I went back to Colone, and while eating supper someone told me three colored people were in Colone, and one of them was a sick woman. I could hardly believe what I heard. My appetite vanished and I arose from the table, paid the cashier and left the place, going to the hotel around the corner, and there sat my wife. I went to her side and whispered:
"Orlean, what in heaven's name are you doing here? And why did you come out in such weather."
She was still very sick and wheezed when she answered, trembling at the same time:
"You said I could go home until I got well."
"Yes, I know," I answered, controlling my excitement. "But to leave home in such weather is foolhardy."
It had been snowing all day and was slippery and cold outside.
"And, besides," I argued, "you should never have left home until I returned. Didn't you get my letter?" I inquired, looking at her with a puzzled expression.
"No," she replied, appearing bewildered. "But I saw Ollie hand something to papa."
I then recalled that I had addressed the letter to him.
"But," I went on, "I wrote you a letter last week that you should have received not later than Saturday."