This was Mr. Stephens' running commentary on his letters. He broke the seal of the Albany one, and glanced at its contents.
"Um," he said, meditatively, leaning his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand. "Now to whom shall I send this appeal? I don't know of any one. Mallery?"
"Yes, sir," answered Theodore from behind the screen.
"Do you know of any one who could go to Albany in December and give—stop, I know myself. Yes, that's an idea."
"You certainly know more than I do then," answered Theodore, laughing. "What do you happen to be talking about, sir?"
"How soon can you give me ten minutes of your valuable time?"
"At once, if you so desire," and the young man emerged into the main office, and came forward to the desk.
"Read that, then," answered Mr. Stephens, tossing him the Albany letter.
"A temperance lecture, eh, before the Association; that's good," said Theodore, running his eye rapidly over the few lines of writing. "Mr. Ryan would be a capital man to send them. Don't you think so, sir? But then it's in December. Ryan will not have returned from Chicago by that time, I fear; but then there's Mr. Williams, he is a fine speaker and—"
"I tell you I've found a man," interrupted Mr. Stephens; "the very man. Theodore, you must deliver that temperance lecture yourself."