"
"How do you know?"
For his only answer, he opened his cardcase and took out a folded scrap
of paper.
"How about this?" he asked, as he handed it to her.
She took it curiously and unfolded it. Then she turned scarlet as she
read the four lines written there.
"Dehr Sir
"THis mOney iis to pey to P ay for you r wheel anD yoour docors bill WE
are sorrry y u fel loff a and We hooppe you will be butTER sooon A
SINCERE FRind"
"I owe you some money," he added, when she had finished reading it. "But
what moved you to send it?"
"My conscience. I supposed you were a poor, struggling musician, and I
was really afraid you would starve to death if I didn't help you out, so
I borrowed Teddy's typewriter and went to work."
"Give it back to me," he commanded; but she was too quick for him, and a
dozen scraps of paper fluttered into the fire.
"It's the end of that old story," she announced briefly.
"And the beginning of our new one," he added, as the door swung open and
Dr. McAlister came into the room.
Christmas day dawned, clear and crisp and bracing, and The Savins was gay
with Christmas wreaths, with holly and mistletoe boughs. The rooms were
in their annual state of disorder, for Christmas gifts and Christmas
jokes were piled on all the tables and chairs. Gifford Barrett had been
included in the revel of the evening before, and now, at the Christmas
dinner, he sat in the place of honor, next Mrs.
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