“I think that you had better read it to yourself and tell me what you make of it,” said Grace, with a low laugh. “It is from your old man, Tom’s beautiful Uncle Joe.”
Bertha took the letter, but at first was troubled to understand the queer, crabbed handwriting, which was plainly characteristic of the writer, then finally this is what she made it out to be—
“Dear Nephew Tom,
“I am sorry that I could not wait to see you on the day a little while ago when I called at your house. I should doubtless have made time to come if your wife had held out to me any reasonable hope that you would be able to lend me money. I will admit that she offered for me to share your home if my funds would not keep me in food and shelter. But happily I am not quite penniless yet, though there is no saying how soon I may be, unless my luck soon turns. My greatest trouble has been that I have been openly robbed of some extremely valuable property that, in view of some recent losses, I had determined to raise money upon. For months I was unable to track the thief, but, to my amazement, I came face to face with him a few days ago, and although he promptly disappeared, I have every hope of running him down before very long. If I succeed in recovering my property, I may come to see you some time during the winter or the spring, for I rather like your wife, although she must be a very heavy burden to you in your struggle to get on.
—Your affec. uncle,
J. Ellis.”
“What a horrid letter!” cried Bertha, a wrathful light coming into her eyes, when she thought how it must have cut Grace.
“Do you think so?” said the invalid, and again there was a twinkle in her eyes. “Now, I have been lying here pluming myself on the conquest that I have made; for, just reflect, the poor old fellow says that he rather likes me, and think what an admission that is, seeing that I am plainly not a good investment from a money point of view.”
“Is he poor?” asked Bertha, whose lip curled at the thought of the pity and the care she had lavished on the frail old man who had seemed so lonely and so friendless. But if he were lonely he had only himself to thank for it, and a man who would have friends must himself show a friendly spirit.
“Tom thinks not, although of course he cannot be sure. He says that perhaps this great loss which seems to be preying on the old man’s mind may be nothing after all, while, on the other hand, he may have flung away almost everything that he has got in foolish speculation,” replied Grace.