“Bully for you!” I said. “If he's out of money I'll help you pay the bills.”
We went away a little mystified by this behavior on the part of Muggs.
We were leaving next day for the south, and Mrs. Mullet came to say good-by to us. “How is your patient?” I asked.
“He was delirious all night, and dictated letters to me as if I had been his stenographer. I took them down with a pencil. I have brought two of them for you to read. I do not understand them; perhaps you will know what they mean.”
The first was addressed to a man in Mexico, and it said:
Dear Mack,—At last my ship has come in, and I am doing what I have longed to do for many years, and what I have dreamed of doing a thousand times. I inclose a check for all that I owe you, with interest. Forgive me. Please forgive me. I didn't know what I was doing. I expected to return it within a week, but I lost it all. I want you to tell every one that knows me that I am an honest man.
The second letter was to the Honorable Whitfield Norris, and it said:
Dear Sir,—At last I am able to do what I have wanted to do for years. I inclose a check for all the money you have given me, with interest to date. Please send me a receipt for the same. I always intended to make good and live honest, and I want you to think well of me, for I think that you are the greatest man I ever met.
All this puzzled me at first, and I went at once with Mrs. Mullet to Muggs's room. The sick man's fever had abated, and his head was clear.
“You have been dictating a letter to Norris,” I said.