Perrott’s letter next morning. She wrote: “DEAR SIR, “I have remembered something about a letter as may be the one you was asking for. Hoping this may be of service to you. “Yours obediently, “BEULAH PERROTT.” David took his car and went down to Fordwick. He was thankful for the need of action. To sit in office with a thousand conjectures coming, going, jostling, and contradicting one another, and making his attempt at work a farce, was an experience from which he was glad to escape. If Mrs. Perrott was surprised to see him so soon, she did not show it. She gave him her usual greeting, remarked upon the weather, and inquired after his health. After these polite preliminaries she seated herself in a leisurely fashion and asked what she could do for him. “I got your letter this morning,” said David. Mrs. Perrott nodded. “I thought maybe you would.” “I’ve come down to have a talk with you about it.” “To be sure,” said Mrs. Perrott comfortably. “And I’d ask you into the sitting-room, only Etta’s got her sewing all over the place, and we can be private here.
