note. It was addressed in the well-known hand of
his old chum. He eyed the missive apprehensively,
and there was a positive pathos in his voice as he
said aloud, "It's our divorce. I feel it!" The note,
headed, "At the Office, Four in Morning," ran like
this:


"Dear Mack--I left you slumbering so soundly
that, by noon, when you waken, I hope, in your
refreshed state, you will look more tolerantly on my
intentions as partially confided to you this night. I
will not see you here again to say good-by. I
wanted to, but was afraid to 'rouse the sleeping
lion.' I will not close my eyes to-night--fact is, I
haven't time. Our serenade at Josie's was a
prearranged signal by which she is to be ready and at
the station for the five morning train. You may
remember the lighting of three consecutive matches
at her window before the igniting of her lamp.
That meant, 'Thrice dearest one, I'll meet thee at
the depot at four-thirty sharp.' So, my dear Mack,
this is to inform you that, even as you read, Josie
and I have eloped. It is all the old man's fault, yet
I forgive him. Hope he'll return the favor. Josie
predicts he will, inside of a week--or two weeks
anyhow. Good-by, Mack, old boy; and let a fellow
down as easy as you can. Affectionately,
"BERT."