the houseman. He held a letter in his hand.
“What is it Krutz?” asked the master in a tired voice. It seemed that nothing ever again would interest him.
“A special delivery letter, sir,” replied the servant. “The boy says you must sign for it yourself, sir.”
“Ah, yes,” replied Mr. Smith-Jones, as he reached for the letter and the receipt blank.
He glanced at the post mark—San Francisco.
Idly he cut the envelope.
“Pardon me?” He glanced first at his wife and then at Captain Burlinghame.
The two nodded.
Mr. John Alden Smith-Jones opened the letter. There was a single written sheet and an enclosure in another envelope. He had read but a couple of lines when he came suddenly upright in his chair.
Captain Burlinghame and Mrs. Smith-Jones looked at him in polite and surprised questioning.
“My God!” exclaimed Mr. Smith-Jones. “He is alive—Waldo is alive!”
Mrs. Smith-Jones and Captain Burlinghame sprang from their chairs and ran toward the speaker.
With trembling hands that made it difficult to read the words that his trembling voice could scarce utter John Alden Smith-Jones read aloud:
