“I ought to tell you that—that I know Mrs. Wellaway,” he stammered. “I—I know her quite well. In fact—”
“Then you’ll appreciate this,” said his host, merrily. “You know the business I’m in. Every one knows it. So you can imagine how I laughed when I read this letter.”
From the inside pocket of his coat Mr. Wellaway’s host took a letter. He removed the envelop and placed it on the table, address down.
“Listen to this,” he said: “‘Dear Sir: Only the greatest anguish of mind induces me to write to you and ask your assistance. It may be that I am the victim of an insane jealousy, but I fear the explanation is not so innocent. I distrust my husband, and anything is better than the pangs of uncertainty I now suffer. If your time is not entirely taken, I wish, therefore, to engage you to make certain that my fears are baseless or well founded. Please consider the matter as most confidential, for I am only addressing you because I know that when a matter is put in your hands it never receives the slightest publicity. Yours truly, Mrs. Edgar Wellaway.’”
When he had read the letter, Mr. Wellaway’s host lay back in his chair and laughed until the tears ran from his eyes, and his wife joined him, and their joy was so great they did not notice that Mr. Wellaway turned from red to white and choked on the bit of food he had attempted to swallow. When they observed him, he was rapidly turning purple, and with one accord they sprang from their chairs and began thumping him vigorously on the back. In a minute they had thumped so vigorously that Mr. Wellaway was pushing them away with his hands. He was still gasping for breath when they half led, half carried him to the parlor and laid him on a lounge.
“By George!” said his host, self-accusingly, “I shouldn’t have read you that letter. But I didn’t know you would think it so funny as all that. Do you feel all right now?”
“I feel—I feel—” gasped Mr. Wellaway. He could not express his feelings.
“Well, it was funny, writing that to me, of all people, wasn’t it?” said Mr. Wellaway’s host. “‘Not the slightest publicity.’ I suppose she looked up the name in the telephone directory, and got the wrong address. I know the fellow she was writing to. Same name as mine. Same middle initial. Think you can finish that dinner now?”
“No, thank you,” said Mr. Wellaway. “I think I’d like to rest here.”
“Just as you wish,” said his host. “Hello! There’s the telephone bell. You can ’phone your wife now, if you wish.”