“Arthur.”
“Huh?”
“May I talk about them for just a minute?”
“No! I told you no!”
“Well ... but ... I’ve got a letter from Broadwood——”
“Eh? Broadwood?” Arthur Thompson turned from the window out of which he had been scowling for several minutes, and glanced at Harry Merrow in sudden suspicion. “What about Broadwood?”
“Why,” answered Harry, eagerly, fluttering the pages of a stamp album in his excitement, “there’s a fellow there named Cotton, and he’s written to me asking if I will exchange duplicates with him. How do you suppose he heard of me?”
“Don’t know, I’m sure. Dare say, though, he saw your name in the catalogue.”
“But I mean how did he know I was a stamp collector?”