I hope she will
always think of me as a friend. Would you tell Bawwah to
put three pairs of breeches in hand for me,--leather.

Yours very truly,

RALPH NEWTON.

The wrath of Mr. Neefit on receiving this letter at his shop in
Conduit Street was almost divine. He had heard from Polly an account
of that last interview at Ramsgate, and Polly had told her story as
truly as she knew how to tell it. But the father had never for a
moment allowed himself to conceive that therefore the thing was at
an end, and had instructed Polly that she was not to look upon it
in that light. He regarded his young customer as absolutely bound
to him, and would not acknowledge to himself that such obligation
could be annulled by Polly's girlish folly. And he did believe that
young Newton intended to act, as he called it, "on the square." So
believing, he was ready to make almost any sacrifice of himself; but
that Newton should now go back, after having received his hard money,
was to him a thing quite out of the question. He scolded Polly with
some violence, and asked whether she wanted to marry such a lout as
Moggs. Polly replied with spirit that she wouldn't marry any man till
she found that she could love him, and that the man loved her. "Ain't
he told you as he loves you ever so often?" said Neefit. "I know what
I'm doing of, father," said Polly, "and I'm not going to be drove."
Nevertheless Mr. Neefit had felt certain that if young Newton would
still act upon the square, things would settle themselves rightly.
There was the money due, and, as Neefit constantly said to himself,
"money was a thing as was not to be got over."

Then had come upon the tradesman the tidings of the old Squire's
death. They were read to him out of a newspaper by his shopman,
Waddle. "I'm blessed if he ain't been and tumbled all at once into
his uncle's shoes," said Waddle. The paragraph in question was one
which appeared in a weekly newspaper some two days after the Squire's
death. Neefit, who at the moment was turning over the pages of his
ledger, came down from his desk and stood for about ten minutes in
the middle of his shop, while the Herr ceased from his cutting, and
Waddle read the paragraph over and over again. Neefit stood stock
still, with his hands in his breeches pockets, and his great staring
eyes fixed upon vacancy. "I'm blessed if it ain't true," said Waddle,
convinced by the repetition of his own reading. News had previously
re