Meanwhile Harry was opening an envelope the exact counterpart of his father’s. He read the note twice and stood considering its import.
“Another of ’em?” said the elder Boland. “Well, what’s yours, Harry?”
“Mine?—Oh,—mine—why,” the young man faltered.
“Well, well, can’t you speak?” demanded the father irritably.
Harry returned no direct reply. Opening his note he read:
“‘We count on young men like you, Harry Boland, to lead the fight we are making to save our Little Lost Sisters. Mary Randall.’”
“Now,” chuckled Grogan, “you know how I felt when I got my little blue envelope this morning.” As he spoke he tore off the end of the envelope which he had held unnoticed. Inserting his finger and thumb into the envelope he went on:
“Do you know, I never did like the color of blue—”
He broke off as he lowered his eyes to the enclosure he had brought out. It was another blue letter. Grogan started up and jerked out the note. Holding it at arms’ distance he read:
“‘The strength of Ireland is in the purity of her sons and daughters. Mary Randall.’”