Dear Enemy

THE JOHN GRIER HOME,

Thursday.

Dear Enemy:

You see, I'm feeling very friendly toward you this moment. When I call

you "MacRae" I don't like you, and when I call you "Enemy" I do.

Sadie Kate delivered your note (as an afterthought). And it's a very

creditable production for a left-handed man; I thought at first glance

it was from Punch.

You may expect me tomorrow at four, and mind you're awake! I'm glad that

you think we're friends. Really, I feel that I've got back something

quite precious which I had carelessly mislaid.

S. McB.

P.S. Java caught cold the night of the fire and he has the toothache. He

sits and holds his cheek like a poor little kiddie.

Thursday, January 29.

Dear Judy:

Those must have been ten terribly incoherent pages I dashed off to you

last week. Did you respect my command to destroy that letter? I should

not care to have it appear in my collected correspondence. I know that

my state of mind is disgraceful, shocking, scandalous, but one really

can't help the way one feels. It is usually considered a pleasant

sensation to be engaged, but, oh, it is nothing compared with the

wonderful untrammeled, joyous, free sensation of being unengaged! I have

had a terribly unstable feeling these last few months, and now at last

I am settled. No one ever looked forward to spinsterhood more thankfully

than I.

Our fire, I have come to believe, was providential. It was sent from

heaven to clear the way for a new John Grier. We are already deep in

plans for cottages. I favor gray stucco, Betsy leans to brick, and

Percy, half-timber. I don't know what our poor doctor would prefer;

olive green with a mansard roof appears to be his taste.

With ten different kitchens to practice in, won't our children learn how

to cook! I am already looking about for ten loving house mothers to put

in charge. I think, in fact, I'll search for eleven, in order to have

one for Sandy. He's as pathetically in need of a little mothering as

any, of the chicks.

It must be pretty dispiriting to come home every night to the

ministrations of Mrs. McGur-rk.

How I do not like that woman! She has with complacent firmness told me

four different times that the dochther was ashleep and not wantin' to be

disturbed. I haven't set eyes on him yet, and I have just about finished

being polite. However, I waive judgment until tomorrow at four, when

I am to pay a short, unexciting call of half an hour. He made the

appointment himself, and if she tells me again that he is ashleep,

I shall give her a gentle push and tip her over (she's very fat and

unstable) and, planting a foot firmly on her stomach, pursue my way

tranquilly in and up. Luellen, formerly chauffeur, chambermaid, and

gardener, is now also trained nurse. I am eager to see how he looks in a

white cap and apron.