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But I kept urgin' and arguin', and at last they gave in. They'd show me the outsides, anyway; that is, Luella might, if she wanted to. Mrs. Pedders didn't even want to see the box. "I meant to have burned them long ago," says she. "They're just letters from idle, cruel people, that's all. And you don't know how many such there are in the world, Mr. McCabe. I hope you never will know.
So about three-fifteen that afternoon finds me pilin' off a branch accommodation at Tullington. Mr. Steele is waitin' on the platform to meet me, silk lid and all. "What about Pedders?" says I. "I want you to see him first," says J. Bayard. "On exhibition, is he?" says I. "In a town of this size," says he, "everyone is on exhibition continuously.
"I sounded Norris on that point," says Steele; "but he'd never heard of Gordon's having been in Tullington, and was sure Pedders didn't know him." "Then you ain't had a talk with Pedders himself?" says I. "Why, no," says J. Bayard, shruggin' his shoulders scornful. "The poor devil! I didn't see what good it would do an ex-convict, and "
When Pedders showed up again all the old stories was hashed over, and the whole of Tullington held its breath watchin' for some sign that he's dug up his hank loot. But it didn't come. Pedders just camped down silent in his old home and let his whiskers grow. Twice a day he made reg'lar trips back and forth from the postoffice, lookin' at nobody, speakin' to nobody. Mrs.
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