“Cedar Hill, August 24, 18—.
“Abel Black, Esq.
“Dear Sir: Samples received and examined. You can make a suit for me from goods numbered 324. Use 416 for a suit for Clifford Faxon—will send him to be measured to-morrow afternoon. Make his first and at once, as he must have it by September 1. My measurements you already have.
“Respectfully yours,
“John C. Talford.”
After taking an impression of the above, as he did of every letter he wrote, he sealed, addressed, and stamped it; then went out into the balmy summer night for his habitual stroll and smoke before going to bed.
A few minutes later Maria Kimberly, whose ears had been on the alert, stole softly into the dining-room and approached the writing-desk.
Her eyes gleamed with an exultant light as she saw the letter addressed to the tailor and the pieces of cloth shoved one side as of no further use.
“Cliff, my boy, fortune favors you for once, and no mistake,” she said. “If he’d sent them pieces o’ cloth along with his letter Mr. Black would ’a’ found out that they’d been meddled with, and you’d had to wear that measly old shoddy. I’ll jest die a-laughin’, though, when the squire’s suit comes home, but it’ll serve him right,” she concluded, with a chuckle of malicious glee.