“Michael Bloomfield, you know your business,” he said, “and you have a good character. Leave your address. When I have consulted your references, you shall hear from me.”
The groom took out a blank card, and wrote his name and address on it. I looked over my uncle’s shoulder when he received the card. Another surprise! The handwriting was simply irreproachable—the lines running perfectly straight, and every letter completely formed. As this perplexing person made his modest bow, and withdrew, the General, struck by an after-thought, called him back from the door.
“One thing more,” said my uncle. “About friends and followers? I consider it my duty to my servants to allow them to see their relations; but I expect them to submit to certain conditions in return—”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” the groom interposed. “I shall not give you any trouble on that score. I have no relations.”
“No brothers or sisters?” asked the General.
“None, sir.”
“Father and mother both dead?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“You don’t know! What does that mean?”
“I am telling you the plain truth, sir. I never heard who my father and mother were—and I don’t expect to hear now.”