Lady Barbara drew herself up proudly. “I won't allow it!” she cried; “what I told you--” Pickert swaggered closer. “Drop that, will you? I got my orders. You heard 'em, didn't you? Will you go easy, or shall I have to--” and he half dragged a pair of handcuffs from his side pocket. “Now, you do just as I tell you; it'll all come right, and there won't nobody know what's goin' on. You get to hollerin' and mussin' up things and there'll be trouble, see? Open that door now, and walk out just as if everything was reg'lar.” Chapter XX The routine of Felix's daily life had been broken this morning by the receipt of a letter. The postman had handed it to him as he crossed the street from Kitty's to Kling's, the tramp who was sweeping the sidewalk having pointed him out. “That's him,” cried the tramp. “That's Mr. O'Day. Catch him before he gets inside his place, or you'll lose him. Here, I'll take it.” “You'll take nothin'. Get out of my way.” “For me?” asked Felix, coloring slightly as the postman accosted him. “Yes, if you're Mr. O'Day.” “I'm afraid I am. Thank you. If you have any others, bring them here to Mr. Kling's, where I can always be found during the day.” He glanced at the seal and the address, but kept it in his hands until he reached Kling's counter, where he settled into a chair, and with the greatest care slit the envelope with his knife. A year had passed since he had received a letter, nor had he expected any. He read it through to the end, turning the pages again, rereading certain passages, his face giving no hint of the contents, folded the sheets, put them back in the envelope, and slid the whole into his inside pocket. After a little he rose, stood for a moment watching Fudge, who, now that Masie had gone to school, had taken up his customary place in the window, his nose pressed against the pane. Then, as if some sudden resolve had seized him, he walked quickly to the rear of the store in search of his employer. Otto was poring over his books, his bald head glistening under the rays of the gas-jet, which he had lighted to assist him in his work, the morning being dark. “I have been wanting to talk to you for some time, Mr. Kling, about Masie,” he began abruptly. “I may be going home to England, perhaps for a few weeks, perhaps longer, and I should like to take her with me. I have a sister who would look after her, and the trip would do her a world of good. I have been wanting to do this for a long time, but I am a little freer now to carry out the plan I had for her. And so I have come to propose it to you.” Otto listened gravely, his fat features frozen into calm. This clerk of his had made him many startling propositions, and every surrender had brought him profit. But turning over Beesving to him meant something so different that the father in him stood aghast. Yet his old habit of deference did not desert him when at last he spoke: