"Then won't you go and ask if he saw a letter on my desk, sealed and
addressed?"

Mr. Thorne sat up in bed disgustedly. "What is Ito doing with a light this
time of night?"

"Hush, dear; don't speak so loud. He's studying. He's preparing himself to
go into the Japanese navy."

"He is, is he! And that's why he can't get us our breakfast before
half-past eight. I'll see about that light!"

"The letter, the letter!" Mrs. Thorne prompted in a ghostly--whisper. "Ask
him if he saw it on my desk--a square blue envelope, thin paper."

The studious little cook was seated by a hot kerosene-lamp, at a table
covered with picture-papers, soft Japanese books, and writing-materials. He
was in his stocking-feet and shirt-sleeves, and his mental efforts appeared
to have had a confusing effect on his usually sleek black hair, which stood
all ways distractedly, while his sleepy eyes blinked under Mr. Thorne's
brusque examination.

"I care fo' everything," he repeated, eliminating the consonants as he slid
along. "Missa Tho'ne letta--all a-ready fo' mail--I putta pos'age-stamp,
gifa to shif'-boss. I think Sa' F'a'cisco in a mo'ning. I care fo'
everything!"

"Ito cares for everything," Mr. Thorne quoted, in answer to his wife's
haggard inquiries. "He stamped your letter and sent it to town yesterday by
one of the day-shift men."