I have just this instant arrived in town, and I am scribbling this in the hotel writing-room, with my overcoat still on my back. I shall not go to sleep tonight until I have had your reply. Somehow I will find a way to get this letter to you tonight, I don't know how at present, but where there's a will there's a way. If mother and Charlie Webster are mistaken, or if they have assumed something that is not true, I shall go away again without bothering you. But if you want me, I will come straight out to you. You are in trouble. I am not asking anything for myself, dear,--you know me well enough to understand that,--I am only asking you to let me do anything in the world I can for you. That is why I dropped everything to come. I am happy, you don't know how happy, to be even this close to you. I have always wanted to hang out my shingle in this dear old town. I do not like the East. I am a Westerner and I can't seem to make myself fit in with the East. I shall always be a Hoosier, I fear,--and hope. Just the few minutes I have been here in this familiar old hotel, and the ride through the quiet streets, and getting off the train at the insignificant little depot, and having the hackman,--they are taxi-drivers now,--yell out,--"Hello, Davy," and run up to shake hands with me,--well, I am so homesick I could cry. But you know why I cannot come here to live and practise. If I can't be very, very near to you, Alix darling, I must keep myself as far away as possible. It is the only way. But if I keep on at this rate, you will think I am writing a love letter to you, when, as a matter of fact, I am only asking you if you care to see me and tell me what I can do to help you now,--if you need the help of your Always devoted DAVID. P.S.--If you would rather not see me, don't hesitate to say so. I will understand. And please do not blame mother and Charlie. They would both die for you, dear. P.S.S.--You will be pleased to know, I am sure, that I have the five hundred I still owe you in my pocket, all in brand new bills, and I think you might give me the happiness of quarrelling face to face with you about the matter instead of under the protection of a two-cent stamp. D. She read the letter aloud. When she came to the end she kissed the sheet of paper rapturously and then pressed it to her breast. For a few moments she stood there with her eyes closed, a little smile on her lips, the blush of roses deepening in her cheeks. Suddenly she roused herself. Hurrying to the desk across the room, she snatched a sheet of note paper from the rack, seated herself, and began to write. DEAREST DAVID: