“But there’s Jack Stanley and his wife! They are the only ones who can help me, aren’t they? You said they could give me a clear title to my property. I’ve got to see them before they leave the fair to-night.”
The old man slowly winked at the lad.
“Ketched,” he chuckled. “I didn’t mean to tell ye about it, Bud. But after Mr. Stockwell got so fresh with me las’ night, I jes made up my mind to hand him somepin’ an’ help you a little at the same time.”
The sawmill owner reached into the hip pocket of his trousers and [drew out an envelope]. On it, addressed in an awkward hand, were these words:
“Mr. John Reed or Jack Stanley,
Fair Grounds.”
“That’s why Josh an’ mother air a goin’ to the fair,” he chuckled again. “An’ ef this don’t bring my old friend Stanley’s wife and son-in-law out to Camp’s Mill by to-morrer, I miss my guess.”
