Everything that has been done is successful only because you paved the
way, and because every one knows it is your paper; and the people believe
that whatever your paper does is interesting and right.
"Trusting that your recovery will be rapid, I am
"Yours truly,
"H. FISBEE."
Harkless dropped the typewritten sheets with a sigh.
"I suppose I ought to get well," he said wearily.
"Yes," said Meredith, "I think you ought; but you're chock full of malaria
and fever and all kinds of meanness, and----"
"You 'tend to your own troubles," returned the other, with an imitation of
liveliness. "I--I don't think it interests me much," he said querulously.
He was often querulous of late, and it frightened Tom. "I'm just tired. I
am strong enough--that is, I think I am till I try to move around, and
then I'm like a log, and a lethargy gets me--that's it; I don't think it's
malaria; it's lethargy."
"Lethargy comes from malaria."
"It's the other way with me. I'd be all right if I only could get over
this--this tiredness. Let me have that pencil and pad, will you, please,
Tom?"
He set the pad on his knee, and began to write languidly:
"ROUEN, _September 2d_.
"_Dear Mr. Fisbee_: Yours of the 1st to hand. I entirely approve all
arrangements you have made.
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