"Oh, I know that. In Wiesbaden. He told me so once, and it seems as if I had been there, too, when he talked about it, and I hear the music and see the flowers, and a white-faced woman is with me, not at all like mother, who, they say, was ugly and dark; black as a nigger, Tom told me once, when he was mad. Was she black?"
Mr. Tracy made no reply to this, but said, suddenly:
"Jerry, do you like me well enough to do me a great favor?"
"Why, yes, I guess I do. I like you very much, though not as well as I do Harold and Mr. Arthur. What do you want?" was Jerry's answer.
After hesitating a moment, Mr. Tracy began.
"There are certain reasons why I ought to know if my brother writes to Gretchen, or her friends, or any one in Germany, especially Wiesbaden. A letter of that kind might do me a great deal of harm; if he should write to any one in Germany, you would, perhaps, be asked to post the letter, as he never goes to town?"
He said this interrogatively, and Jerry answered him, promptly:
"I think he would give it to me, as I post nearly all his letters."
"Yes, well; Jerry, can you keep a secret, and never tell any one what I am saying to you?" was Frank's next remark, to which Jerry responded:
"I think I should tell Harold, and, perhaps, Mr. Arthur."