The way people are for ever rolling their eyes to heaven and saying,
'Perhaps it's all for the best,' when they are perfectly dead sure it's
not, makes me enraged. Humility or resignation or whatever you choose
to call it, is simply impotent inertia. I'm for a more militant
religion!
We are getting the most dreadful lessons in philosophy--all of
Schopenhauer for tomorrow. The professor doesn't seem to realize that
we are taking any other subject. He's a queer old duck; he goes about
with his head in the clouds and blinks dazedly when occasionally he
strikes solid earth. He tries to lighten his lectures with an
occasional witticism--and we do our best to smile, but I assure you his
jokes are no laughing matter. He spends his entire time between
classes in trying to figure out whether matter really exists or whether
he only thinks it exists.
I'm sure my sewing girl hasn't any doubt but that it exists!
Where do you think my new novel is? In the waste-basket. I can see
myself that it's no good on earth, and when a loving author realizes
that, what WOULD be the judgment of a critical public?
Later I address you, Daddy, from a bed of pain. For two days I've been laid
up with swollen tonsils; I can just swallow hot milk, and that is all.
'What were your parents thinking of not to have those tonsils out when
you were a baby?' the doctor wished to know. I'm sure I haven't an
idea, but I doubt if they were thinking much about me.
Yours,
J. A.
Next morning I just read this over before sealing it. I don't know WHY I cast such
a misty atmosphere over life. I hasten to assure you that I am young
and happy and exuberant; and I trust you are the same. Youth has
nothing to do with birthdays, only with ALIVEDNESS of spirit, so even
if your hair is grey, Daddy, you can still be a boy.
Affectionately,
Judy
12th Jan.
Dear Mr. Philanthropist,
Your cheque for my family came yesterday. Thank you so much! I cut
gymnasium and took it down to them right after luncheon, and you should
have seen the girl's face! She was so surprised and happy and relieved
that she looked almost young; and she's only twenty-four. Isn't it
pitiful?
Anyway, she feels now as though all the good things were coming
together. She has steady work ahead for two months--someone's getting
married, and there's a trousseau to make.
'Thank the good Lord!' cried the mother, when she grasped the fact that
that small piece of paper was one hundred dollars.