"Thank you, old gentleman," he said, "for your interest and your kindness. I hope the Dudleys did not suffer from exposure last night."
"De young missus tek a li'l col', suh, but de Major, suh, am all right--I'm 'bleeged to yo'." He made another profound obeisance. "I wuz sent dis mawnin', suh--doctuh--by de folks to 'quiah ob yo' health, suh, 'n' gib dis lettuh into yo' han'. It was writ by de Major, 'n' gib to me by de young missus, who says, says she--'Peter, gib dis to de man whut save our Prince, 'n' to nobody else.' Here it am, suh. I cyaried it on top o' my haid under my hat right to yo' do', kase I's feared I'd lose it."
He shambled across the room and gave the missive to the hand stretched out to receive it.
"I mus' be goin' now, suh--doctuh--but I's 'spressly to ax how yo' wuz?"
"Present my sympathy and respects to your folks, and assure them I am not hurt--only a few bruises and burns which do not annoy me in the least. Say, in fact, that you left me feeling well."
"Thank yo', suh--doctuh--'n' you're a man whut _is_ a man!"
With this parting encomium, which to his mind represented the acme of praise, Peter shuffled to the door, bowed again, and went out.
"Heigh-ho!" mused Glenning. "It seems, indeed, that 'there is a tide in the affairs of men.' From what I can hear I have started in well. Let's see what that fine looking old gentleman has to say."
Tearing the tough fibre of the paper with some difficulty, he drew out the folded sheet, and opened it. The handwriting was angular, legible, and painfully correct. The ink was brownish, as though it had been watered often. He read rapidly.
"This morning we learned the name of the heroic stranger who did us such unparalleled service last night upon the occasion of the burning of our stable. We wish to convey to you at the earliest moment a sense of our profound gratitude for your noble act. My daughter and I feel that we can never repay the debt under which you have placed us by your marvelous bravery. I shall call this afternoon to thank you in person, and I pray you will at all times consider our house your own. The colt is practically uninjured. It is our prayer that you have not suffered seriously.
"Fine!" breathed Glenning. "A little stilted, perhaps, but true and sincere. He means every word. Writes like a Clay or a Webster. There's blood back of it--Kentucky bluegrass blood. And she--she did not know she was a queen of tragedy last night when she made her appeal. Who could that have been who tried to get in ahead of me? Ugh! He was a devil! When she saw him coming she looked daggers of scorn and contempt. There's something back of it all, I'll wager. Could that terrible thing dare to love her, I wonder? If he does, it's one-sided. But she's beautiful! I'd go into another burning stable tonight if she looked at me as she did then, and asked me."