Omaha.
Dear Sir:—You doubtless think that I harbor ill-will and bitterness toward you because you shot me last summer, but such is not the case. I write to express my gratitude and everlasting friendship.
For years I had been an invalid, and last summer owing to my weak and helpless condition and consequent loss of employment, I became deranged. That accounts for my wild and insane idea that your residence was the abode of wealth and affluence.
It was the delirium that precedes death. Ah, my benefactor, my noble deliverer from death, how shall I tell you of my never-ending gratitude?
How like an angel of mercy you stood up before me that night in your robe de nuit and shot me!
How like a blessed seraph you looked at me, with your polished joints glittering in the flash and dazzle of your peerless beauty!
I have been rapidly gaining ever since in weight and strength. I am now married and happy, and I cheerfully point you out to my friends as the one who, by your health-promoting markmanship and vitality-restoring revolver, brought me back from death to hope, health and happiness.
Yours truly,
The-Man-You-Shot.
Since then I have called that revolver my Great Health Invigorator and Blood Purifier.