I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done. As you probably saw by the notice they’ve kept me on and to-day Captain Bingham put me into B Squad. He was awfully nice, too. Told me I was doing well, and that if I stuck to it and worked hard I’d make a good quarter. Of course I knew it was all your doing, and so I didn’t feel too stuck up about it. I’m terribly much obliged and I hope some time I’ll have a chance to do something for you. If the time ever comes I’ll do it like a streak. I haven’t forgotten your invitation to call, and I’m going to come over some evening if you don’t mind.
Yours, etc.,
James A. Wigman.
Jonesie folded the note up with a broad smile. Then, whistling softly, he went to the closet and rescued the tennis racket. When it was once more on the mantel he had a sudden thought and his gaze darted across to where Sparrow sat under the drop light, reading. There was something far too good to be true in Sparrow’s preoccupation and Jonesie scowled. At length:
“Anything about this note you’d like to have explained?” he asked sarcastically.
Sparrow looked up, blinking. Then he shook his head slowly.
“N-no, I guess not. It’s none of my business, Jonesie.”
“Then what did you open it for?” Jonesie exploded.
“Why, it was sort of dark in here and I thought it was for me,” explained Sparrow calmly. “Of course, when I saw it wasn’t——”