Two days later, Alaska Spigg received her letter, considerably crumpled and smelling of licorice root,--(a favourite remedy of Mrs. Pollock's)--but rendered precious by the presence of a mysterious "quatrain" done in violet hues by some poetic wielder of an indelible pencil. Guilt denied Maude Baggs Pollock the right to claim authorship of these imperishable lines, and to this day they remain unidentified in the archives of the Windomville Public Library, displayed upon request by Alaska Spigg, their proud and unselfish donor. Courtney read two of his letters. The third he consigned, unopened, to the fireplace at Dowd's Tavern. The little package, minus the wrapping paper, was locked away in his trunk. Charlie Webster, emerging from his office at the dinner hour,--twelve noon,--espied Miss Angie Miller hurrying toward the Tavern. He hailed her,--not ceremoniously or even gallantly,--but in the manner of Windomville. "Hey!" he called, and Angie promptly responded, not with the dignity for which she was famous but with an entirely human spontaneity: "Hey yourself!" She waited till he caught up with her. "Have you had an answer to that letter, Angie?" he inquired, glancing at a small bunch of letters she held in her hand. "No, I haven't." she replied, somewhat guardedly. "I can't understand why he hasn't answered, Charlie,--unless he's away or something." "Must be that," said he, frowning slightly. "You wrote nearly two weeks ago, didn't you?" "Two weeks ago yesterday." "Sure you had the right address?" "Absolutely. Thirty-three Cedar Street. He's had an office there for ever so long. I ought to know where my uncle's office is, oughtn't I?" "I thought maybe you might have got the wrong tree," explained Charlie. "It's Cedar," said Miss Angie flatly. "Cedar and pine are a good deal alike, except in--" began Charlie, doubtfully, "Goodness!" cried Miss Angie, stopping short. "It IS Pine! How perfectly stupid of me! How utterly reprehensible!" Charlie stared at her a moment in sheer disdain. "Well, by gosh, if that ain't like a woman," he exclaimed disgustedly. "I'd hate to send you for a half dozen oranges if there were any lemons in the market." "He is such a well-known lawyer," began Angie humbly, "that you would think the mail carrier would--" "What did you say his name was?" "Joseph Smith. He is my mother's brother." "East or West?" "East or west what?" "Pine Street. Same as North Fourth Street and South Fourth Street up in the city. It runs both ways, Angie,--you poor simp." "I shall write to him again this evening," said Angie stiffly. "And I'll thank you, Charlie Webster, to remember that I am a lady and not a--" "I apologize, Angie," cried Charlie. "You'd better!" They walked along in silence for a few rods. Then Charlie spoke. "You say your uncle was mixed up in a lawsuit of some kind concerning the Thane family?"