"Sooner than take this money from
you, I would perish in the street! What! Do you think I will rob you
of the gift sent you by some one who had a human heart for the distresses
I was aggravating? Sooner than-- Here, take it! O my God! what's this?"
The red glow on his face went out, with this exclamation, in a pallor
like marble, and he jerked back the note to his starting eyes. Globe
Bank--Boston--Fifty Dollars. For a minute he gazed at the motionless
bill in his hand. Then, with his hueless lips compressed, he seized
the blank letter from his astonished tenant, and looked at it, turning
it over and over. Grained letter-paper--gilt-edged--with a favorite
perfume in it. Where's Mrs. Flanagan? Outside the door, sitting on the
top of the stairs, with her apron over her head, crying. Mrs. Flanagan!
Here! In she tumbled, her big feet kicking her skirts before her, and
her eyes and face as red as a beet.
"Mrs. Flanagan, what kind of a looking man gave you this letter at the
door to-night?"
"A-w, Docther Rinton, dawn't ax me!--Bother, an' all, an' sure an' I
cudn't see him wud his fur-r hat, an' he a-ll boondled oop wud his co-at
oop on his e-ars, an' his big han'kershuf smotherin' thuh mouth uv him,
an' sorra a bit uv him tuh be looked at, sehvin' thuh poomple on thuh
ind uv his naws.
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