“Righto! and I’ll pay for the stamps,” said Willie. “Whatever it costs, let me know.”
Then a letter was concocted, and to read it one would think that Willie was a little angel upon earth:
We much regret that you want Willie back so soon [they wrote]. You know, it is such a long way up here, and once he gets home it may be years and years and years till he comes back. He means to work and study so hard when he goes home to make up for this long holiday, and we would love him to stay till November; and then he will be quite, quite satisfied to go. But if he went now we would all miss him so much, because he’s such a help and such good company, and Dadda would miss him fearfully, and so would Mamma and Miss Gibson and all of us. He studies real well for Miss Gibson, considering that he is out so much and loves riding so much, and, you know, in Sydney he’ll never get a ride; so now, while the horses are fat, he ought to stay and ride a real lot, and I am sure if you will only let him he will grow up to bless you.
“How will that much suit?” asked Eva, who took the composition on herself and read it aloud to him.
“By cripes, it’s real good!” answered Willie. “Go on a few more pages like that, and she must let me stay.”
“Well, if you say that word any more I won’t write at all.”
“What word?” asked Willie, trying to appear innocent.
“You know quite well; you got it from old Joe, and you needn’t bother copying him. Oh, dear! Whatever else can I say?”
“Let’s see; you said I was nice and cheerful, didn’t you? Well, say—oh! say that I look real well, and I’m getting real fat.”
“But you said that in your last letter, didn’t you?”