Letters dropped in upon Acton in the course of the week. There was one from Senior’s father, which made Acton blush like a school-girl. There was another, a very stately one, from the board-room of St. Eustis, wherein the secretary of the Great North and West Railway, on behalf of the directors, tendered him hearty thanks for his great services to themselves and their employees. There was another from a lady, which simply gushed. There also arrived a small lock of child’s hair, which Mr. Acton was begged to accept from a little girl, who slept “on Mr. Acton’s pillow.” Dick Worcester claimed this, but Acton was adamant.
“I say, Todd,” said Grim, earnestly, “don’t you think we fellows might give Acton some memorial or other, just to show what we think of him?”
“Good, Grimmy! Trot out suggestions.”
“Well, I had thought of a stained-glass window in——”
Todd couldn’t look at W.E.G.’s face for days after without a quiver.
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