THE STRATA--WHEN THE LETTER COMES
It was on the six o'clock delivery that William Henshaw received the letter from his namesake, Billy. To say the least, the letter was a great shock to him. He had not quite forgotten Billy's father, who had died so long ago, it is true, but he had forgotten Billy, entirely. Even as he looked at the disconcerting epistle with its round, neatly formed letters, he had great difficulty in ferreting out the particular niche in his memory which contained the fact that Walter Neilson had had a child, and had named it for him.
And this child, this "Billy," this unknown progeny of an all but forgotten boyhood friend, was asking a home, and with him!
Impossible! And William Henshaw peered at the letter as if, at this second reading, its message could not be so monstrous.
"Well, old man, what's up?" It was Bertram's amazed voice from the hall doorway; and indeed, William Henshaw, red-faced and plainly trembling, seated on the lowest step of the stairway, and gazing, wild-eyed, at the letter in his hand, was somewhat of an amazing sight. "What IS up?""What's up!" groaned William, starting to his feet, and waving the letter frantically in the air. "What's up! Young man, do you want us to take in a child to board?--a CHILD?" he repeated in slow horror.
"Well, hardly," laughed the other. "Er, perhaps Cyril might like it, though; eh?""Come, come, Bertram, be sensible for once," pleaded his brother, nervously. "This is serious, really serious, I tell you!""What is serious?" demanded Cyril, coming down the stairway.
"Can't it wait? Pete has already sounded the gong twice for dinner."William made a despairing gesture.
"Well, come," he groaned. "I'll tell you at the table. . . . It seems I've got a namesake," he resumed in a shaking voice, a few moments later; "Walter Neilson's child.""And who's Walter Neilson?" asked Bertram.
"A boyhood friend. You wouldn't remember him. This letter is from his child.""Well, let's hear it. Go ahead. I fancy we can stand the--LETTER;eh, Cyril?"
Cyril frowned. Cyril did not know, perhaps, how often he frowned at Bertram.
The eldest brother wet his lips. His hand shook as he picked up the letter.
"It--it's so absurd," he muttered. Then he cleared his throat and read the letter aloud.
"DEAR UNCLE WILLIAM: Do you mind my calling you that? You see Iwant SOME one, and there isn't any one now. You are the nearest I've got. Maybe you've forgotten, but I'm named for you. Walter Neilson was my father, you know. My Aunt Ella has just died.
"Would you mind very much if I came to live with you? That is, between times--I'm going to college, of course, and after that I'm going to be--well, I haven't decided that part yet. I think I'll consult you. You may have some preference, you know. You can be thinking it up until I come.
"There! Maybe I ought not to have said that, for perhaps you won't want me to come. I AM noisy, I'll own, but not so I think you'll mind it much unless some of you have 'nerves' or a 'heart.' You see, Miss Letty and Miss Ann--they're Mr. Harding's sisters, and Mr. Harding is our lawyer, and he will write to you. Well, where was I? Oh, I know--on Miss Letty's nerves. And, say, do you know, that is where I do get--on Miss Letty's nerves. I do, truly. You see, Mr. Harding very kindly suggested that I live with them, but, mercy! Miss Letty's nerves won't let you walk except on tiptoe, and Miss Ann's heart won't let you speak except in whispers. All the chairs and tables have worn little sockets in the carpets, and it's a crime to move them. There isn't a window-shade in the house that isn't pulled down EXACTLY to the middle sash, except where the sun shines, and those are pulled way down. Imagine me and Spunk living there! Oh, by the way, you don't mind my bringing Spunk, do you? I hope you don't, for I couldn't live without Spunk, and he couldn't live with out me.
"Please let me hear from you very soon. I don't mind if you telegraph; and just 'come' would be all you'd have to say. Then I'd get ready right away and let you know what train to meet me on.
And, oh, say--if you'll wear a pink in your buttonhole I will, too.
Then we'll know each other. My address is just 'Hampden Falls.'
"Your awfully homesick namesake, "BILLY HENSHAW NEILSON"For one long minute there was a blank silence about the Henshaw dinner-table; then the eldest brother, looking anxiously from one man to the other, stammered:
"W-well?"
"Great Scott!" breathed Bertram.
Cyril said nothing, but his lips were white with their tense pressure against each other.
There was another pause, and again William broke it anxiously.
