Your obedient servant,
Titus Cheviot.
J.T. Blatchbourne, Esq.
As he blotted the words—
“I’ll bet he doesn’t hand that about,” he muttered.
Then he copied his letter on to the back of Mr. Blatchbourne’s and restored the latter to its drawer.
When he had prepared an envelope and covered his reply he lighted a cigarette and left the shop.
Mrs. Cheviot had had a most gorgeous time.
Never had idleness seemed so full of spice.