geography near as an excuse if anyone discovered him. Then, hastened
possibly by the soporific influence of that school book, sleep came at
last.

In the morning, John tried to analyze the causes for his mental rampage
as he drew on one toe-frayed stocking. Now that his mother had roused
him for the third and final time, he felt tired enough to sleep another
three hours. What had been the matter?

A love scene from that latest public library book flashed into his
perplexed brain and he sighed contentedly. Had not Leander sacrificed
long hours of precious slumber at the shrine of his beloved Philura? The
inference in his own case was both obvious and satisfactory.

To tell Louise of his infatuation seemed the next and most logical step.
He lacked the courage for a verbal declaration; therefore the message
must be in writing. But in what form? Letter writing to a girl was a
novel experience, and he had a horror of parental laughter if he asked
for advice.

"John!" his mother called from the stairway. "Aren't you ever going to
get dressed?"

He pulled on his second stocking hastily, with a call of "Down in a
minute, Mother."

His grandmother's old _Complete Letter Writer_ was in the library
bookcase. That ought to help him out of his predicament. Wasn't it the
_Complete_----"

"John!" came a second and more peremptory interruption of his thoughts.
"Get down here this minute."

He started, drew on his shoes, half-buttoned them, slipped into his
blouse, with boyish disregard for such matters as bathing, and scampered
down the stairs to the dining-room. After a hasty meal of oatmeal and
potatoes, he fled to the seclusion of the library. A moment of nervous
fumbling with the lock, a rapid turning of pages, and--

"From a son at an educational institution, to his father, engaged in
business at Boston, requesting--"

But he didn't want to borrow money from Louise. "Honored Parent!" Why,
"Honored Louise" would sound too ridiculous for anything.

"From a merchant engaged in the hay and grain business in Baltimore, to
a wholesale dealer in New York, complaining that--"

Such prosaic details as hay and grain shortages were not for him. He
wanted a love letter, an epistle that would breathe the fire of
adoration in every line. Didn't the old book have any? The title said
_Complete_--What was this?

"From a young man--" He skipped the rest of the heading--such things
didn't have much to do with the real contents anyw