Dear Enemy

This is to tell you that we have a placing-out agent visiting us. She is

about to dispose of four chicks, one of them Thomas Kehoe. What do you

think? Ought we to risk it? The place she has in mind for him is a farm

in a no-license portion of Connecticut, where he will work hard for

his board, and live in the farmer's family. It sounds exactly the right

thing, and we can't keep him here forever; he'll have to be turned out

some day into a world full of whisky.

I'm sorry to tear you away from that cheerful work on "Dementia Precox,"

but I'd be most obliged if you'd drop in here toward eight o'clock for a

conference with the agent.

I am, as usual,

S. McBRIDE.

June 17. My dear Judy:

Betsy has perpetrated a most unconscionable trick upon a pair of

adopting parents. They have traveled East from Ohio in their touring car

for the dual purpose of seeing the country and picking up a daughter.

They appear to be the leading citizens of their town, whose name at

the moment escapes me; but it's a very important town. It has electric

lights and gas, and Mr. Leading Citizen owns the controlling interest

in both plants. With a wave of his hand he could plunge that entire town

into darkness; but fortunately he's a kind man, and won't do anything so

harsh, not even if they fail to reelect him mayor. He lives in a brick

house with a slate roof and two towers, and has a deer and fountain and

lots of nice shade trees in the yard. (He carries its photograph in his

pocket.) They are good-natured, generous, kind-hearted, smiling people,

and a little fat; you can see what desirable parents they would make.

Well, we had exactly the daughter of their dreams, only, as they came

without giving us notice, she was dressed in a flannellet nightgown, and

her face was dirty. They looked Caroline over, and were not impressed;

but they thanked us politely, and said they would bear her in mind. They

wanted to visit the New York Orphanage before deciding. We knew well

that, if they saw that superior assemblage of children, our poor little

Caroline would never have a chance.

Then Betsy rose to the emergency. She graciously invited them to motor

over to her house for tea that afternoon and inspect one of our little

wards who would be visiting her baby niece. Mr. and Mrs. Leading Citizen

do not know many people in the East, and they haven't been receiving the

invitations that they feel are their due; so they were quite innocently

pleased at the prospect of a little social diversion. The moment they

had retired to the hotel for luncheon, Betsy called up her car, and

rushed baby Caroline over to her house. She stuffed her into baby

niece's best pink-and-white embroidered frock, borrowed a hat of Irish

lace, some pink socks and white slippers, and set her picturesquely

upon the green lawn under a spreading beech tree. A white-aproned nurse

(borrowed also from baby niece) plied her with bread and milk and gaily

colored toys. By the time prospective parents arrived, our Caroline,

full of food and contentment, greeted them with cooes of delight. From

the moment their eyes fell upon her they were ravished with desire.

Not a suspicion crossed their unobservant minds that this sweet little

rosebud was the child of the morning. And so, a few formalities having

been complied with, it really looks as though baby Caroline would live

in the Towers and grow into a leading citizen.