"Not while I'm about," laughed Tom. "Come, come, be calm, and I'll tell you all about it."
And he did tell of the long years of hope and distress, of despair when unconsciously within reach of fortune; of its final realization and of its golden yield. "So here I am, father, and your old hand shall write no more for Emanuel Griffin."
Then said Dolly, "You don't speak, father; you are surely not sorry?"
Sorry! He was stifled with gratitude; he was transforming into his old self. The familiar tenderness of her voice opened the floodgates of his heart, and he burst into a louder "Hurrah" than over Griffin's turkey, and kissed them all around, Mr. Tripple included, and, indeed, the day had been so successfully employed on the part of that gentleman that his early entrance into the family was far from problematical—so of course David did perfectly right.
Polly here broke in, "And, father, it was Tom who brought the note, and Tom who planned the surprise for you. What did it say, Tom? you can tell us now."
He laughed quietly, and then said, as if he were reading impressively from the open sheet to Mr. Griffin himself, and making him writhe under his coolness,—
"Emanuel Griffin,
"Sir: The connection of my father, David Dubbs, Esq., with your counting-house, will cease from this day forth.
"Sir, your obedient servant,
"Thomas Dubbs."