midsummer, and he might expect the half-yearly letter at any time. Not
that it would interest him in the least when it came, but yet he liked
to feel that he was not utterly alone in the world. There was the
postman coming down the street in his leisurely, old-fashioned way,
chatting with the host at the corner and with the tinman two doors off,
and then--yes, he was stopping at Dr. Claudius's door.

The messenger looked up, and, seeing the Doctor at his window, held out
a large envelope.

"A letter for you, Herr Doctor," he cried, and his red nose gleamed in
the evening glow, strongly foreshortened to the Doctor's eye.

"Gleich," replied Claudius, and the yellow head disappeared from the
window, its owner descending to open the door.

As he mounted the dingy staircase Claudius turned the great sealed
envelope over and over in his hand, wondering what could be the
contents. It was postmarked "New York," but the hand was large and round
and flourished, not in the least like his uncle's sexagenarian
crabbedness of hieroglyphic. In the corner was the name of a firm he did
not know, and the top of the letter was covered with a long row of
stamps, for it was very thick and heavy. So he went into his room, and
sat down on the window-sill to see what Messrs. Screw and Scratch of
Pine Street, New York, could possibly want of Claudius, Phil.D. of
Heidelberg.

His curiosity soon gave way to very considerable surprise. The first
part of the letter contained the formal announcement of the sudden
decease of Gustavus Lindstrand, of the firm of Barker and Lindstrand of