"What in blazes is that to me?" I snarled.
"We want your sheets for tablecloths."
Do not worry. I shall not write long letters to "the House." They will be as short as my expense account will permit.
Your hungry but hopeful son,
P.
P.S. On the dead, now, did my recital of my hotel experiences make you laugh? They are not quite genuine. How do you think they would go as a part of my sample line of stories for the trade?
LETTER NO. XI.