To MR. CLARENCE ROWAN,
Raleigh, N.C.
Baltimore, Nov. 1, 1906.
Dear Old Chum:
Glad to hear from you so soon, and glad to hear you are interested in
Miss Edith Wolfe. No, I don't think you'd better come to Baltimore. But,
if you're good and stay away, I'll send you a photo of her she has
promised to give me and let you see what she looks like. No picture of
her can do her justice, however, for she's just the liveliest girl you
ever knew, beside being so handsome.
I've been up to her home twice in a week, took her to the theatre last
night and went to church with her Sunday. But the bulliest time of all
was that sketching trip last Friday, of which I wrote you. It was a
magnificent October afternoon, and the country was simply superb, with
the trees all tinted to glorious hues by a frost two weeks ago. I
carried her little easel and canvas stool, and we got in a car near her
home and rode out to a suburb called Mount Holly. I had no idea there
was such beautiful scenery near Baltimore, so bold and mountainous
looking. We strolled first along a path beside a millrace, high up on a
hillside, a path overhung by arching trees, with Gwynn's Falls tumbling
over the rocks in cascades far beneath, and a beautiful outlook across
the valley to some handsome wooded country estates. After that we went
down beside the stream and sat under a great rock, while Miss Wolfe made
a sketch of the Falls. It didn't take her long--just a rough painted
outline, you know. She's going to fill it in at home, and she has
promised me a copy for my room. She was in the jolliest mood imaginable,
and we had a merry hour there "far from the madding crowd." I shall
always call it a "red day," because then I got my first kiss from her.
It came about in this way. She dropped her paint brush while we were
sitting on a rock at the water's edge, and it floated down stream. She
said she wouldn't lose it for worlds. "Will you reward me if I recover
it?" I asked. She said she would. "A kiss?" I asked. "Oh! stop your
nonsense, you foolish boy!" she said, with a laugh. I ran down the bank,
clambered out on some rocks, steered the brush in with a stick and took
it to her. Then we wrangled for ten minutes gaily about whether she had
or had not promised me that kiss. Suddenly she leaned forward and met my
lips with hers. "There, let that end it," she cried, as she blushed. It
didn't end it, for it was so good I wanted more out of the same package.
But she wouldn't let me have any more. Aren't girls mean? I suppose I'll
have to make more bargains with her or I'll get no more kisses. She says
she always sticks to a bargain.
You have no idea how clever she is in dodging if I try to steer the talk
to sentimental ground. I have called her an arrant flirt a score of
times, but she just laughs. And such a laugh!
The show last night hit me $3.20, counting car fares, and my allowance
from the old man is running short. I'm glad she didn't accept my
invitation to go to the Rennert to eat after "The Lion and the Mouse."
She said she would like to, but we'd better go straight home from
Ford's, as her mother would prefer it that way.
Wish me success, old fellow, with my love affair. I tell you, that girl
has got me going so I can't get interested in dry old stuff about bones.
Yours,
HUGH.