“What are you going to do now, when you get ashore?” asked George.
“I’m going to Aunt Coulthurst; 16, Montgomery Street is her address, and don’t you forget it, and come and see us, won’t you?”
“Sure,” said Hank.
“Come Sunday. You’ll love her and—and—” finished Miss Coulthurst, with a catch in her voice, “I want her to thank you, for you’ve both been very—very—good to me.”
Hank seemed swallowing something.
“We’ll come with pleasure,” said George.
There was a pause, during which George took a letter from his pocket and gave it to Hank. It was a letter Candon had given him at parting; it had been written on the voyage with the stylograph pen he had borrowed and it was addressed to Hank Fisher.
“’Scuse me,” said Hank, and as Tommie rose to get her hat before going, he opened the letter and began to read.
He hadn’t been reading long when his jaw began to drop, he stopped dead and stared before him, took up the letter again, then handed it to George.
“That does me,” said Hank. “Read it—read it out—read it.”