A fortnight later Mr. Harum sat at his desk in the office of Harum & Co.
There were a number of letters for him, but the one he opened first bore
a foreign stamp, and was postmarked "Napoli." That he was deeply
interested in the contents of this epistle was manifest from the
beginning, not only from the expression of his face, but from the
frequent "wa'al, wa'als" which were elicited as he went on; but interest
grew into excitement as he neared the close, and culminated as he read
the last few lines.
"Scat my CATS!" he cried, and, grabbing his hat and the letter, he
bolted out of the back door in the direction of the house, leaving the
rest of his correspondence to be digested--any time.
EPILOGUE.
I might, in conclusion, tell how John's further life in Homeville was of
comparatively short duration; how David died of injuries received in a
runaway accident; how John found himself the sole executor of his late
partner's estate, and, save for a life provision for Mrs. Bixbee, the
only legatee, and rich enough (if indeed with his own and his wife's
money he had not been so before) to live wherever he pleased. But as
heretofore I have confined myself strictly to facts, I am, to be
consistent, constrained to abide by them now. Indeed, I am too
conscientious to do otherwise, notwithstanding the temptation to make
what might be a more artistic ending to my story. David is not only
living, but appears almost no older than when we first knew him, and is
still just as likely to "git goin'" on occasion. Even "old Jinny" is
still with us, though her master does most of his "joggin' 'round"
behind a younger horse. Whatever Mr. Harum's testamentary intentions may
be, or even whether he has made a will or not, nobody knows but himself
and his attorney. Aunt Polly--well, there is a little more of her than
when we first made her acquaintance, say twenty pounds.
John and his wife live in a house which they built on the shore of the
lake. It is a settled thing that David and his sister dine with them
every Sunday. Mrs. Bixbee at first looked a little askance at the wine
on the table, but she does not object to it now. Being a "son o'
temp'rence," she has never been induced to taste any champagne, but on
one occasion she was persuaded to take the smallest sip of claret.
"Wa'al," she remarked with a wry face, "I guess the' can't be much sin
or danger 'n drinkin' anythin' 't tastes the way _that_ does."
She and Mrs. Lenox took to each other from the first, and the latter has
quite supplanted (and more) Miss Claricy (Mrs. Elton) with David. In
fact, he said to our friend one day during the first year of the
marriage, "Say, John, I ain't sure but what we'll have to hitch that
wife o' your'n on the off side."
I had nearly forgotten one person whose conversation has yet to be
recorded in print, but which is considered very interesting by at least
four people. His name is David Lenox.
I think that's all.