“Somebody’s doing it for a joke, Mrs. Davis,” he gulped. “I swear to goodness I never had a thing to do with a woman in all my life. Nobody’s got a claim on me, honest to––”
“What are you talking about, Harvey?” demanded Mrs. Davis, wide-eyed.
“What does it say?” cried he, pulling himself 229 up with a jerk. “I’m innocent, whatever it is.”
“It’s from your wife,” said Mrs. Davis, shaking the envelope in his face. “Read it! Read the awful thing!”
“From—from Nellie?” he gasped.
“Yes, Eller! Read it!”
“Hold it still! I can’t read it if you jiggle it around––”
She held the envelope under his nose.
“Do you see who it’s addressed to?” she grated out. “To me, as your wife. She thinks I’m already married to you. Read that name there, Harvey.”
He read the name on the envelope in a sort of stupefaction. Then she whisked the message out and handed it to him, plumping herself down in a chair to fan herself vigorously while the prescription clerk hastened to renew his ministrations with the ammonia bottle, a task that had been set to him some time prior to the advent of Harvey.