I made no delay in posting at once, in company with my wife and my
friend Briggs, to my native village. Judge of my horror and
surprise when my late adopted father came out of his shop to
welcome me.
"Then you are not dead!" I gasped.
"No, my dear boy."
"And this letter?"
My father--as I must still call him--glanced on the paper, and
pronounced it a forgery. Briggs roared with laughter. I turned to
him and demanded an explanation.
"Why, don't you see, Greeny, it's all a joke,--a midshipman's
joke!"
"But--" I asked.
"Don't be a fool. You've got a good wife,--be satisfied."
I turned to Clara, and was satisfied. Although Mrs. Maitland never
forgave me, the jolly old Governor laughed heartily over the joke,
and so well used his influence that I soon became, dear reader,
Admiral Breezy, K. C. B.
JOHN JENKINS;
OR,
THE SMOKER REFORMED.
BY T. S. A--TH--R.
CHAPTER I.
One cigar a day!" said Judge Boompointer.
One cigar a day!" repeated John Jenkins, as with trepidation he
dropped his half-consumed cigar under his work-bench.
"One cigar a day is three cents a day," remarked Judge Boompointer,
gravely; "and do you know, sir, what one cigar a day, or three
cents a day, amounts to in the course of four years?"
John Jenkins, in his boyhood, had attended the village school, and
possessed considerable arithmetical ability.
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