P. S. Maybe it isn’t proper to send love? If it isn’t, please
excuse. But I must love somebody and there’s only you and Mrs.
Lippett to choose between, so you see--you’ll _have_ to put up with
it, Daddy dear, because I can’t love her.
On the Eve.
_Dear Daddy-Long-Legs_,
You should see the way this college is studying! We’ve forgotten we
ever had a vacation. Fifty-seven irregular verbs have I introduced
to my brain in the past four days--I’m only hoping they’ll stay
till after examinations.
Some of the girls sell their text-books when they’re through with
them, but I intend to keep mine. Then after I’ve graduated I shall
have my whole education in a row in the bookcase, and when I need to
use any detail, I can turn to it without the slightest hesitation.
So much easier and more accurate than trying to keep it in your
head.
Julia Pendleton dropped in this evening to pay a social call, and
stayed a solid hour. She got started on the subject of family, and I
_couldn’t_ switch her off. She wanted to know what my mother’s
maiden name was--did you ever hear such an impertinent question to
ask of a person from a foundling asylum? I didn’t have the courage
to say I didn’t know, so I just miserably plumped on the first name
I could think of, and that was Montgomery. Then she wanted to know
whether I belonged to the Massachusetts Montgomerys or the Virginia
Montgomerys.
Her mother was a Rutherford. The family came over in the ark, and
were connected by marriage with Henry the VIII. On her father’s side
they date back further than Adam. On the topmost branches of her
family tree there’s a superior breed of monkeys, with very fine
silky hair and extra long tails.
I meant to write you a nice, cheerful, entertaining letter to-night,
but I’m too sleepy--and scared. The Freshman’s lot is not a happy
one.
Yours, about to be examined,