I’d like to know, cutting such a figure as that! I thought you were in the States, long ago. Did not I send you home?”
“I couldn’t go—truly I couldn’t, he stole all I had—Colcord, the man that used to be with us.”