B., look out for M. J. D. He is on your track.
When this you see write a line to E. J. D., Elktown Post Office.' I want
this to go in as 'Personal and Private'--sabe?--like them notisses in
the big 'Frisco papers."
"I see," said the editor, laying it aside. "It shall go in the same
issue in another column."
Apparently Mr. Dimmidge expected something more than this reply, for
after a moment's hesitation he said with an odd smile:
"Ye ain't seein' the meanin' o' that, lad?"
"No," said the editor lightly; "but I suppose R. B. does, and it isn't
intended that any one else should."
"Mebbe it is, and mebbe it isn't," said Mr. Dimmidge, with a
self-satisfied air. "I don't mind saying atween us that R. B. is the man
as I've suspicioned as havin' something to do with my wife goin' away;
and ye see, if he writes to E. J. D.--that's my wife's initials--at
Elktown, I'LL get that letter and so make sure."
"But suppose your wife goes there first, or sends?"
"Then I'll ketch her or her messenger.
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