"Anderson, be quiet!" cautioned Mrs. Crow. "You'll wake the baby!" This started a new train of thought in Anderson's perplexed mind.
"Mebby she was waitin' there while some one—her husband, fer instance—was leavin' the baskit," volunteered Isaac Porter humbly.
"Don't bother me, Ike; I'm thinkin' of somethin' else," muttered Anderson. "Husband nothin'! Do you s'pose she'd 'a' trusted that baby with a fool husband on a terrible night like that? Ladies and gentlemen, this here baby was left by a female resident of this very town." His hearers gasped and looked at him wide-eyed. "If she has a husband, he don't know he's the father of this here baby. Don't you see that a woman couldn't 'a' carried a heavy baskit any great distance? She couldn't 'a' packed it from Boggs City er New York er Baltimore, could she? She wouldn't 'a' been strong enough. No, siree; she didn't have far to come, folks. An' she was a woman, 'cause ain't all typewritin' done by women? You don't hear of men typewriters, do you? People wouldn't have 'em. Now, the thing fer me to do first is to make a house-to-house search to see if I c'n locate a typewritin' machine anywheres. Get out of the way, Toby. Doggone you boys, anyhow, cain't you see I want ter get started on this job?"
"Say, Anderson," said Harry Squires, the reporter, "I'd like to ask if there is any one in Tinkletown, male or female, who can afford to pay you a thousand dollars a year for taking care of that kid?"
"What's that?" slowly oozed from Anderson's lips.
"You heard what I said. Say, don't you know you can bring up a kid in this town for eleven or twelve dollars a year?"
"You don't know what you're talkin' about," burst from Anderson's indignant lips, but he found instant excuse to retire from the circle of speculators. A few minutes later he and his wife were surreptitiously re-reading the note, both filled with the fear that it said $10.00 instead of $1000.