When Mr. Wickersham received this note, he was in his office. He frowned as he glanced at the handwriting. He said to himself:
"He wants more money, I suppose. He is always after money, curse him. He must deal in some other office as well as in this." He started to toss the note aside, but on second thought he tore it open. For a moment he looked puzzled, then a blank expression passed over his face.
He turned to the messenger-boy, who was waiting and chewing gum with the stolidity of an automaton.
"Did they tell you to wait for an answer?"
"Sure!"
He leant over and scribbled a line and sealed it. "Take that back."
"Yes, sir." The automaton departed, glancing from side to side and chewing diligently.
The note read: "Will meet you at club at five."
As the messenger passed up the street, a smallish man who had come down-town on the same car with him, and had been reading a newspaper on the street for some little time, crossed over and accosted him.
"Can you take a note for me?"