Jimmie fell upon him for backing in his camp scheme, and the doctor gave

it enthusiastically. They seized pencil and paper and drew up plans. And

before the evening was over, the last nail was hammered. Nothing would

satisfy those two men but to go to the telephone at ten o'clock and

rouse a poor carpenter from his sleep. He and some lumber are ordered

for eight in the morning.

I finally got rid of them at ten-thirty, still talking uprights and

joists and drainage and roof slants.

The excitement of Jimmie and coffee and all these building operations

induced me to sit down immediately and write a letter to you; but I

think, by your leave, I'll postpone further details to another time.

Yours ever,

SALLIE.

Saturday.

Dear Enemy:

Will you be after dining with us at seven tonight? It's a real dinner

party; we're going to have ice-cream.

My brother has discovered a promising young man to take charge of the

boys,--maybe you know him,--Mr. Witherspoon, at the bank. I wish to

introduce him to asylum circles by easy steps, so PLEASE don't mention

insanity or epilepsy or alcoholism or any of your other favorite topics.

He is a gay young society leader, used to very fancy things to eat. Do

you suppose we can ever make him happy at the John Grier Home? Yours in

evident haste,

SALLIE McBRIDE.

Sunday.

Dear Judy:

Jimmie was back at eight Friday morning, and the doctor at a quarter

past. They and the carpenter and our new farmer and Noah and our two

horses and our eight biggest boys have been working ever since. Never

were building operations set going in faster time. I wish I had a dozen

Jimmies on the place, though I will say that my brother works faster

if you catch him before the first edge of his enthusiasm wears away. He

would not be much good at chiseling out a medieval cathedral.

He came back Saturday morning aglow with a new idea. He had met at

the hotel the night before a friend who belongs to his hunting club in

Canada, and who is cashier of our First (and only) National Bank.

"He's a bully good sport," said Jimmie, "and exactly the man you want

to camp out with those kids and lick 'em into shape. He'll be willing to

come for his board and forty dollars a month, because he's engaged to a

girl in Detroit and wants to save. I told him the food was rotten, but

if he kicked enough, you'd probably get a new cook."

"What's his name?" said I, with guarded interest.




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