February 20.
Dear Judy:
Dr. Robin MacRae called this afternoon to make the acquaintance of the
new superintendent. Please invite him to dinner upon the occasion of his
next visit to New York, and see for yourself what your husband has done.
Jervis grossly misrepresented the facts when he led me to believe
that one of the chief advantages of my position would be the daily
intercourse with a man of Dr. MacRae's polish and brilliancy and
scholarliness and charm.
He is tall and thinnish, with sandy hair and cold gray eyes. During the
hour he spent in my society (and I was very sprightly) no shadow of a
smile so much as lightened the straight line of his mouth. Can a shadow
lighten? Maybe not; but, anyway, what IS the matter with the man? Has he
committed some remorseful crime, or is his taciturnity due merely to his
natural Scotchness? He's as companionable as a granite tombstone!
Incidentally, our doctor didn't like me any more than I liked him. He
thinks I'm frivolous and inconsequential, and totally unfitted for this
position of trust. I dare say Jervis has had a letter from him by now
asking to have me removed.
In the matter of conversation we didn't hit it off in the least. He
discussed broadly and philosophically the evils of institutional care
for dependent children, while I lightly deplored the unbecoming coiffure
that prevails among our girls.
To prove my point, I had in Sadie Kate, my special errand orphan. Her
hair is strained back as tightly as though it had been done with a
monkey wrench, and is braided behind into two wiry little pigtails.
Decidedly, orphans' ears need to be softened. But Dr. Robin MacRae
doesn't give a hang whether their ears are becoming or not; what he
cares about is their stomachs. We also split upon the subject of
red petticoats. I don't see how any little girl can preserve any
self-respect when dressed in a red flannel petticoat an irregular inch
longer than her blue checked gingham dress; but he thinks that red
petticoats are cheerful and warm and hygienic. I foresee a warlike reign
for the new superintendent.
In regard to the doctor, there is just one detail to be thankful for: he
is almost as new as I am, and he cannot instruct me in the traditions
of the asylum. I don't believe I COULD have worked with the old doctor,
who, judging from the specimens of his art that he left behind, knew as
much about babies as a veterinary surgeon.
In the matter of asylum etiquette, the entire staff has undertaken my
education. Even the cook this morning told me firmly that the John Grier
Home has corn meal mush on Wednesday nights.
Are you searching hard for another superintendent? I'll stay until she
comes, but please find her fast.
Yours,
With my mind made up,
SALLIE McBRIDE.