Ethel has bought on trial an eight-months bulldog pup. He is very
cunning, very friendly, and wriggles all over in a frantic desire to be
petted.
Quentin really seems to be getting on pretty well with his baseball. In
each of the last two games he made a base hit and a run. I have just
had to give him and three of his associates a dressing down--one of the
three being Charlie Taft. Yesterday afternoon was rainy, and four of
them played five hours inside the White House. They were very boisterous
and were all the time on the verge of mischief, and finally they
made spit-balls and deliberately put them on the portraits. I did not
discover it until after dinner, and then pulled Quentin out of bed and
had him take them all off the portraits, and this morning required him
to bring in the three other culprits before me. I explained to them that
they had acted like boors; that it would have been a disgrace to have
behaved so in any gentleman's house; that Quentin could have no friend
to see him, and the other three could not come inside the White House,
until I felt that a sufficient time had elapsed to serve as punishment.
They were four very sheepish small boys when I got through with them.