“Mr. Randolph, this fellow stated to me yesterday that you were not from Vermont, that you are an impostor. What have you to say to this?”
“I can only say that I told you the truth.”
“Have you any way of proving your statement?”
“Here is a letter that I received this morning from my mother,” said Herbert, handing it to the banker. “This, I think, will sustain my word.”
“The envelope is postmarked Fairbury, Vermont,” replied Mr. Goldwin, scrutinizing it closely.
“You may read the letter,” said our hero. “It will doubtless convince you of my truthfulness.”
It ran as follows:
Fairbury, Vt., Thursday, November 12th.
My Dear Son:
Your letter reached us this evening, and it lifted a great load of anxiety from our hearts, for we could not help fearing some ill luck might have overtaken you—a stranger and an inexperienced boy in so great a city as New York.