The next day Bruce awoke feeling calmer and refreshed. The fever of the day before had left him, and when Miss Ingraham made her morning rounds she found him looking so much better that she smiled encouragingly upon him, and told him that he was on the high road to recovery.
“Is there anything you would like me to do for you?” said the nurse, kindly.
“Yes,” replied the boy timidly, “if it is not too much trouble for you, I would like to have you write me a letter. I can’t use my hands yet and there’s a friend of mine to whom I wish to write.”
The nurse, who was accustomed to requests of this sort, brought pen and paper to his bedside, sat down and said: “Well, what shall I write?”
“You may begin with Dear Miss Laura,” said Bruce and Miss Ingraham smiled to herself as she wrote it. The letter, which was concocted between them, read as follows:
“Dear Miss Laura:
Something happened just after you went away yesterday that I thought would interest you. In the bed next to mine is a small boy whom I pulled out of the building that was on fire. As soon as you had gone he told me that he had seen you before, but I did not believe him. I asked him where and he said up near the Harlem river where you live. Then I asked him how he came to be up there, and he said that a man used to send him on errands to a house which I am sure from his description is Mr. Dexter’s. I asked him who the man was but he did not know. All he could tell me was that he was a tall, dark man with a black beard and a scar across his face. What do you think of that? It looks to me as if I could run him down with the help of Skinny, the boy who told me that, and as soon as I get well again I will start after him.
Thanking you for your great kindness in coming to see me, I am,
Yours very respectfully,
Bruce Decker.”