"Bah!" observed the poet; "you're out yet. But who knows? Your guess may be correct. It may be poetry."
"What, sir?"
"This letter for you, from a lady," said Roundjacket, smiling, and drawing from his pocket an elegantly folded billet.
Verty rose quickly.
"A letter for me, sir!" he said, blushing.
"Yes; not from a great distance though," Roundjacket replied, with a sly chuckle; "see here; the post-mark is the 'Bower of Nature.'"
Verty extended his hand abruptly, his lips open, his countenance glowing.
"Oh, give it to me, sir!"
Roundjacket chuckled more than ever, and handing it to the young man, said:
"An African of small dimensions brought it this morning, and said no answer was required—doubtless, therefore, it is not a love-letter, the writers of which are well-known to appreciate replies. Hey! what's the matter, my friend?"