I address you, Daddy, from a bed of pain. For two days I've been laid
up with swollen tonsils; I can just swallow hot milk, and that is all.
'What were your parents thinking of not to have those tonsils out when
you were a baby?' the doctor wished to know. I'm sure I haven't an
idea, but I doubt if they were thinking much about me.
Yours,
J. A.