Digital heart book

A
cablegram was more effectual; for it brought me at
least a promise of attention. "Will write at once," my
father telegraphed, but I waited long for his letter.
I was puzzled, angry, and alarmed; but, thanks to my
previous thrift, I cannot say that I was ever
practically embarrassed. The embarrassment, the
distress, the agony, were all for my unhappy father at
home in Muskegon, struggling for life and fortune
against untoward chances, returning at night, from a
day of ill-starred shifts and ventures, to read and
perhaps to weep over that last harsh letter from his
only child, to which he lacked the courage to reply.
Nearly three months after time, and when my economies
were beginning to run low, I received at last a letter
with the customary bills of exchange.
"My dearest boy," it ran, "I believe, in the press of
anxious business, your letters, and even your
allowance, have been somewhile neglected. You must try
to forgive your poor old dad, for he has had a trying
time; and now when it is over, the doctor wants me to
take my shot-gun and go to the Adirondacks for a
change.


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