There were two letters lying on the floor, neither one addressed in a hand he knew. The first he opened was from Theodore. It was brief:
DEAR SIR:
If you can find the time to grant me an interview, I feel confident I can communicate something of interest.
Yours truly,
THEODORE ROBINSON.
His street address was written at the top.
Garrison laid the letter on the desk and opened the second. If the first had occasioned a feeling of vague wonder in his breast, the other was far more potently stirring. It read:
DEAR MR. GARRISON:
I called once, but you were out. Shall return again about four-thirty.
Trusting to see you,
FOSTER DURGIN.
Without even halting to lock the door as he fled from the place Garrison hastened pell-mell to the telegraph-office, on the entrance floor of the building, and filed the following despatch: