"I am afraid you never would make a piano player, Teddy."
"I don't want to be one. I would rather ride the educated donkey. It's better exercise." Teddy then proceeded with his letter. This is what he wrote:
"Dear Mr. Sparling:"
"Nothing has happened since you were here."
One of the lithographers had a fit in the dining room of the contract hotel this morning (I don't blame him, do you?) and they hauled him out by the feet. We run amuck with another advance car, the other day, but nobody got into a fight. I thought rival cars always—excuse the typewriter, it doesn't know any better— got into a fight when they met.
"One of the billposters fell off a barn—it was a hay barn, I think. I am not sure. I'll ask Phil before I finish this letter. Let me see, what happened to him? Oh, yes, I remember. He broke his arm off and we left him in a hospital back at Aberdeen. Phil let one of the banner men go this morning. The fellow had false teeth and couldn't hold tacks in his mouth. I tell him it would be a good plan to examine the teeth of all these banner men fellows before he joins them out, just the same as you would when you're buying a horse. Don't you think so?"
"By the way, I almost forgot to tell you. We ran over a switchman in the night last night. I don't think it hurt the car any."
"Well, good-bye. I'll write again when there is some news.
How's January? Wish I was back, riding him in the ring.
Expect I'll have an awful time with him when I start in again.
Don't feed him any oats, and keep him off the fresh grass.
I don't want him to get a fat stomach, because I can't get
my legs under him to hold on when he bucks."
"Well, good-bye again. Love to all the boys."
"Your friend,"