You stole that damsel from me, and I
never thanked you. Then I remembered you were a timber-king with a
kind heart and that you lived somewhere in California; so I looked in
the telephone book and found the address of the San Francisco office
of the Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company. You have a mean man in charge
there. I called on him, told him I was an old college pal of yours,
and tried to borrow a dollar. He spurned me with contumely--so much
of it, in fact, that I imagine you have a number of such friends.
While he was abusing me, I stole from his desk the stamped envelope
which bears to you these tidings of great woe; and while awaiting
your reply, be advised that I subsist on the bitter cud of
reflection, fresh air, and water, all of which, thank God, cost
nothing.
My tale is soon told. When you knew me last, I was a prosperous young
contractor. Alas! I put all my eggs in one basket and produced an
omelet. Took a contract to build a railroad in Honduras. Honduras got
to fighting with Nicaragua; the government I had done business with
went out of business; and the Nicaraguan army recruited all my
labourers and mounted them on my mules and horses, swiped all my
grub, and told me to go home. I went. Why stay? Moreover, I had an
incentive consisting of about an inch of bayonet--fortunately not
applied in a vital spot--which accelerated rather than decreased my
speed.
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