P. S. We’re having fancy dancing in gymnasium class. You can see by
the accompanying picture how much we look like a real ballet. The
one on the end accomplishing a graceful pirouette is me--I mean I.
[Illustration]
December 26th.
_My dear, dear Daddy_,
Haven’t you any sense? Don’t you _know_ that you mustn’t give one
girl seventeen Christmas presents? I’m a Socialist, please
remember; do you wish to turn me into a Plutocrat?
Think how embarrassing it would be if we should ever quarrel!
I should have to engage a moving van to return your gifts.
[Illustration]
I am sorry that the necktie I sent was so wobbly; I knit it with my
own hands (as you doubtless discovered from internal evidence). You
will have to wear it on cold days and keep your coat buttoned up
tight.
Thank you, Daddy, a thousand times. I think you’re the sweetest man
that ever lived--and the foolishest!