ments, a very popular move.
Betsy and I walked as far as the baseball field in the course of the
evening, and caught a glimpse of the orgies. The braves were squatting
in a circle about a big fire, each decorated with a blanket from his bed
and a rakish band of feathers. (Our chickens seem very scant as to tail,
but I have asked no unpleasant questions.) The doctor, with a Navajo
blanket about his shoulders, was executing a war dance, while Jimmie
and Mr. Witherspoon beat on war drums--two of our copper kettles, now
permanently dented. Fancy Sandy! It's the first youthful glimmer I have
ever caught in the man.

After ten o'clock, when the braves were safely stowed for the night,
the three men came in and limply dropped into comfortable chairs in my
library, with the air of having made martyrs of themselves in the great
cause of charity. But they did not deceive me. They originated all that
tomfoolery for their own individual delectation.

So far Mr. Percy Witherspoon appears fairly happy. He is presiding at
one end of the officers' table under the special protection of Betsy,
and I am told that he instills considerable life into that sedate
assemblage. I have endeavored to run up their menu a trifle, and
he accepts what is put before him with a perfectly good appetite,
irrespective of the absence of such accustomed trifles as oysters and
quail and soft-shell crabs.

There was no sign of a private sitting room that I could put at this
young man's disposal, but he himself has solved the difficulty by
proposing to occupy our new laboratory. So he spends his evenings with a
book and a pipe, comfortably stretched in the dentist's chair. There
are not many society men who would be willing to spend their evenings so
harmlessly. That girl in Detroit is a lucky young thing.

Mercy! An automobile full of people has just arrived to look over the
institution, and Betsy, who usually does the honors, not here. I fly.

ADDIO!

SALLIE.

My dear Gordon:

This is not a letter,--I don't owe you one,--it's a receipt for
sixty-five pairs of roller skates.

Many thanks.

S. McB.

Friday.

Dear Enemy:

I hear that I missed a call today, but Jane delivered your message,
together with the "Genetic Philosophy of Education." She says that
you will call in a few days for my opinion of the book. Is it to be a
written or an oral examination?

And doesn't it ever occur to you that this education business is rather
one-sided?