I
found the application: it was written by me. There."
She tossed over the back of her chair an envelope to Thatcher. He opened
it.
"I see," he said gently, "you repossessed yourself of it!"
"What is that--'r-r-r-e--possess'?"
"Why!"--Thatcher hesitated--"you got possession of this paper,--this
innocent forgery,--again."
"Oh! You think me a thief as well as a 'forgaire.' Go away! Get up. Get
out."
"My dear girl--"
"Look at the paper! Will you? Oh, you silly!"
Thatcher looked at the paper. In paper, handwriting, age, and stamp it
was identical with the formal, clerical application of Garcia for the
grant. The indorsement of Micheltorena was unquestionably genuine. BUT
THE APPLICATION WAS MADE FOR ROYAL THATCHER. And his own signature was
imitated to the life.
"I had but one letter of yours wiz your name," said Carmen
apologetically; "and it was the best poor me could do."
"Why, you blessed little goose and angel," said Thatcher, with the bold,
mixed metaphor of amatory genius, "don't you see--"
"Ah, you don't like it,--it is not good?"
"My darling!"
"Hoosh! There is also an 'old cat' up stairs.
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