7 a very satisfactory one:--
"Go to Cafe Reynaud on Westchester Square. Take a seat at table in left
alcove. Ask waiter for card of Cornelius Woodbridge, Junior. Before
ordering luncheon read envelope No. 8."
The boy lost no time in obeying this command, and sank into his chair in
the designated alcove with a sigh of relief. He mopped his brow, and drank
a glass of ice-water at a gulp. It was a warm October day, and the sixteen
flights had been somewhat trying. He asked for his father's card, and then
sat studying the attractive menu.
"I think I'll have--" He mused for a moment, then said, with a laugh,
"Well, I'm about hungry enough to eat the whole thing. Bring me the--"
Then he recollected, paused, and reluctantly pulled out envelope No. 8, and
broke the seal. "Just a minute," he murmured to the waiter. Then his face
turned scarlet, and he stammered, under his breath, "Why--why--this can't
be--"
Envelope No. 8 ought to have been bordered with black, judging by the
dismay its order to a lecture hall to hear a famous electrician, caused.
But the Woodbridge blood was up now, and it was with an expression
resembling that of his grandfather Cornelius under strong indignation that
Cyrus stalked out of that charming place to proceed grimly to the lecture
hall.
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