CHAPTER III.
"_There's a franklin in the wilds of Kent, hath brought three hundred marks with him in gold ...

a kind of auditor_." It was quite late when Britt-Mitchell arose like a giant refreshed.
First ringing for breakfast, he bathed and shaved and arrayed himself carefully in glad habiliments of quiet taste and cut, in which he bore slight resemblance to the rough-and-ready Britt of Elmsdale.
Sitting indolently sideways to the table, his feet on a chair, he discussed an excellent breakfast leisurely, as one at peace with the world.

His paper was propped before him; he chuckled as he read.
Breakfast finished, he pulled his coffee over, lit a cigar and puffed luxuriously.

Not till then did he open the letter taken from the discarded coat of yesterday.

It read: Well, old man, I am sending you an easy one.