She likes to be independent of her family, as do all of us in these
degenerate times.

In my growing zeal for cataloguing people, I should like to get our
doctor tabulated. If Jervis knows any gossip about him, write it to me,
please; the worse, the better. He called yesterday to lance a felon on
Sammy Speir's thumb, then ascended to my electric-blue parlor to
give instructions as to the dressing of thumbs. The duties of a
superintendent are manifold.

It was just teatime, so I casually asked him to stay, and he did! Not
for the pleasure of my society,--no, indeed,--but because Jane appeared
at the moment with a plate of toasted muffins. He hadn't had any
luncheon, it seems, and dinner was a long way ahead. Between muffins
(he ate the whole plateful) he saw fit to interrogate me as to my
preparedness for this position. Had I studied biology in college? How
far had I gone in chemistry? What did I know of sociology? Had I visited
that model institution at Hastings?

To all of which I responded affably and openly. Then I permitted myself
a question or two: just what sort of youthful training had been required
to produce such a model of logic, accuracy, dignity, and common sense
as I saw sitting before me? Through persistent prodding I elicited a
few forlorn facts, but all quite respectable. You'd think, from his
reticence, there'd been a hanging in the family. The MacRae PERE was
born in Scotland, and came to the States to occupy a chair at Johns
Hopkins; son Robin was shipped back to Auld Reekie for his education.
His grandmother was a M'Lachlan of Strathlachan (I am sure she sounds
respectable), and his vacations were spent in the Hielands a-chasing the
deer.

So much could I gather; so much, and no more. Tell me, I beg, some
gossip about my enemy--something scandalous by preference.

Why, if he is such an awfully efficient person does he bury himself in
this remote locality? You would think an up-and-coming scientific man
would want a hospital at one elbow and a morgue at the other. Are you
sure that he didn't commit a crime and isn't hiding from the law?

I seem to have covered a lot of paper without telling you much. VIVE LA
BAGATELLE! Yours as usual,

SALLIE.

P.S. I am relieved on one point. Dr. MacRae does not pick out his own
clothes. He leaves all such unessential trifles to his housekeeper, Mrs.
Maggie McGurk.

Again, and irrevocably, good-by!

THE JOHN GRIER HOME,

Wednesday.

Dear Gordon: