o brighten it could make it otherwise.

Night came at last, and with it a letter. It was the first even passably
pleasant thing that had happened to Ginger in the whole of this dreary
and unprofitable day: for the envelope bore the crest of the good ship
Mauretania. He snatched it covetously from the letter-rack, and carried
it upstairs to his room.

Very few of the rooms at Mrs. Meecher's boarding-house struck any
note of luxury. Mrs. Meecher was not one of your fashionable interior
decorators. She considered that when she had added a Morris chair to the
essentials which make up a bedroom, she had gone as far in the direction
of pomp as any guest at seven-and-a-half per could expect her to go. As
a rule, the severity of his surroundings afflicted Ginger with a touch
of gloom when he went to bed; but to-night--such is the magic of a
letter from the right person--he was uplifted and almost gay. There are
moments when even illuminated texts over the wash-stand cannot wholly
quell us.

There was nothing of haste and much of ceremony in Ginger's method of
approaching the perusal of his correspondence. He bore himself after the
manner of a small boy in the presence of unexpected ice-cream, gloating
for awhile before embarking on the treat, anxious to make it last out.
His first move was to feel in the breast-pocket of his coat and produce
the photograph of Sally which he had feloniously removed from her
apartment. At this he looked long and earnestly before propping it
up within easy reach against his basin, to be handy, if required, for
purposes of reference. He then took off his coat, collar, and shoes,
filled and lit a pipe, placed pouch and matches on the arm of the Morris
chair, and drew that chair up so that he could sit with his feet on the
bed. Having manoeuvred himself into a position of ease, he lit his pipe
again and took up the letter. He looked at the crest, the handwriting of
the address, and the postmark. He weighed it in his hand. It was a bulky
letter.

He took Sally's photograph from the wash-stand and scrutinized it once
more. Then he lit his pipe again, and, finally, wriggling himself into
the depths of the chair, opened the envelope.

"Ginger, dear."

Having read so far, Ginger found it necessary to take up the photograph
and study it with an even greater intentness than before. He gazed at it
for many minutes, then laid it down and lit his pipe again. Then he went
on with the letter.

"Ginger,