_Which Has to Do with Some Letters_
One morning when I came down to my office, I found a letter postmarked
from the city in which Uncle Issachar lived addressed to me. I opened
it and found inclosed, with seal unbroken, the letter Silvia had
mailed to her uncle and which she had marked "personal." There was a
note addressed to me accompanying it:
"Dear Sir:
"I am returning herewith your personal letter to Mr. Innes, as he
has gone to South America and left no forwarding address. Should
such be received from him at any future date, you will be duly
notified thereof.
"Very truly yours,
"Chester K. Winslow,
"Secretary."
I read the above to Silvia at luncheon. She was grievously disappointed
because her uncle had not received her letter of explanation.
"It is most fortunate," she said, "that I sent it in one of your
office envelopes."
As usual, she had found the bright spot she always looked for and
generally discovered.
"I wouldn't care," she said, "to have Uncle Issachar's private
secretary or the dead-letter office know all our private affairs, but
I shall feel like an impostor until Uncle Issachar is undeceived."
"I feel a hunch," said Rob, "that Uncle Issachar will run across
Doctor Felix and his wife down there in Chili and find you out."
"He may run across the Polydores," I replied, "but he'll never find
out from them that they are the parents of Silvia's children. They
would not mention a subject in which they have so little interest."
"But," argued Beth, "naturally they'd tell him where they lived, and
then, of course, he'd say he had a niece living in the same town. They
would inquire her name and inform him that they were her near
neighbors, and then he'd tell them what fine sons you have, and then,
of course, the Polydores would claim their own."
"Which theory goes to show," said Silvia, "how little you know Uncle
Issachar and the Polydore seniors. He would not think of speaking to
strangers, and if he did, he wouldn't say any of those usual
conversational things you mentioned. The Polydores wouldn't be
interested, in the least, in knowing he had a niece unless she
happened to know something about antiques, and if he should describe
her children, she wouldn't recognize them."
After luncheon I went out on the porch. While I sat there, the mail
carrier came along and handed me a letter--a returned letter. It was
directed in Ptolemy's round hand to Mr. Issachar Innes. He had
evidently used the envelope to Silvia's letter to her uncle as his
model, for the address was written in the same way. "Personal" was
added in the left-hand corner, and his name and our house number was
in the upper left-hand corner.
I went into the library where my wife, Beth, Rob, and Ptolemy were
sitting.
"Ptolemy," I said, handing him the letter, "here is your communication
to Uncle Issachar, returned."
He lost some of his usual _sang froid_ and appeared quite disconcerted.
"Why, Ptolemy," exclaimed Silvia in consternation, "what in the world
did you write to Uncle Issachar about?"
Ptolemy had recovered and was quite himself again.
"About us," he said innocently. "As the oldest of our family, I
thought I ought to do a little explaining."
"And I think," I said, looking at him keenly, "that we have the right
to know what your explanation was."
Ptolemy handed me over the letter.
"Read it aloud," he said, with the air of one who is proud of his
productions.
Rob's eyes shone in anticipation.
I broke the seal. A note from the secretary fell out. It was an
apology for not returning the letter sooner, but it had been
inadvertently mislaid. I then read aloud the letter Ptolemy had
written:
"Dear Uncle Issachar
"I am sorry Diogenes and I were away when you were here. You
thought the others were fine, but you should have seen--Diogenes.
I hope you will send mudder back her check, because there is lots
of things she needs, and it takes a lot of money to take care of
all us. You see our own father and mother don't want to be
bothered with us and they went away and left us, and so we are
living with mudder the same as if we were really her adopted
children, and if her own would have been worth five thousand per
to you, I think her adopted children ought to be worth half as
much anyway, so it would only be fair to send her a check for
$12,500 anyway, and if you are a good sport like the kids said you
were, you'll send back her check.
"Yours truly,
"P. Issachar Polydore Wade."
Rob's laughter was so free and spontaneous that I had to join in
against my will. Ptolemy, who had seemed a little apprehensive of the
verdict, looked accordingly relieved.
"That's a fine letter, young man," approved Rob. "Stepdaddy ought to
take you into his law firm."
"No," declared Beth. "I think Ptolemy has inherited his mother's gift.
He should be a writer."
"Not on your life!" cried Ptolemy with feeling. "I want to live
things instead of writing about them."
A tear or two came into Silvia's eyes.
"It was very sweet in you, Ptolemy, to try to get the money for
mudder."
I felt that all this commendation was bad for Ptolemy, and that it was
up to me to take a reef in his sails.
"It was a well-meant letter, Ptolemy," I said, "and I know that your
motive was unselfish, but it is very poor policy to meddle in other
people's affairs. Meddlers are mischief makers in spite of their good
intentions. I am very glad it did not fall into Uncle Issachar's
hands."
Ptolemy looked sufficiently squelched.
"By the way, Silvia," I said. "I wrote Mr. Winslow and told him not to
forget to forward Uncle Issachar's address as soon as he possibly
could do so, as I had matters of importance to communicate to him."
"He may travel about like father and mother," said Ptolemy, again
regaining confidence, "so why don't you put that check for twenty-five
thousand in the Savings Department and get the interest on it
anyway?"
"I think, Ptolemy," said Rob, "that you are too good a financier,
after all, to become a lawyer. I will go back to my first conviction
that you should be a promoter."
"We'll give him to Uncle Issachar," I proposed, "for a partner."