s lesson to a conclusion, that
one of the employes entered the gymnasium with a letter, and cried in a
loud voice:

"Does anybody here know a fellow by the name of Seth Bartlett?"

"That's me," the amateur replied after a moment's thought: "but I don't
reckon I've got a letter, 'cause there's nobody who'd write to me."

"Here's what the address says," and the young man held the envelope in
such a manner that both the boy and his instructor could see the
superscription:

"Seth Bartlett, fireman up at headquarters, New York."

Seth made no attempt to take the missive until Mr. Fernald asked quite
sharply:

"Why don't you take it? There's no other of that name here so far as I
know."

"I never had a letter, an' it can't be for me."

"You're the only Seth Bartlett in the building, and it must belong to
you," the messenger said impatiently, whereat he threw the missive
toward Seth and went his way.

Not until Mr. Fernald had peremptorily ordered the boy to open the
letter in order to see if it was intended for him, did the amateur as
much as touch the soiled envelope; but after having torn it open the
expression on his face told that the writer was not a stranger.

This is what Seth read in ill-formed letters, many of them occupying the
depth of two lines, some in written and others in printed characters:

"Seth Bartlett, fireman up at headquarters.

DEER SETH:

"Sam Barney struck this town the other day, an' borrowed a dollar off er
me. You know my folks stopped here on the way to Baltimore, an' I've
been tryin' to earn a little money so's to see me threw. I'm in
Philadelphy, an' Sam cum over here with a big stiff 'bout how you an'
Bill Dean had cent him to hunt for Jip Collins. He was broke an' ced if
I'd let him have money enuf to git home you or Bill would pay it back.
It's been most a week sence he was here an' I ain't heard from you. Why
don't you send the good dollar I put up to help you along. I'm livin' at
1451-1/2 Filbert Street an' want my stuff.

"Yours till deth shal part us,

"JOE CARTER."

"So the letter is for you, even though you never received one before?"
Mr. Fernald quietly remarked as Seth, having read the lines after
considerable difficulty, refolded the paper and returned it to the
envelope.

"Yes, sir, an' it's from a feller in Philadelphy. I don't reckon you
know who Jip Collins is; but this has got somethin' to do with his
business."

As he spoke Seth unfolded the pa