"Appreciating your courteous and reliable service, I remain,
Truly yours,
Christopher Mark Antony Burton, third."
Mr. Burton came to a stop and leaned back in his massive mahogany chair.
"There, Miss Elkins, get that off immediately," ordered he. "Also the two cablegrams I dictated. That will be all at present. Now, Christopher, suppose you give me your mighty tidings."
A faint note of sarcasm, not lost on the boy, echoed in the words, and with enthusiasm quenched, the lad silently produced his note and laid it on his father's desk.
"What's this?" Mr. Burton asked.
"You can read it."
"A vilely dirty scrap of paper. What have you been doing with it—cleaning your shoes?"
"It was that way when it came."