At last he sat down at his table and wrote a letter to his agent, simply ordering him to establish a more thorough watch over his property, and directing him to visit all the newspaper offices of the region, and keep the reports of the meeting and its attendant personal indignities from publication.

Then, with an amused smile upon his broad face, he wrote the following letter: 

“TO THE REVEREND SOLOMON SNOW,

“Dear Sir:  I owe an apology to the people of Sevenoaks for never adequately acknowledging the handsome manner in which they endeavored to assuage the pangs of parting on the occasion of my removal.  The resolutions passed at their public meeting are cherished among my choicest treasures, and the cheers of the people as I rode through their ranks on the morning of my departure, still ring in my ears more delightfully than any music I ever heard.  Thank them, I pray you, for me, for their overwhelming friendliness.  I now have a request to make of them, and I make it the more boldly because, during the past ten years, I have never been approached by any of them in vain when they have sought my benefactions.  The Continental Petroleum Company is a failure, and all the stock I hold in it is valueless.  Finding that my expenses in the city are very much greater than in the country, it has occurred to me that perhaps my friends there would be willing to make up a purse for my benefit.  I assure you that it would be gratefully received; and I apply to you because, from long experience, I know that you are accomplished in the art of begging.  Your graceful manner in accepting gifts from me has given me all the hints I shall need in that respect, so that the transaction will not be accompanied by any clumsy details.  My butcher’s bill will be due in a few days, and dispatch is desirable.

“With the most cordial compliments to Mrs. Snow, whom I profoundly esteem, and to your accomplished daughters, who have so long been spared to the protection of the paternal roof,

“I am your affectionate parishioner,

“ROBERT BELCHER.”

Mr. Belcher had done what he considered a very neat and brilliant thing.  He sealed and directed the letter, rang his bell, and ordered it posted.  Then he sat back in his easy chair, and chuckled over it.  Then he rose and paraded himself before his mirror.

“When you get ahead of Robert Belcher, drop us a line.  Let it be brief and to the point.  Any information thankfully received.  Are you, sir, to be bothered by this pettifogger?  Are you to sit tamely down and be undermined?  Is that your custom?  Then, sir, you are a base coward.  Who said coward?  Did you, sir?  Let this right hand, which I now raise in air, and clench in awful menace, warn you not to repeat the damning accusation.  Sevenoaks howls, and it is well.  Let every man who stands in my path take warning.  I button my coat; I raise my arms; I straighten my form, and they flee away—­flee like the mists of the morning, and over yonder mountain-top, fade in the far blue sky.  And now, my dear sir, don’t make an ass of yourself, but sit down.  Thank you, sir.  I make you my obeisance.  I retire.”