"
Mrs. Rosscott was conscious of being suddenly and skillfully
countercharged. She blushed with vexation, bit her lip in perturbation,
and cast upon the trying individual opposite a look of most appealing
interrogation.
"You see," said Clover pleasantly, "I was coming to town, so I came in
handy for the purpose of telling you."
She gave him a glance that prayed him to be decent and go on with his
errand.
"Burnett is about recovered," he said.
She clasped her hands hard.
"I wouldn't be a man for anything!" she exclaimed with sudden fervor,
"they are so awfully mean. Why _don't_ you go on and tell me _what_ you've
come about?"
He raised his eyebrows.
"May I?" he asked.
She choked down some of her exasperation.
"Yes, you may."
"Oh, thank you so much. I'll begin at once then. Only premising that as I
go to school with your little brother, and as he is rather under a cloud
just at present, we clubbed together to bring you a letter about him and
Jack. He was going to dictate it, but in the end Mitchell wrote it all.
Here it is."
With that he put his hand into his pocket, drew out an envelope and handed
it to her.
"How awfully good of you," she said gratefully. "Do excuse my reading it
at once, won't you? You see, I've been so anxious about--about my brother."
He nodded understandingly, and she hastily tore open the envelope and ran
her eyes over the written sheets.
MY DEAR MRS. ROSSCOTT:--
Being the prize writer of the class, I am chosen to take down the
ante mortem confessions of our shattered friends.
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