“Why, mother,” Vieve urged, “you know that was all arranged. He said the answer would be addressed to him, but that we should open it just the same. He would think we took no interest in it if we didn’t open it.”
“No, Kit couldn’t think that!” Mrs. Silburn declared; “he knows us too well for that.”
With trembling hand she cut off the end of the envelope with her scissors; but that was as far as she could go. That letter was destined, probably, either to overwhelm them with joy or fill them with grief; and she could not bring herself to look at it.
“Here, you read it,” she said, handing it, still in its envelope, to Vieve. “My hands shake so I can hardly hold it.”
Vieve quickly took out the letter and unfolded it.
U. S. Consulate, Wellington, N. Z. [she read].
Christopher Silburn, Esq., Huntington, Conn.
Dear Sir:—Your letter in regard to the supposed American sailor in the hospital in this place was duly received, and I have made such investigations as the data you supplied made possible. I also secured the services of a physician to compare the unfortunate man with your description, thinking that his larger experience in such matters would give his opinion greater value than my own.
But I regret that with all these inquiries my answer must still leave you in doubt whether this man is your father or not. We imagine that there is a slight scar upon the left temple, but it is so indistinct, if there really is one, that we think it hardly corresponds with the one you describe. Still we are not prepared to say definitely that it does not.
This man’s height is about five feet nine and a half inches, and you say your father was 5, 10½. But he stoops so much that it is difficult to get his height correctly, and he may in better days have been 5, 10½. We are not prepared to either say that his eyes are brown; they are a sort of brownish gray; and his weight is about 140 pounds, though it was only 127 when he was received in the hospital.
The teeth almost answer the description you give, being perfect except that one incisor on the left side is partly broken off. That is an accident, however, that might have happened since you last saw him.
On the whole, as I said before, I am unable from your description to decide whether this man is your father or not. I have mentioned to him all the names and incidents given in your letter, without the least result. He improves in physical health daily, but there is no corresponding improvement in his mental condition. His memory seems entirely dormant.
I had him photographed some time ago, but before the prints were made the negative was destroyed in a fire that burned a large share of the business portion of this city; and as soon as the photographers are able to resume business I will have a new negative made and send you a photograph.
I suggest that you send me as many further particulars as you can; and meanwhile you may rest assured that this unfortunate man, whether he prove to be your father or not, is comfortably situated and receiving all necessary attention.
Yours very truly,
Hy. W. W. Wilkins,
Vice-Consul of the U. S., Wellington, N. Z.
“Well, if that ain’t a disappointing letter!” Mrs. Silburn exclaimed, when Vieve had finished reading. “I should think a man right there on the spot could tell something about it. Won’t poor Kit be disappointed when he comes home, after all these weeks of waiting!”
“And still he has taken a great deal of pains about it,” Vieve suggested; “even to getting a doctor, and having a photograph taken. We can’t blame him because he is not able to say yes or no to a certainty. He knows how awkward it would be if he should say ‘Yes, this is the man,’ and then after we got him home he should prove to be another man entirely. I am glad he is so careful about it, at any rate. And it seems to me there is a great deal in the letter that is encouraging. Let’s read it over again, and pick out the good points.”
“But you will be late for school, Vieve,” her mother objected.
“School!” Vieve cried; “if I hurry, I may learn that Rio Janeiro is on the east coast of South America; and I don’t care a fig if it’s on the west coast of Asia, when there may be news about father.”