Nearly three months after time, and when my economies were beginning

to run low, I received at last a letter with the customary bills of

exchange.

"My dearest boy," it ran, "I believe, in the press of anxious business,

your letters and even your allowance have been somewhile neglected. You

must try to forgive your poor old dad, for he has had a trying time; and

now when it is over, the doctor wants me to take my shotgun and go

to the Adirondacks for a change. You must not fancy I am sick, only

over-driven and under the weather. Many of our foremost operators have

gone down: John T. M'Brady skipped to Canada with a trunkful of boodle;

Billy Sandwith, Charlie Downs, Joe Kaiser, and many others of our

leading men in this city bit the dust. But Big-Head Dodd has again

weathered the blizzard, and I think I have fixed things so that we may

be richer than ever before autumn.

"Now I will tell you, my dear, what I propose. You say you are well

advanced with your first statue; start in manfully and finish it, and if

your teacher--I can never remember how to spell his name--will send me

a certificate that it is up to market standard, you shall have ten

thousand dollars to do what you like with, either at home or in Paris.

I suggest, since you say the facilities for work are so much greater

in that city, you would do well to buy or build a little home; and

the first thing you know, your dad will be dropping in for a luncheon.

Indeed, I would come now, for I am beginning to grow old, and I long to

see my dear boy; but there are still some operations that want watching

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