The firm was "Barker and Lindstrand," he remembered.
He wondered what Mr.Barker was like.

By the by it would soon be midsummer, and he might expect the half-yearly letter at any time.

Not that it would interest him in the least when it came, but yet he liked to feel that he was not utterly alone in the world.

There was the postman coming down the street in his leisurely, old-fashioned way, chatting with the host at the corner and with the tinman two doors off, and then--yes, he was stopping at Dr.Claudius's door.
The messenger looked up, and, seeing the Doctor at his window, held out a large envelope.
"A letter for you, Herr Doctor," he cried, and his red nose gleamed in the evening glow, strongly foreshortened to the Doctor's eye.
"Gleich," replied Claudius, and the yellow head disappeared from the window, its owner descending to open the door.
As he mounted the dingy staircase Claudius turned the great sealed envelope over and over in his hand, wondering what could be the contents.

It was postmarked "New York," but the hand was large and round and flourished, not in the least like his uncle's sexagenarian crabbedness of hieroglyphic.