If he had racked his brains for a subject calculated to detain
her--which we may rely upon it that he did not do--he could not have hit
upon a surer one. Sharlee Weyland had a great fund of pity for this
young man's worse than fatherlessness, and did not in the least mind
showing it. She came straight back into the room and up to the table
where he sat.
"Does it help you at all--about knowing where he is, I mean?"
"Not in the least. I wonder what he's up to anyway?"
He squinted up at her interrogatively through his circular glasses, as
though she ought to be able to tell him if anybody could. Then a thought
very much like that took definite shape in his mind. He himself had no
time to give to mysterious problems and will-o'-the-wisp pursuits; his
book and posterity claimed it all. This girl was familiar with the
city; doubtless knew all the people; she seemed intelligent and capable,
as girls went. He remembered that he had consulted her about securing
remunerative work, with some results; possibly she would also have
something sensible to say about his paternal problem. He might make an
even shrewder stroke. As his landlady's agent, this girl would of course
be interested in establishing his connection with a relative who had
twenty-dollar bills to give away. Therefore if it ever should come to a
search, why mightn't he turn the whole thing over to the agent--persuade
her to hunt his father for him, and thus leave his own time free for the
service of the race?
"Look here," said he, with a glance at his watch. "I'll take a few
minutes. Kindly sit down there and I'll show you how the man is
behaving."
Sharlee sat down as she was bidden, close by his side, piqued as to her
curiosity, as well as flattered by his royal condescension. She wore her
business suit, which was rough and blue, with a smart little pony coat.
She also wore a white veil festooned around her hat, and white gloves
that were quite unspotted from the world. The raw February winds had
whipped roses into her cheeks; her pure ultramarine eyes made the blue
of her suit look commonplace and dull. Dusk had fallen over the city,
and Queed cleverly bethought him to snap on an electric light. It
revealed a very shabby, ramshackle, and dingy office; but the long table
in it was new, oaken, and handsome. In fact, it was one of the repairs
introduced by the new management.
"Here," said he, "is his first letter--the one that brought me from New
York."
He took it from its envelope and laid it open on the table. A sense of
the pathos in this ready sharing of one's most intimate secrets with a
stranger took hold of Sharlee as she leaned forward to see what it might
say.
"Be careful! Your feather thing is sticking my eye."
Meekly the girl withdrew to a safer distance. From there she read with
amazement the six typewritten lines which was all that the letter proved
to be. They read thus:
Your father asks that, if you have any of the natural feelings of a
son, you will at once leave New York and take up your residence in
this city. This is the first request he has ever made of you, as it
will be, if you refuse it, the last. But he earnestly begs that you
will comply with it, anticipating that it will be to your decided
advantage to do so.
"The envelope that that came in," said Queed, briskly laying it down.
"Now here's the envelope that the twenty dollars came in--it is exactly
like the other two, you observe.--The last exhibit is somewhat
remarkable; it came yesterday. Read that."
Sharlee required no urging. She read:
Make friends; mingle with people, and learn to like them. This is
the earnest injunction of
Your father.
"Note especially," said the young man, "the initial Q on each of the
three envelopes. You will observe that the tail in every instance is
defective in just the same way."
Sure enough, the tail of every Q was broken off short near the root,
like the rudimentary tail anatomists find in Genus Homo. Mr. Queed
looked at her with scholarly triumph.
"I suppose that removes all doubt," said she, "that all these came from
the same person."
"Unquestionably.--Well? What do they suggest to you?"
A circle of light from the green-shaded desk-lamp beat down on the three
singular exhibits. Sharlee studied them with bewilderment mixed with
profound melancholy.
"Is it conceivable," said she, hesitatingly--"I only suggest this
because the whole thing seems so extraordinary--that somebody is playing
a very foolish joke on you?"