CHAPTER XXVII. A FRUITLESS JOURNEY.
It was the afternoon when Sullivan’s letter, on the lower left hand corner of which he had written Har., Sul., arrived. Mr. Colman had gone to a town at some distance, whence he would not return till the last train. Not many letters came to him, and this, with the London postmark, naturally drew the attention of Aunt Ann and Molly. The moment the eyes of the former fell on the contracted name in the corner, they blazed.
“The shameless fellow!” she cried; “writing to beg another ten-pound note from my poor foolish brother!”
“I don’t think that is it, aunt,” returned Molly.
“And why not, pray? How should you know?”
“Mr. Sullivan has had plenty of work, and can not need to borrow money. Why are you so suspicious, auntie?”
“I am not. I never was suspicious. You are a rude girl to say so! If it is not money, you may depend upon it, it is something worse!”
“What worse can you mean?”
“That Walter has got into some scrape.”