Before I knew it I had sold five dollars' worth,
although I had decided not to do any business at all on
Sunday. But I couldn't refuse to sell them the stuff as they
all seemed so keen on getting something really good to read.
One man kept on talking about Harold Bell Wright, but I had to
admit that I hadn't heard of him. Evidently the Professor
hadn't stocked any of his works. I was tickled to see that after
all little Redbeard didn't know _everything_ about literature.
After that I debated whether to go to church or to write
letters. Finally I decided in favour of the letters. First
I tackled Andrew. I wrote:
The Moose Hotel, Bath,
Sunday morning.
DEAR ANDREW:
It seems absurd to think that it's only three days since I
left Sabine Farm. Honestly, more has happened to me in these
three days than in three years at home.
I'm sorry that you and Mr. Mifflin disagreed but I quite
understood your feelings. But I'm very angry that you should
have tried to stop that check I gave him. It was none of your
business, Andrew. I telephoned Mr. Shirley and made him send
word to the bank in Woodbridge to give Mifflin the money.
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