“Oh,” replied Chick, “I just wanted to know, that’s all. If they ain’t none o’ you lost nothin’, w’y then o’ course I ain’t found it.”
“Boys,” said a third one of the company, “are we going to stand for a thing like this? This levity at our expense must cease. He’s a Hun. What shall we do with him?”
“Give him the g. b. in a blanket on the armory lawn next drill night. All in favor say aye!”
There was a chorus of ayes.
“Forward, march! Hip! hip! hip!”
The ranks were reformed and the fun-loving young fellows marched on.
Chick smiled. He knew that these boys were fond of him, and would sooner have suffered torture than have done him any harm. But he congratulated himself on his diplomacy. He knew that if he had told them that it was a letter he had found they would have insisted upon seeing it, perhaps upon reading it, since the envelope was unsealed. And some deep sense of chivalry warned the boy that a letter addressed to “Miss,” whoever she might be, was not intended for the public eye.
But what should he, himself, do with it? He drew it from the pocket in which, by way of precaution, he had placed it, and again examined the brief superscription. He noticed now, also, that the envelope was soiled and marked by the trampling of feet. Evidently some one had dropped it on the pavement before the boys had come along, and they, not seeing it, had trodden on it. He looked up and down the quiet street, but no one was in sight save the disappearing group of young men in khaki who had already resumed their singing. It was obvious that he could not stand there and ask occasional passers-by if any one of them had lost a letter. It was just as obvious that it would be useless to carry it to the post-office, the police station or the drug store, and worse than useless to throw it back into the street. There was really but one reasonable thing to do with it, for the present at any rate, and that was to take it home with him. So he took it home. In the privacy of his little attic room, by the dim light of a small, smoky, oil lamp, he examined it once more. It occurred to him that by looking at the contents of the letter the name of the person to whom it belonged would be disclosed. So he slipped the folded sheet out of the envelope, but he still hesitated to read what was written there. It seemed to him that he was intruding upon some one’s privacy, and, notwithstanding his lack of training and his crude environment, Chick was at heart a gentleman. He studied over the matter for many minutes before he finally decided that the purpose he had in view justified the apparent intrusion into some one’s personal affairs. But when he had once cleared his mind of doubt he hesitated no longer. He unfolded the sheet and slowly and with difficulty, for he was no scholar, he picked out the words and sentences.
The letter was as follows:
“My Dear Rachael: