an' thet night she didn't get to bed 'fore twelve o'clock. Fact, I guess she didn't go till she heerd the train leave."
"But about this swell," Trafford interposed. "Would you know him again if you saw him?"
"I guess I would; leastwise ef I could see the top of his head. He took his hat off, an' thar was the funniest little bald spot, jest the shape of a heart. 'Twas funny, an' he warn't more'n thirty years old. Say, when he gets to be fifty, he won't hev no more hair'n I've got on the back o' my hand."
The next afternoon, a card was brought to Charles Matthewson, Esq., in his inner office in Augusta, and on the card he read, printed in small square letters:
"ISAAC TRAFFORD."
"What in thunder does Trafford want of me?"
he asked himself. "He can't possibly know!"
He sat and looked at the card, while the boy waited and finally coughed to remind him he was still there. Matthewson looked up with a puzzled
