“Mr. Fry!” said Mr. Eden, with some surprise.
“Ay! ay!” cried Mrs. Davies. “I remember now there was an ill-looking fellow of that name here talking to me, pretending you had promised him a book.”
“But I did promise him a book.”
“Oh, you did, did you! well he looked like a thief, perhaps he has—goodness gracious me, I hope there was no money in it,” and Mrs. Davies lost her ruddy color in a moment.
“No! no! it was only a letter, but of great importance.”
Another violent search at the risk of shins and hands.
“That Fry has taken it. I never saw such a hang-dog looking fellow.”
Mr. Eden was much vexed; but he had a trick of blaming himself, Heaven only knows where he caught it. “My own forgetfulness; even if the paper had not been lost I had allowed post-time to go by—and Mr. Hawes will anticipate me with the Home Secretary.” He sighed.
In so severe a struggle he was almost as reluctant to give an unfair advantage as to take one.
He ordered a fire in his little back parlor; and with a sigh sat down to rewrite his memorial and to try and recover, if he could, the exact words, and save the next post that left in the morning.