“Does any thing remain for me to say? I do not think of any thing. I hope I have made what I had to say clear enough. I beg that you will forgive me, if I have trespassed beyond the limits of friendship, in writing at such length.
“Yours sincerely,
“Ruth Ripley.
“Mr. Julian Hetzel, 43 Beekman Place.”
CHAPTER XII.—“THE FINAL STATE O’ THE STORY.”
ON Thursday, August 14th, at about half, past one in the afternoon, Assistant-district-attorney Romer was seated in his office, poring over a huge law-book’, and smoking a huge cigar, when the door suddenly flew open, and in came, or more accurately, in burst Mr. Julian Hetzel. In one hand Hetzel carried a dripping umbrella; the other hand was thrust deep into the breast of its owner’s coat. Hetzel’s face wore an expression of intense excitement.
Romer lifted his eyes from off his law-book, removed his cigar from between his lips, and ejaculated, “Hello! What’s up now?”
Hetzel hurried straight ahead, till he had reached the edge of Romer’s desk. Then, extracting a ponderous envelope from the inner pocket of his coat, he threw it emphatically down upon Romer’s blotting pad, and cried, “Read that—will you?—and tell me what you think of it.”