When the week was up I went, and sure enough it was empty. I hunted up the owner, and got it for $5 a month. I used $3 of the other four to pay my board.
I worked there three weeks, makin $27, and had sent for you. I was lookin for you on Saturday, and could hardly wait until you come. I felt young agin.
“I worked there three weeks.”
Well, when I got to my boardin place on Thursday night, I went in and up to my room, thinkin that in two more days you would be with me. When I opened the door, there you was a comin toward me with your arms stretched out. My heart leaped. I jumped towards you, throwin out my arms to embrace you, when——
I struck my hand agin the iron bed-post in my cell and nearly broke it. It woke me up. Everything was cold and dark. You was not there. I felt so queer that I sot up in bed, and I sot there a thinkin of that dream—thinkin of how glad I was to git work; thinkin of that law, and what a grand country this would be if sich was the law; thinkin of that little house with green winder-blinds; thinkin of you doin your cookin and sweepin, your dustin and cleanin in that little house; thinkin of me a makin $9 every week, and a countin the money out to you every Saturday night in new, crisp greenbacks; thinkin of all these things, and then thinkin of you a sleepin out there in the road, you a goin hungry and without shelter because I cant git any sich work; thinkin how happy we might be and how troubled we are. I jist had to cry. I had to, though Ime a man. I sot there on the side of that iron bed till I nearly froze; then I laid down and went to sleep and slept till half-past five, when the watchman came around to waken me up to go to wheelin coal and cinders for another twelve hours for nothin.
“Everything was cold and dark.”
I will git out a Monday, and will start back as soon as they let me out. Somethin tells me I ort to be there; and its no use me tryin to find work in this place or any other. They either have “all the help they need,” or else “dont want to hire a old man.”
Hopin this will find you well, and that some kind person has taken you in out of the big road, I am, Betsy,