"Yes," he acknowledged today when he came to report, "it is a truthful

record of a certain kind of morbid, egotistical personality that

unfortunately does exist. But I can't understand why you care to

read it; for, thank God! Sally Lunn, you and Bash haven't anything in

common."

That's the nearest to a compliment he ever came, and I feel extremely

flattered. As to poor Marie, he refers to her as "Bash" because he can't

pronounce her name, and is too disdainful to try.

We have a child here, the daughter of a chorus girl, and she is a

conceited, selfish, vain, posing, morbid, lying little minx, but she has

eyelashes! Sandy has taken the most violent dislike to that child.

And since reading poor Marie's diary, he has found a new comprehensive

adjective for summing up all of her distressing qualities. He calls her

BASHY, and dismisses her.

Good-by and come again.

SALLIE.

P.S. My children show a distressing tendency to draw out their entire

bank accounts to buy candy.

Tuesday night. My dear Judy:

What do you think Sandy has done now? He has gone off on a pleasure trip

to that psychopathic institution whose head alienist visited us a month

or so ago. Did you ever know anything like the man? He is fascinated by

insane people, and can't let them alone.

When I asked for some parting medical instructions, he replied:

"Feed a cowld and hunger a colic and put nae faith in doctors."

With that advice, and a few bottles of cod-liver oil we are left to our

own devices. I feel very free and adventurous. Perhaps you had better

run up here again, as there's no telling what joyous upheaval I may

accomplish when out from under Sandy's dampening influence.

S.

THE JOHN GRIER HOME,

Friday.

Dear Enemy:

Here I stay lashed to the mast, while you run about the country

disporting yourself with insane people. And just as I was thinking that

I had nicely cured you of this morbid predilection for psychopathic

institutions! It's very disappointing. You had seemed almost human of

late.

May I ask how long you are intending to stay? You had permission to go

for two days, and you've already been away four.

Charlie Martin fell out of a cherry tree yesterday and cut his head

open, and we were driven to calling in a foreign doctor. Five stitches.

Patient doing well. But we don't like to depend on strangers. I wouldn't

say a word if you were away on legitimate business, but you know very

well that, after associating with melancholics for a week, you will come

back home in a dreadful state of gloom, dead sure that humanity is going

to the dogs; and upon me will fall the burden of getting you decently

cheerful again.




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