"Undoubtedly!" said Barnabas.
"I, therefore, ventured to send him a letter, post-haste, gently reminding him of those same duties, and acquainting him with my—ah—needy situation,—which was also very natural, I think."
"Certainly!" said Barnabas, smiling.
"But—would you believe it, my dear fellow, he wrote, or rather, indited me an epistle, or, I should say, indictment, in his most Roman manner which—but egad! I'll read it to you, I have it here somewhere." And the Viscount began to rummage among the bedclothes, to feel and fumble under pillow and bolster, and eventually dragged forth a woefully crumpled document which he smoothed out upon his knees, and from which he began to read as follows:
MY DEAR HORATIO.
"As soon as I saw that' t—i—o,' Bev, I knew it was no go. Had it been merely a—c—e I should have nourished hopes, but the 't—i—o' slew 'em—killed 'em stone dead and prepared me for a screed in my Honored Roman's best style, bristling with the Divine Right of Fathers, and, Bev—I got it. Listen:"
Upon reading your long and very eloquent letter, I was surprised to learn, firstly, that you required money, and secondly to observe that you committed only four solecisms in spelling,
("Gives me one at the very beginning, you'll notice,
Bev.")
As regards the money, you will, I am sure, be amazed, nay astounded, to learn that you have already exceeded your allowance by some five hundred pounds—
("So I was, Bev, begad—I thought it was eight.")