"I think you forget what a poor scholar Rob is," said Miss Bertram, reprovingly. "Now I think that is a remarkably good letter when I think what a short time he has been learning to write. You boys had better each write a proper letter to him yourselves, and ask him what you want to know. He will like to hear from you."
And so that afternoon, sitting up in state at the library table, the boys spread out their writing materials and began to write.
"I feel," said Roy, biting the end of his pen and looking up at the ceiling for an inspiration, "that I don't know quite how to begin. I should like to tell him not to write like an ass, when he knows he ought to tell us everything."
"All right, tell him so," said Dudley, squaring his elbow and frowning terribly as he prepared himself for the task. "You know what old Selby says: 'Make your paper talk, my boys, and make it talk in your own tongues.'"
After a great many interruptions from each other, and a few skirmishes round the table which resulted in the ink bottle being spilt, the letters were finished.
Roy read his aloud with pride to Dudley, who did the same to him.
"MY DEAR ROB:
"You must write us longer letters. I
am quite sure there is lots to tell. What do
you have to eat? And where do you sleep?