"Have you played in on the square with me?"
"Yes, Curly, I have."
"I told you not to have nothing more to do across the fence, didn't I?"
"Yes. I haven't."
"Is that so, Bonnie Bell Wright?" says I. "Then what's this?"
I put in her hand the note—the one I'd read. It was my business to do that, the way it come to me.
"Read it," says I to her.
Near as I can remember, it run about like this:
Why don't you come again? When shall I see you? I'm in the same place every day and I wait and wait. Please! Please! Please!
It wasn't signed with no name—only just "The Man Next Door."