FOLKS FROM DIXIE
Improvement Company. The office was closed to all business, and diligent search failed to reveal the whereabouts of Mr. Solomon Ruggles. The investors knew themselves to be the victims of a wily swindler, and they were furious. Dire imprecations were hurled at the head of the defaulting promoter. But, as the throng was spending its breath in vain anger, an old woman with smiling face worked her way trough them toward the door.
"Let me th'oo," she said; "I want to fin' Mistah Ruggles."
"Yell, all of us do. Has he cheated you, too, Auntie?"
"Cheate me? What 's de matter wif you, man? I put fi' dollahs in hyeah last' week, an' look at dat!"
The old woman waved some bills in the air and a letter with the. Some one took it from her hand and read: —
Dear Mrs. Smith, — I am glad to say that yore int'rust 'cumulated faster than usu'l, so I kan inklose you heerwith $15. I am sorry I shall not see you again, az I am kalled away on bizness.
Very respectably yores,
S. Ruggles
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