Dear Morris [it ran], what the dickens do you mean by it? I'm in an

awful hole down here; I have to go on tick, and the parties on the spot

don't cotton to the idea; they couldn't, because it is so plain I'm in a

stait of Destitution. I've got no bedclothes, think of that, I must have

coins, the hole thing's a Mockry, I wont stand it, nobody would. I would

have come away before, only I have no money for the railway fare. Don't

be a lunatic, Morris, you don't seem to understand my dredful situation.

I have to get the stamp on tick. A fact.

--Ever your affte. Brother,

J. FINSBURY

'Can't even spell!' Morris reflected, as he crammed the letter in his

pocket, and left the house. 'What can I do for him? I have to go to the

expense of a barber, I'm so shattered! How can I send anybody coins?

It's hard lines, I daresay; but does he think I'm living on hot muffins?

One comfort,' was his grim reflection, 'he can't cut and run--he's got

to stay; he's as helpless as the dead.' And then he broke forth again:

'Complains, does he? and he's never even heard of Bent Pitman! If he had

what I have on my mind, he might complain with a good grace.'

But these were not honest arguments, or not wholly honest; there was a

struggle in the mind of Morris; he could not disguise from himself that

his brother John was miserably situated at Browndean, without news,

without money, without bedclothes, without society or any entertainment;

216

The Wrong Box