Well!
Sitting there on the edge of the bed she regarded the dear scrawl
lovingly, savoring it, as is the way of a woman. Then she took a
hairpin from the knot of bright hair (also as is the way of woman) and
slit the envelope with a quick, sure rip. M-m-m--it wasn't much as to
length. Just a scrawled page. Emma McChesney's eye plunged into it
hungrily, a smile of anticipation dimpling her lips, lighting up her
face.
"_Dearest Blonde_," it began.
("The nerve of the young imp!")
He hoped the letter would reach her in time. Knew how this weather
mussed up her schedule. He wanted her honest opinion about something--
straight, now! One of the frat fellows was giving a Christmas house-
party. Awful swells, by the way. He was lucky even to be asked. He'd
never remembered a real Christmas--in a home, you know, with a tree,
and skating, and regular high jinks, and a dinner that left you
feeling like a stuffed gooseberry. Old Wells says his grandmother
wears lace caps with lavender ribbons.
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