The envelope containing the Washington letter bore the
Boston postmark. The Brooklyn missive had been sent from Chicago, that
from Norwich had been posted at Yonkers, and vice versa, and so on
through the whole list. Each and every one had, through some evil
chance, started wrong. In addition to this, Partington found that in a
forgetful moment he had appended to two of the communications an
editorial response promising more work from Mr. Smithers.
"I must have been muddled by my success with 'Tommy and the
Huckleberry-tree,'" he sighed, as he cast the documents into the fire.
"If that's the effect literary honors have on me I'd better quit the
profession, which leaves only two things to be done. I shall have to
commit one of two crimes--suicide or matrimony. The question now is,
which?"
He thought deeply for a moment, and then, putting on his hat and
over-coat, he turned off the gas and left the room.
"I'll call on Harris, borrow a cent from him, and let the toss decide,"
he said, as he passed out into the night.
Is it really any wonder that Mr. Smithers has given up literature?
THE BASE INGRATITUDE OF BARKIS, M.D.
The time has arrived when it is possibly proper that I should make a
note of the base ingratitude of Barkis, M.D. I have hesitated to do this
hitherto for several reasons, any one of which would prove a valid
excuse for my not doing so. To begin with, I have known Barkis ever
since he was a baby.
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