"To Mitty. I said I would write; I promised." And he produced a very much blotted paper and spread it before Mr. Goodwin.
"It's a long letter." It was indeed; the writing had been so severe and the paper so thin, that it had worked through to the other side.
"For Mitty," said John. "That is the person it's for; and another for Charles, with a picture in it." And a second sheet, suggestive of severe manual labour, was produced.
"I see," said Mr. Goodwin, his hand laid carelessly over his mouth, "but—yes, I see. This for Charles, and this for—ahem!—Mitty. And you want them to go to-day?"
"Yes." John was evidently relieved. He extracted from his trousers pocket two envelopes, not much the worse for seclusion, and laid one by each letter. One envelope was stamped. "I had two stamps," he explained; "one I put on, and the other I ate in a mistake. I licked it, and then I could not find it."
"Well, we will put on another," said Mr. Goodwin, who was a person of resources. "Now, what next? Shall we put them into their envelopes?"
John cautiously assented.
"And perhaps you would like me to direct them for you?"
"Yes." John certainly had a nice smile.
"Well, here goes; we will do Charles first. Who is Charles?"