September 24th.
_Dear Kind-Trustee-Who-Sends-Orphans-to-College,_
Here I am! I traveled yesterday for four hours in a train. It’s a
funny sensation isn’t it? I never rode in one before.
College is the biggest, most bewildering place--I get lost whenever
I leave my room. I will write you a description later when I’m
feeling less muddled; also I will tell you about my lessons. Classes
don’t begin until Monday morning, and this is Saturday night. But I
wanted to write a letter first just to get acquainted.
It seems queer to be writing letters to somebody you don’t know. It
seems queer for me to be writing letters at all--I’ve never written
more than three or four in my life, so please overlook it if these
are not a model kind.
Before leaving yesterday morning, Mrs. Lippett and I had a very
serious talk. She told me how to behave all the rest of my life, and
especially how to behave toward the kind gentleman who is doing so
much for me. I must take care to be Very Respectful.
But how can one be very respectful to a person who wishes to be
called John Smith? Why couldn’t you have picked out a name with a
little personality? I might as well write letters to Dear
Hitching-Post or Dear Clothes-Pole.
I have been thinking about you a great deal this summer; having
somebody take an interest in me after all these years, makes me feel
as though I had found a sort of family. It seems as though I
belonged to somebody now, and it’s a very comfortable sensation.
I must say, however, that when I think about you, my imagination has
very little to work upon. There are just three things that I know:
I. You are tall.
II. You are rich.
III. You hate girls.
I suppose I might call you Dear Mr. Girl-Hater. Only that’s sort of
insulting to me. Or Dear Mr. Rich-Man, but that’s insulting to you,
as though money were the only important thing about you. Besides,
being rich is such a very external quality. Maybe you won’t stay
rich all your life; lots of very clever men get smashed up in Wall
Street. But at least you will stay tall all your life! So I’ve
decided to call you Dear Daddy-Long-Legs. I hope you won’t mind.
It’s just a private pet name--we won’t tell Mrs. Lippett.
The ten o’clock bell is going to ring in two minutes. Our day is
divided into sections by bells. We eat and sleep and study by bells.
It’s very enlivening; I feel like a fire horse all of the time.
There it goes! Lights out. Good night.
Observe with what precision I obey rules--due to my training in the
John Grier Home.
Yours most respectfully,