“I go to Creede to-morrow,” she said as she gave me a warm, plump hand and said “Good-by.”
Fitz, forgive me for being so slow; but you forgot to tell me how beautiful she was; the Poet of the Kansas City Star would say: “Her carriage, face and figure are perfection; and her smile is a shimmer-tangled day-dream, as she drifts adown the aisle.” Such eyes! like miniature seas, set about with weeping willows, and hair like ripening grain, with the sunlight sifting through it.
Good-by,
Cy Warman.
V.
Grand Pacific Hotel,
Chicago, April 8.
Dear Cy:—Your two letters of the 25th and 28th ult., forwarded from Denver, were received here only this morning on my return from Milwaukee, where I have been for the past week negotiating the sale of that Eagle Gulch mining property, in which I am interested. I think it will be a go, and if so, I shall be heeled—otherwise busted.
It was very good of you, old boy, to take so much trouble to look Miss Parsons up and to “locate” that scamp Ketchum. I shall not be anxious, now that I know you will keep an eye on her. But you are clear off, Cy, as to her loving or hating me.
No doubt she likes me a little bit, for I have long been a friend of the family; and they were always kind to me when they were rich, and I have carried pretty Polly around in my arms when she was a baby. I knew her father back in Virginia before they were married.
Pretty? I should think she is pretty. That is why I felt so particularly anxious about her going to Creede. If she had been a ewe-necked old scrub of a typewriter, with a peaked nose and a pair of gooseberry eyes in her head, do you fancy I could have been solicitous about her not being able to take care of herself or have dreamt of interesting you in her?
