It was a wonder to see how proud those poor shop-workers felt. That one of their own class, as they regarded her, should suddenly become so famous, seemed like an individual triumph to each of them.
“Is Mr. Edward W—— here?” cried a messenger-boy, rushing up to the door. “Here’s a dispatch from Boston—marked private and very important!”
CHAPTER XXXIX.
MR. JONES PROMOTED.
“A dispatch for me?” cried Mr. W——.
“Yes, sir. Here it is, prepaid, O. K., all hunky, and so forth,” cried the lad, and as Mr. W—— took the dispatch, away he went, on the run, to deliver more.
Mr. W——, to the disappointment of Mr. Jones and the others, did not open and read his dispatch then and there, but, with a pale face, and quick, nervous step, went with it, unopened in his hand, to his office, and shut himself in. And there he read these strange and startling words:
“No. — Beacon St., Boston.
“Kindest of Friends:—Both my parents are dead. My mother, reconciled, died, blessing me. There is a very large estate to receive, and I alone can arrange for its care in my absence, for I shall return to my position, and occupy it until you return, successful or not, from that mission to California. Pardon the suggestion that you go on immediately. You will find me at the bindery when you come back. Keep the confidence I bestowed upon you, especially as to what I send in this dispatch, even from the friends on Fifth avenue. Only say to all I am well, and will soon return.
“Faithfully yours,
“G. E. L.”