P. S. There’s one thing I’m perfectly sure of. I’m _not_ a
Chinaman.
February 4th.
_Dear Daddy-Long-Legs_,
Jimmie McBride has sent me a Princeton banner as big as one end of
the room; I am very grateful to him for remembering me, but I don’t
know what on earth to do with it. Sallie and Julia won’t let me hang
it up; our room this year is furnished in red, and you can imagine
what an effect we’d have if I added orange and black. But it’s
such nice, warm, thick felt, I hate to waste it. Would it be very
improper to have it made into a bath robe? My old one shrank when it
was washed.
I’ve entirely omitted of late telling you what I am learning,
but though you might not imagine it from my letters, my time is
exclusively occupied with study. It’s a very bewildering matter to
get educated in five branches at once.
[Illustration: “It’s the early bird that catches the tub.”]
“The test of true scholarship,” says Chemistry Professor, “is a
painstaking passion for detail.”
“Be careful not to keep your eyes glued to detail,” says History
Professor. “Stand far enough away to get a perspective on the
whole.”
You can see with what nicety we have to trim our sails between
chemistry and history. I like the historical method best. If I say
that William the Conqueror came over in 1492, and Columbus
discovered America in 1100 or 1066 or whenever it was, that’s a
mere detail that the Professor overlooks. It gives a feeling of
security and restfulness to the history recitation, that is entirely
lacking in chemistry.
Sixth-hour bell--I must go to the laboratory and look into a little
matter of acids and salts and alkalis. I’ve burned a hole as big as
a plate in the front of my chemistry apron, with hydrochloric acid.
If the theory worked, I ought to be able to neutralize that hole
with good strong ammonia, oughtn’t I?
Examinations next week, but who’s afraid?
Yours ever,