“But unfortunately I have lost the letter,” continued the professor regretfully.
“Professor Puffer,” said Bernard, “that letter is still in existence.”
“Is it?” asked Puffer eagerly. “Where is it?”
“I have it in my trunk. I found it on the floor of your stateroom on the Vesta. It is not quite complete, but there is enough in it with your help to fasten a very serious charge upon Mr. McCracken.”
“Good! good! I am thankful,” said the professor. “I will go with you, and beard him in his den. He shall repent the way in which he has treated me. But you will have to wait till evening. I shall not be through with my work till six o’clock.”
“You can leave it now,” said Cunningham. “I am not at all sure that you are entitled to the title of professor, but at all events you are fit for something better than a sandwich man. I will see that you are no longer reduced to such humble work.”
“I shall be thankful,” said Ezra Puffer, “deeply thankful if you will find me a better position. Sometimes I meet a man whom I knew in better days, and then I am inexpressibly mortified to be seen in such a position.”
“I think I can promise you some more congenial employment. Do you know where the Brevoort House is?”
“Yes.”
“Come round there at ten o’clock to-morrow morning, and call for me. You remember my name?”