Do leave those insane people to their delusions, and come back to the
John Grier Home, which needs you.
I am most fervent' Your friend and servant, S. McB.
P.S. Don't you admire that poetical ending? It was borrowed from Robert
Burns, whose works I am reading assiduously as a compliment to a Scotch
friend.
July 6.
Dear Judy:
That doctor man is still away. No word; just disappeared into space.
I don't know whether he is ever coming back or not, but we seem to be
running very happily without him.
I lunched yesterday CHEZ the two kind ladies who have taken our Punch to
their hearts. The young man seems to be very much at home. He took me
by the hand, and did the honors of the garden, presenting me with the
bluebell of my choice. At luncheon the English butler lifted him into
his chair and tied on his bib with as much manner as though he were
serving a prince of the blood. The butler has lately come from the
household of the Earl of Durham, Punch from a cellar in Houston Street.
It was a very uplifting spectacle.
My hostesses entertained me afterward with excerpts from their table
conversations of the last two weeks. (I wonder the butler hasn't given
notice; he looked like a respectable man.) If nothing more comes of it,
at least Punch has furnished them with funny stories for the rest of
their lives. One of them is even thinking of writing a book. "At least,"
says she, wiping hysterical tears from her eyes, "we have lived!"
The Hon. Cy dropped in at 6:30 last night, and found me in an evening
gown, starting for a dinner at Mrs. Livermore's house. He mildly
observed that Mrs. Lippett did not aspire to be a society leader, but
saved her energy for her work. You know I'm not vindictive, but I never
look at that man without wishing he were at the bottom of the duck pond,
securely anchored to a rock.
Otherwise he'd pop up and float.
Singapore respectfully salutes you, and is very glad that you can't see
him as he now appears. A shocking calamity has befallen his good looks.
Some bad child--and I don't think she's a boy--has clipped that poor
beastie in spots, until he looks like a mangy, moth-eaten checkerboard.
No one can imagine who did it. Sadie Kate is very handy with the
scissors, but she is also handy with an alibi! During the time when the
clipping presumably occurred, she was occupying a stool in the corner of
the schoolroom with her face to the wall, as twenty-eight children can
testify. However, it has become Sadie Kate's daily duty to treat those
spots with your hair tonic.