ters, but when I had taken off the few at the top signed with
Jim's name I noticed there was nothing in them to tell who wrote them.
Why shouldn't Hygeia enjoy them with me? If a few seemed to affect her,
a clue to her heart's entrance would appear, and then I could undertake
the composition of more with greater earnestness than ever. A man can do
better in such business for himself. Just a few would do no harm, at any
rate. She would not know who "Devoted Darling" and "Jamie" and "My
Dearest Own" might be, with no envelopes and addresses to give the thing
away, and if she did, what would it matter? She would soon forget me as
well as the letters. Why not brighten the dull moments?

There is no limit to the persuasive questions a fool can put to himself.

"I thought you rang for something," she said.

"Why, I remember--I was thirsty. Please let me have some grape-juice off
the ice."

While she was gone I thought it all out carefully and decided not to
show the letters. It would be better to be a little cagy for a while.
When Hygeia returned, I again changed my mind and passed over to her a
dozen or so choice specimens.

"Please sit right down and read these and tell me what you think of
them," said I.

She went over to the window and presently began to laugh a little louder
than the regulations would permit. That suited me, because it proved the
style would melt if addressed to her; taken second-hand and cold that
way, she was bound to laugh at them. Letters in divorce cases referring
to the defendant woman as "a dream in curves" were no joke to the fair
one who had sighed over them. Buckwheat cakes and love-letters must be
done to order and served hot, or the steam dews on them and soggy
fermentation ensues, giving off laughing-gas.

"Why, who in the world could have written this nonsense?" laughed
Hygeia. "It sounds exactly like that letter one of the nurses found in
the sun parlor the other day--the same in many respects as that
letter--which has been passed around for the entertainment of the nurses
and the doctors. That also must belong to you. Shall I get it for you?"

"Perhaps I dropped some carelessly, but it's no matter," said I. "Let me
see it some time and I can tell you. What do you think of them?"

[Illustration: "WHY, WHO IN THE WORLD COULD HAVE WRITTEN THIS NONSENSE?"
LAUGHED HYGEIA.--_Page_ 214.]

"Think of them!" And she smiled as if she was pleased, as she continued
to turn page after page.