Tom was filled with astonishment at the old man's strange demeanour. He stood puffing at his cigarette, and tried to understand matters. Failing, he threw his cigarette away, took a fresh one from his pocket, and approached the old man. "Got a match?" he inquired, pleasantly. The old man, much agitated, nearly fell from the railing as he leaned dangerously forward. "Sonny, can you read?" he demanded in a quavering voice. "Certainly, I can," said Tom, encouragingly. He waived the affair of the match. The old man fumbled in his pocket. "You look honest, sonny. I've been looking for an honest feller fur a'most a week. I've set on this railing fur six days," he cried, plaintively. He drew forth a letter and handed it to Tom. "Read it fur me, sonny, read it," he said, coaxingly. Tom took the letter and leaned back against the railings. As he opened it and prepared to read, the old man wriggled like a child at a forbidden feast. Thundering trucks made frequent interruptions, and seven men in a hurry jogged Tom's elbow, but he succeeded in reading what follows:-- Office of Ketchum R. Jones, Attorney-at-Law, Tin Can, Nevada, May 19, 18--. Rufus Wilkins, Esq. Dear Sir,--I have as yet received no acknowledgment of the draft from the sale of the north section lots, which I forwarded to you on 25th June. I would request an immediate reply concerning it. Since my last I have sold the three corner lots at five thousand each. The city grew so rapidly in that direction that they were surrounded by brick stores almost before you would know it. I have also sold for four thousand dollars the ten acres of out-laying sage bush, which you once foolishly tried to give away. Mr. Simpson, of Boston, bought the tract. He is very shrewd, no doubt, but he hasn't been in the west long. Still, I think if he holds it for about a thousand years, he may come out all right. I worked him with the projected-horse-car-line gag. Inform me of the address of your New York attorneys, and I will send on the papers. Pray do not neglect to write me concerning the draft sent on 25th June. In conclusion, I might say that if you have any eastern friends who are after good western investments inform them of the glorious future of Tin Can. We now have three railroads, a bank, an electric light plant, a projected horse-car line, and an art society. Also, a saw manufactory, a patent car-wheel mill, and a Methodist Church. Tin Can is marching forward to take her proud stand as the metropolis of the west. The rose-hued future holds no glories to which Tin Can does not-- Tom stopped abruptly. "I guess the important part of the letter came first," he said. "Yes," cried the old man, "I've heard enough. It is just as I thought. George has robbed his dad."